Garden State Parkway 5:46 p.m. ************************ "Scully. Stop the car." "What?" "Now, Scully." She does. The car swerves to the side of the road and pulls to a halt just as I throw the passenger door open and scramble from my seat. I stumble frantically away from the car and drop to my knees, the tearing sensation in my thigh and subsequent agony that shoots from groin to toes urges my stomach closer to my throat. I crawl amongst some unsuspecting plant life and proceed to decorate the greenery with, brown, gooey, not so healthy, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Surely there's gotta be a better way to die. After a minute or two of violent heaving my stomach finally stops contracting. Exhausted, I collapse onto my left side and wonder idly if I will ever find the strength or inclination to move again. "Mulder!" Scully squats beside me. "They lied, Scully, there's nothing healthy about peanut butter." I mumble as I try unsuccessfully to spit the taste from my mouth. "Are you done? Can you make it back to the car?" She pushes my hair back from my forehead, a routine she seems to have adopted as her own personal ritual, performing it whenever I'm sick or injured. Not that I'm complaining. If it were possible I'd probably get sick or hurt more often just to have an excuse to feel her fingers threading through my hair. "I hope so, and I think so. Help me up." I try not to lean on her too much, but my left leg is trembling so badly that I wonder if it will be able to support me at all. As for the right one, I don't even bother putting it to the ground. "Give me a second, Scully." I lean over and suck in a couple of deep breaths hoping to clear my head a little. "Take as long as you need." She wraps one arm around my waist and with her other hand she grips my wrist and secures in place the arm I have draped across her shoulder. "Okay, I'm ready." We stagger like a couple of drunks back to the car. A passing motorist gives a long, enthusiastic blast of his horn in appreciation of our side show. Nice to know the general public can find something amusing in my hour of need. Scully helps me to get seated again, and this time when she offers me the pain meds and the water I accept. My stomach feels much better after losing lunch, which makes up for the solid, resounding ache in my leg. "Mulder..." Scully waits till I finish drinking so she has my undivided attention. "I think we should swing past the ER on our way back to the motel." She doesn't elaborate or try to dazzle me with technical doctor reasoning as to why we should do this, instead she just looks at me. Imploring. A worried frown creasing her brow. I want to tell her yes, but what would be the point? They're only going to diagnose the obvious and Scully has already done that. A bruised or torn muscle, whatever. Rest and ice it. I can do that without visiting a hospital. So, rather than hurt her feelings or get into a pointless argument, I opt instead to dazzle *her*, with some good ol' Mulder reverse phsychology. "Scully, can I be honest with you?" A myriad of expressions pass across her face before she settles on a look of shocked surprise. "Go ahead," she coaxes. "I really don't feel up to sitting in a crowded ER right now. My leg is killing me, my mouth tastes like rotten peanuts, and...please, Scully, can we just go back to the motel?" I conveniently forget to mention the part about wanting to try and contact Dr Diamond at the Smithsonian, hoping to get his opinion on the bones, the lair and the general validity of my 'feral child' theory. "You must be feeling bad, Mulder if you're willing to admit it to me. I'll tell you what; we'll go back to the motel, you rest and ice your leg for the next couple of hours and if you can get through that without any more major catastrophes -- because there sure as hell have been enough of those for one day-- we'll skip the ER for the time being." "You got yourself a deal, Scully." I dig deep and offer her my all-American boyish grin which ends in a grimace as I inadvertently move my leg the wrong way, sending a sharp pain through my thigh. "Hmmm. Why do I feel like I've just been had? That was too easy, Mulder," she frowns at me suspiciously. "Trust..." "Don't say it. I don't want to hear the 'T' word any more this weekend either." She pauses, then gives me a serious look. "You gonna be okay?" How does she do this? One minute treating me like an out of control two year old, the next speaking to me as if my health and welfare are the most important things in her life. The soft, caring note she injects into her voice cuts straight to my heart, stripping the outer layers of flippancy I usually hide behind, making me feel as if all my emotions are being laid bare before her. It scares me; the way a simple display of affection from Scully can evoke such a strong feeling of vulnerability in me. "Mulder?" "I'll be fine, Scully." And I will too, as soon as the pain meds kick in everything should be just wonderful. She rubs her hand along my arm, then sparks the engine into life and carefully pulls out to join the stream of traffic. I hunker down in my seat and wait for some Tylenol-induced relief. ********************* "Mulder." "Mmmmm." "Mulder, come on, we're here." "No. I'm fine, leamme alone." "Mulder, wake up!" "Mmmm, five more minutes...OW! Shit! What the...?" "Sorry, Mulder, it's the only way I could get you to wake up. We're here. You fell asleep." "Well, now that you've got my attention; what the hell did you do to me?" I ask rubbing my arm and making sure she sees how unimpressed I am with her bedside manner. "It was just a little pinch, don't be such a baby. Do you need some help getting out?" She asks the question as she pushes her door open. How the hell should I know, I just woke up. I push my own door ajar and move to get out of the passenger seat. So far so good. I lever myself upright and wait. Oh yeah. I'm gonna need help. As soon as I stand my leg throbs, gradually increasing until I begin to feel the nausea return and a slight shift in focus as the motel starts to shimmer and twist from side to side. I close my eyes and hold tight to the roof of the car with one hand and the passenger door with the other. "I guess the answer is yes." Scully is at my side prying my fingers from the car door and guiding my arm across her shoulders. I take comfort in the thought that I am saving her a fortune in gym fees. After this weekend she'll never have to work out again. The nausea increases as the sickly smell of disinfectant and cheap cover-up chemicals permeate throughout the motel room. At least the bed is made, and with a bit of luck, fresh towels are part of the package. "Sit, Mulder." Scully pauses and points meaningfully at the bed. "Would you like me to roll over and play dead too?" I ask quietly. "I think you've done enough of that for one day." She mumbles under her breath. "What was that, Scully?" She gives me approximately half a second of her time before dismissing my comment out of hand and focusing on a new task. Her eyes zero in on the bathroom and she strides purposefully in that direction, disappearing inside for a minute before re-emerging with a clean towel draped over her arm. She switches her attention to the closet, hauls the door open and pulls down two spare pillows. "Lie back," she orders as she tosses her bounty onto the bed beside me. This is a woman on a mission and I decide to do as I'm told. "Okay, let's get your pants off." Hmmm, this doesn't exactly fit the scenario I've played through my mind over and over again during those long, sleepless nights on my couch. I always imagined something a little more romantic when Scully finally got round to asking me to remove my pants. She notes my hesitation. "Rest, ice, elevation. You don't expect me to ice your leg through your jeans do you?" We're back to the 'stop-acting-like-a-two-year-old' tone again. "You know, Scully, it's probably a good thing you decided on forensic medicine because sometimes your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired." I pull at my belt buckle as she moves towards the door. "I'll be back in a minute, Mulder, I'm want to see if I can find an ice machine." And with that statement she is gone, leaving the tacky lace curtain wafting in the breeze as she pulls the door behind her. Once Scully is out the door I ignore my belt and think about sitting up. The thought also occurs to me that in order to remove my pants I'm going to have to eventually get to my feet. And while the pain has dropped to a managable level since taking the last dose of Tylenol, I really don't have the energy to move. I wonder instead how I am going to convince Scully to put a call through to Dr Diamond. I check my watch; 8:30 p.m., probably a bit late to catch him at the Smithsonian, I wonder if Scully has his home number? If she can run some tests on the bones tomorrow, verify the markings are indeed made by human teeth, then we are one step closer to having some hard evidence to back up my theory. But...now that Thompson knows I'm onto him, time is our enemy. I'm pretty damn sure he'll be moving quickly to get rid of all traces of the kid's existence. Where did Scully put our backpacks? Sitting up slowly, I scan the room in search of them. There. By the door. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and ease myself up. The quiet thud in my thigh increases in intensity, but the need to make sure the bone fragments are still safely tucked inside the backpacks, overrides the pain. Taking slow, careful steps I limp my way over to the door and reach for the pack, my hand hovering inches from the object of my desire when the door swings open, nearly clocking me across the head. I jump back in surprise, wrenching my leg and falling flat on my ass. Shit! "Mulder! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Through watery eyes I manage to make out the unhappy face of my partner. Icy blue daggers stare out at me from under heavily armed eyebrows. If my leg wasn't hurting me so badly I might have found this situation amusing. But to add insult to injury my butt is now aching where it impacted with the less than adequately padded floor covering. "Mulder? I asked what you are doing." "Nothing!" I snap. If she's gonna keep talking to me like a two year old then I'm going to start acting like one. I'm sick and tired of being in pain, and I'm sick and tired of being restricted by that pain. Feeling more than a little sorry for myself I slump back against the threadbare carpet and close my eyes, only to be rudely reminded of the bump on the back of my head. "OW! Shit! Goddammit!" Sounds of soft laughter start to filter through my bout of self-pity. The little chuckles gradually building in cresendo until they become a full fit of giggles. I force my eyes open. "Well, I'm glad you find something funny in all of this, Scully." "I'm...I'm...sorry...Mulder." Oh yeah, she sounds really sorry. I roll over onto all fours and make an effort to get back on my feet. "Here...let me...help you." Scully chokes out in between gasps of laughter. "I'm fine. I can do it myself." And I shake her hand off my arm to prove it. Ignoring any further offers of assistance from Scully, I grit my teeth and limp painfully back to the bed, slumping awkwardly onto the lumpy mattress. "Mulder? I am sorry. It's just...it's just..." A soft snort escapes before she can finish the sentence. "I'm sorry." I don't answer her. "I found an ice machine. Let's see if we can get the swelling down and make you a little more comfortable." I continue with the silent treatment as she squats by my feet and starts to untie my shoe laces. "Mulder? Why do you think Captain Thompson behaved the way he did? Don't you think it was a little extreme, even for him?" "I've been thinking about that myself, Scully. Ah!...Shit!" Pain rivets up my leg as Scully tugs the boot from my right foot. "Here, lay back on the bed." She pushes my shoulders down and helps me get straightened out on the mattress, moving to my feet and pulling my socks off. "Thanks." I give her a half smile, my earlier anger at being the butt of her mirth quickly subsiding. "So, what about Thompson? What do you think was the real motive behind his actions?" "I still believe his main concern is to get rid of the kid by the most expedient means possible. The simplest... the simplest...um...Scully, what are you doing?" Her hands glide up my leg and start working at my belt buckle. "You better let me do that, " I say, gently prying her hands away, "or you might find you get a little more than you bargained for." As the full meaning of my words hit home, I notice a rather becoming pink tinge start to creep across her cheeks. She nods at me and mouths the word 'sorry.' I work the belt loose while Scully pours ice into a plastic bag. "I'm beginning to think that Thompson might be a little more closely involved with the gambling community than just your regular 'cop protecting the casino trade' routine." "You think Thompson's on their pay roll? Lift your hips." Scully slides my jeans down to my ankles then gently tugs them off and tosses them onto a nearby chair. "Maybe. It might explain his behaviour, why he was so hell-bent on keeping us away from where the hikers were killed." "That or he just hates you, Mulder." She lightens her words with a smile. "Well he wouldn't be the first local law enforcement officer campaigning to be president of the 'Anti Mulder' fan club." I give her a wry smile of my own. "It doesn't matter what the real motive is, Scully. Thompson wants us out of his hair, and if he doesn't want us around, then as far as I'm concerned, that's all the more reason to stay." "Hmmm." "Hmmm, what?" "You've got a lot of swelling, Mulder. No wonder you had pins and needles. How does your foot feel now?" I wiggle my toes to check it out. "Okay, I guess. A little tingly maybe." She pulls at the strapping on my thigh. "Lift your leg a little." I carefully pull my knee up and Scully unwraps the bandage, laying it beside her on the bed. Her brow creases in thought as she stares at my leg. "I don't like the look of this. Maybe we should have stopped by the emergency room." Her finger tips trace a tickly trail from knee to groin, pressing lightly on the place where the bat connected with my thigh. I grit my teeth in an effort to keep myself from leaping off the bed. "Is that hurting you?" Your powers of observation blow me away sometimes, Scully. "Uh-huh." "Hmmm." She continues to rub her hand lightly up and down my thigh. Marvin shifts nervously as her hand creeps closer to my groin. "Pass me that pillow." "What?" "The one you're not using, give it to me." Who says I'm not using it? Reluctantly I give up the second pillow under my head. She pulls off the cover then places it--along with the earlier gathered spares from the closet--under my leg. I have to admit the support of the pillows helps the pain to recede a bit. After wrapping the plastic bag of ice in the previously discarded pillow case, she carefully places it along my thigh. Tiny rivulets of icy condensation run down my leg and creep under my boxers. Marvin rears back in fear as the freezing droplets pool around very sensitive parts of my anatomy. "Hows that, Mulder?" "Cold," I answer honestly. "It's supposed to be. We need to get the swelling down." I don't know if it's working on my leg, but Marvin the Martian has certainly lost any dellusions of grandeur he might have had just after Scully began caress...I mean, examining my leg. Scully scoots closer along the bed so she's sitting by my chest, then reaches up and trails her hand across my brow. Her fingers are cool after handling the ice. Nice. I close my eyes and relax under her touch. "Why don't you get some rest, Mulder. I'll go and see about fixing us some dinner." "You buying?" I mumble sleepily. "I'm buying. What do you feel like?" Her hand caresses the side of my face, then moves back to my forehead, fingers twirling lightly through my hair. I wonder what I did to deserve this little display of tender loving care. "Mmmm. I dunno. You choose. Nothing with peanuts. Don't want peanuts." I feel the bed shake slightly as Scully lets out a soft chuckle. "Something light on your stomach might be best," she offers. "I'll see what I can find. And I promise, no peanuts." Her hand leaves my face and I grumble quietly at the loss of contact. "Rest, Mulder. I'll be back soon." "Mmmhmm." Her last act of kindness before she leaves is to drape the towel across my lap, damming the the icy stream of water trickling steadily towards my nether regions, and saving Marvin from an unwanted soaking. ****************************************************** Oh Christ! How long are they gonna leave me lying here? GET IT OFF!! Get this damn bovine off my leg! It's crushing me! Why the hell aren't they doing anything? Someone must be there. The whole damn township of Kroner would have heard the oversized, under-done pot roast come crashing through my roof. Hell, they probably heard it all the way across Kansas. SCULLEEE? Where is she? My leg hurts, Scully. Can't feel my foot. HELP ME! Icy rain pours through the gaping whole in the roof. Gathering around my hips. Wetting my clothes. Freezing my ass off. GET THE GODDAMN ANIMAL OFF ME! Hurts. Hurts. Gotta move. I try and drag my leg from under it. Pain shoots through my thigh. I scream. I know it's me, the sound reverberates though my throat, my ears, my head. "NOOOO!" Huh? Where am I? There's no cow and there's no rain. Then why the hell am I lying in a puddle of water? And why the hell does my leg feel as if the damn cow is still sitting on it? Ah yes. Of course. It's all coming back to me. The day from hell. I lift the wet, soggy, suspiciously light, bag of ice off my leg. The nice white, *dry* towel of earlier is now a saturated mess of terry cloth still draped thoughtfully across my lap, soaking its wet, sodden contents into my boxer shorts. Well, that explains the puddle of water. And where's Scully? I check my watch. 9:30 p.m. I managed to make all this mess in just 20 minutes? Man, I'm good. I can just hear Scully's less than subtle comments when she returns to find me lying here in wet boxers. No thank you! It's time for action. Now, where the hell did I put my overnight bag? Aha! Over there by the closet. I ease myself up and carefully swing my legs over the side of the bed, feeling the sheets squelch with my shift of weight. A little twinge in my thigh reminds me that movement is something to be done only when necessary and then, with great care. Tough cookies! Marvin the Martian clinging to my hips in a wet, soggy embrace tells me this particular movement is more than just necessary. It's essential. So, slowly I stand. And wait. And, oh, Fuck! The pain slams into me from all directions, totally engulfing my leg from toes to hip. The room tilts dangerously to one side, the ugly lace curtain undulates backwards and forwards. My stomach twists in on itself and very vivid images of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches play through my mind which is enough for my stomach to lurch in rebellion. But there is no way I am gonna make it to the bathroom. No way in the wide, wide world. My arms flail wildly, tying to stop the inevitable descent to the floor, but in my less than coordinated state, I manage to latch onto absolutely nothing and hit the floor with a resounding THUD! Oh, crap! *** Lucky Stars Motel 9:38 p.m. ********************** Time distorts unfathomably. Lying on the ground, gasping like a beached whale, time simply ceases to have any meaning for me. My world exists on a very narrow plane. Intense pain, and fighting for air. The unintentional trip to the floor has knocked the wind out of me, and it's taking every ounce of energy I have just to draw breath. With my head buzzing from lack of oxygen, I continue to lie on the stained, stinking carpet, wrestling with the need to throw up, and trying to concentrate around the solid, unending ache in my leg. Finally, I manage to suck in some air. This helps clear my head a little, but the nausea hangs in there, as determined as ever. I think I hear someone groan. Given that I'm the only one here, it must be me. And I don't care. I'm past caring. I'm hurting, and right now all I want to do is stay on the floor and wallow in self pity. "Mulder!" Scully. Thank God. "Dammit, Mulder, I can't leave you alone for a second." "Scul..." I choke on her name when another wave of pain rolls over me. "Oh, Mulder." "Sculleee," I moan at her. I no longer care about stoicism. I no longer care about a brave front. All I care about is some kind of relief, and at the moment, Scully is the best chance I've got. "What happened? Did you hit your head?" "No...don't think so. My leg." She kneels beside me "Cramp?" "I don't...know. No, no....I don't think...so. It's aching...hurts." "Dammit. I should have insisted on taking you to the emergency room this afternoon. I can't believe I let you talk me out of it." She leaves my side and searches her pockets. Finding her cell phone, she punches in a number. "Who are you calling?" "911." This time I don't argue. I half listen to her speaking to the operator, supplying details of our location and a brief rundown of the situation. Which is me. She returns to the floor beside me. "Scuuu...aaarrgh. Shiiit." I bite back a groan. "Sssh, Mulder, it's okay, I know you're in pain. Help is on the way. Let me take a look at your leg. Can you lie back a bit for me?" I'm flat out on the floor, how much further back does she want me to be? Her soft, cool hands clasp mine and remove them from my thigh. Then, I realise I'm not flat at all, but rather, curled up in a tight ball. She eases me over so I'm facing the ceiling and carefully straightens my leg out. Her hands rest lightly behind my knee, then travel to my foot. I think I hear a gasp, and this time it's not me. "What is it, Scully?" "Nothing, Mulder. Just try and relax." She smoothes the imaginary hair from my brow. Maybe it's a nervous tick-thing that she has, but, whatever it is, I'm glad she does it. The muscle in my leg squeezes tight again, and I start to roll over to my side, groaning my misery into the room. "Come on, partner, just try and breathe through the pain." She moves her hand to my groin. Marvin doesn't even notice. She presses down lightly, near my hip, then works her hand slowly down towards my knee. Which is all very well until she happens to press on the point of impact. Before I'm even aware of what I'm doing, I lift my arm and smack her hand away. Hard. "Oh, God. Sorry...didn't mean...to hit you." "It's all right. I'm not hurt. I guess I found the sore spot." She smiles apologetically at me. "Yeah, you could...arghhh." A knife-like pain slices through my thigh. "Christ, Scully...I'm...not sure...how much...more of this...I can take." "Mulder, describe the pain for me." She places her hand under my jaw and turns my head so I'm looking at her. "Bad." "I know that, I know." Her tone is soft and gentle as her hand sweeps across my forehead. "I mean, is it sharp? Dull? Intermittent?" "I dunno...it's...just there. Kinda like...a migraine...but...in my leg, only worse. Like it's being crushed from the inside out." "Do you feel sick, nauseous?" "Mmm. Was before. Not so much now." I close my eyes for a second and release a slow breath, enjoying a slight reprieve as the pain subsides a little. And then a thought occurs to me. The reason I'm splayed out on the floor in the first place. "Scully, I'm wet." "Sorry?" "My...uh...underwear, it's wet." I nod in the direction of Marvin. Scully's face fills with a look of shock, followed by pure pity. "Were you on your way to the bathroom?" She doesn't exactly say, 'you poor dear', but I hear it in her voice. "Uh, huh." "Oh, I'm sorry, Mulder. I should have thought before I left. Why didn't you tell me you needed to pee?" Pee? "No. I didn't *pee* myself. The damn ice melted!" "Oh." "Could you find me some dry shorts, please?" I start to push myself off the floor. "No, Mulder, I don't think it's a good idea for you to be moving around. You can change later, at the hospital." It's not until she says I shouldn't move around that I notice something strange about Scully. Something she doesn't usually show. She's worried. Every line, every crease on her face is screaming a message, broadcasting in no uncertain terms that she is *really* concerned. And now, so am I. "AAARGH" The pain hits again, this time radiating down to my calf. I try to grab at my leg but Scully is holding me down. Somewhere in the background I think I hear sirens. "Hang on, Mulder, I'll be right back." I clutch at her hand. "It's okay. I'm just going to open the door for the paramedics. Help is here." I lie back against the hard floor and close my eyes. With Scully no longer restraining me, I roll onto my side and hold my leg. An undulating throb alternates between my calf and thigh. The nausea increases a notch with each new thud of pain. I groan helplessly into the uncaring, tattered carpet. Voices fill the room. "...I found him on the floor about 15 minutes ago. He's in severe pain, nauseous, I don't think he hit his head." Polite noises of 'Uh-huh and 'yes ma'am,' respond to Scully's explanation. I open my eyes. Two men in paramedics uniform, carrying a shit-load of gear and pulling a gurney. Scully continues her rundown on my condition. One of the guys leans over near my head. "Hello, Mr Mulder, my name's Chris and this is Dave," he nods to the other man, "we're going to try and make you feel more comfortable, okay?" I nod and try not to whimper. Dave dumps his equipment on the floor then starts setting up some kind of radio. "Can you tell me where it hurts?" "Leg. Started in my...aargh...shit..." Respite is over. "Okay, just relax. I want you to tell me: on a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst pain, how would you rate the level of pain you are experiencing?" "Twelve!" I gasp out. I feel myself beginning to fade and a faint ringing starts in my ears. My breath catches in my chest as my stomach tries desperately to find an exit from my body. "Feel sick," I mutter. My stomach heaves. But there's nothing to bring up. Just a painful retching that feels like I'm being ripped in two. Someone starts rubbing my shoulder. I'd know that touch anywhere. "Scully...what's wrong...with me?" "That's what we're trying to find out." Something about her voice sounds different. I force my eyes open to look at her. She has tears glistening around the edges of her lashes. "Scully." I whisper to her. Dave's voice cuts into the room. "Patient is white male, late 30's, complaining of severe pain in right leg associated with an injury received approximately 36 hours ago. He's down and vomiting. Standby for vitals." Chris appears by my side and wraps a BP cuff around my arm and pumps it tight, waiting a few seconds before releasing the pressure. "BP's 140 over 80." Another agonising wave of pain clenches my thigh. "Arrgh, shit." Chris pats me on the shoulder, then picks up my left wrist, concentrating. He stares at his watch for a minute or so. "Pulse 115." He pauses, watching my chest intently. "Respirations 35." Dave repeats the figures through the radio handset. I can feel my breathing quicken, and my chest tighten as I try to suck more air in. I grab at my t-shirt, seeking relief. "Mr. Mulder, are you experiencing chest pain?" "Uh. No, not...really... feels tight...when I breathe." I catch a quick glimpse of his face before he disappears from view. He doesn't look happy. "Mulder, you're hyperventilating. You need to slow your breathing down. Can you do that for me?" Scully. By my side, running her fingers through my hair. Feels good. I try to slow down. For her, I know I can do it. Until another spasm of pain rips through my leg and I gasp, sending any thoughts of controlled breathing right outside the realm of extreme possibility. My breath catches in my throat, refusing to enter my lungs. I try to roll over and clutch at my leg, but small hands are pushing my shoulders back, forcing me to lay flat. "Agent Scully, we're going to set up a monitor, I'll need some help getting his shirt off." "Sure." Together Chris and Scully manage to pull my t-shirt over my head. A minute later Chris has several plastic pads stuck to my chest and shoulders. Above the sharp rasping of my breathing, I hear the reassuring 'beep, beep' of the heart monitor. At least that proves I'm alive, even though I feel like I've died and gone to hell. "Sinus tachycardia on the monitor." Chris recites to Dave. I hear Dave echo it back into the radio. Scully picks up my hand and draws little circles across the back, zig-zagging around my knuckles. "Hey, G-Man. How are you doing?" "Leg...hurts." "I know, partner. The paramedics will give you something for the pain as soon as they can assess what's wrong. The medication might mask the symptoms and they won't be able to make a definitive diagnosis." She turns to Chris, then Dave, seeking confirmation. "We're working on it, Agent Scully. As soon as we get a handle on this we'll give him something. Is he allergic to any drugs?" Chris asks. "No." Chris disappears again, heading over to consult with Dave. "It's going to be okay, Mulder. These guys carry the really good drugs." She's forcing herself to be cheerful, but I recognise 'Scullyconcern' when I hear it. "Chris, the Doc says to start an IV, D5 half normal saline. Run it at 50cc per hour till we get to the ER." Dave calls out. Chris is back by my side. The acidic smell of rubbing alcohol fills my nostrils and I feel something cold and wet on the back of my left hand. "Mr. Mulder, you're just going to feel a little stick." And that's all the warning he gives me before plunging the mother of all needles into my vein. Obviously this guy has lost all touch with reality as far as needle size is concerned. "I need to ask you some questions about what happened. Are you up to answering?" Chris asks as he fiddles around with the IV needle and sets up the drip. "Mmm-hmm." I nod my head. Scully squeezes my right hand briefly before taking up position behind Chris, allowing him to move a little closer so he can hear me better. "Your partner tells me you were hit with a baseball bat. Is that right?" "Not...hit. It... jammed into... my leg." "Did you hear any sounds on impact. Any cracking?" "No. Not...bone. Muscle. Bruised...the muscle." He lightly runs his hands over the top of my leg and down the side. "There's a lot of swelling. Has it been like this all along or is this just recent?" "Don't know. Scully said...it was swollen...earlier." "Did the bat connect with your thigh *and* calf muscle?" "Thigh. Just the thigh. Oh, God..." The squeezing starts again. I groan unabashedly and try to roll over. "I'm sorry, Mr Mulder, just a few more questions. Has the pain been constant? Or does it come and go?" "Pretty much...constant. Tylenol helped...a bit." "How many Tylenol have you taken over the last 24 hours?" "Not sure. Lost count. Maybe...ten, something like that." "Mulder!" Scully's shocked whisper reaches me from behind Chris. "Has the pain gotten worse or stayed about the same since you were first hit?" "Worse." "Okay. You take it easy, I'm just going to have a look at your leg." "'kay." He moves to the side of my leg, palpating the area around my groin. I think to myself: this is probably more the scenario my mother had in mind when warning me about clean underwear. And here I am, in wet boxers. She'd be so disappointed in me. Chris seems to linger a little longer by my groin than I consider comfortable, before moving his hands to the back of my knee. He casts a quick glance up at his partner then he makes his way down to my foot. Pressing lightly on the top, and concentrating. "He's been complaining of pins and needles in his foot," Scully pipes up from behind Chris. "Uh-huh." Chris says, non-committedly, before moving back near my head. "Mr, Mulder, I'm going to perform a test. It should confirm at least part of what I suspect the problem is, then we can give you something to relieve the pain. This may hurt a bit. Are you okay with that?" Could it be any more painful than what I'm going through now? I don't think so. "Go...for it." The pain is building again and that woozy feeling is coming back. "Agent, Scully? You might like to sit by him, hold his hand." I watch Scully's features tense up, and I don't like her expression. She's a doctor, she must have some idea of what I'm in store for. "Hey, G-man, if it gets too bad, just squeeze my hand. I'll be right here." Well, these medical people really know how to instil a sense of well-being in a guy. I take Scully's hand in mine. Chris is back by my feet. "Ready? Left leg first." You'd think I was about to face the firing squad the way they're acting. I nod my agreement. Chris grips my toes and pushes them towards my knee. Yeah? So? What's all the fuss about? That didn't hurt at all. Then he moves to my right foot and does the same. "AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRHG! FUCKING HELL! STOP! STOP!" I kick out with my left leg, trying to get him away. He must've been expecting it because he ducks swiftly to the side to avoid being hit. "Positive Homan's on the right leg." Chris states as I try to get myself under control. I collapse back against the floor, whimpering, cold sweat running down the side of my face and Scully's hand wrung tightly in mine. She traces the fingers of her other hand across my brow, apologising. As if it was her fault. "Shh. It's finished now. It's okay." She pulls my hand to her lips and lightly kisses my fingers. I watch her rise and beckon to Chris, asking him to accompany her to the corner of the room. "What did the Doc say about pain relief?" Chris asks Dave. Way to go Chris! "Stand by" I hear Dave relay the question back to the hospital and in a few seconds the answer I've been so desperately waiting for floats across the room to me. "Morphine, 4 mgs IV push." "Agent Scully, give me a minute to administer the pain meds and I'll be right with you." Chris-the-paramedic just morphed into Chris-my-best-buddy. "You're going to feel a lot better now," Chris assures me as he prepares the pain killer. "Urmm." I grunt, hoping he's as good as his word. A cold, yet burning sensation creeps up my arm, within seconds every muscle in body relaxes and I stare gratefully up at Chris. My thoughts turn to the interesting and intricate patterns made by the brown and gray splotches scattered across the ceiling. I roll my eyes to the left and become immediately transfixed by the beautiful, swirling, purple lace curtain, wondering idly whether the manager might be able to get me one for my apartment. I run my tongue around my lips, then explore the inside of my mouth, trying to remember if teeth are supposed to feel furry or not. Don't really care. Life's pretty good right now. Faint voices float across the room to me. Chris has left my side and joined forces with Scully across the room. I wonder what they're talking about? For about 3 seconds. Then another interesting thought pops into my head: wonder what the score was between the Yankees and the Astros last night? Wonder how Jeff Davies feels about having an asshole like Thompson as a brother-in-law And I wonder about the story behind the pink stain on the carpet six inches from my right ear. I try and tell Scully about all the interesting things in the room, but my tongue won't form the words right. "Mulder?" Scully is back by my side. I stare up at her, trying to concentrate on her face. Why is her head so big? Now so small? And big? And crooked? And... "Scully." I mumble through big, fat lips. "Gonna be sick." Mmm, hope she can understand me. Too late. I start to retch, and it only takes one heave before she's aware of what's happening and gently rolls me onto my side. The movement sends an unexpected wave of pain through my leg which in turn reinforces my stomach's urgent need to expel copious amounts of nothing from within. Eventually the heaves stop. And so does my desire to take any further part in this 'situation.' These guys can play doctor without the patient. I close my eyes and flop bonelessly against the floor. Enough is enough. And a wonderful, complete, sense of oblivion flows over me. *** Atlantic City Medical Center 11.17pm ***************************** WHUMP! "AarhOw." My leg jars painfully as the gurney is pulled from the ambulance. "39 year old male experiencing severe pain in right leg after injury approximately 36 hours ago." Heard those words before. Know that voice, too. "He's vomiting, dehydrated. Severe cramps in right thigh and calf. No external injuries." Cramp. Hurts. "Vital signs at scene: BP 140 over 80. Pulse 115. Resp 35. Lead 2 shows sinus tachycardia." "IV D5 half normal Saline started for access, 25cc administered initially over 30 minute period. IV now KVO." Feel sick. "MS 4mg administered IV push 20 minutes ago. "Patient lost consciousness soon after at the scene but now responds to verbal and tactile stimuli. Pupils equal and react to light." "Mr. Mulder? Do you know where you are?" A different voice. "Head injury approximately 8 hours ago, asymptomatic since." "Mr. Mulder?" Hand on my shoulder. Voices, all around me. "Mr. Mulder, do you know where you are?" "Um...Hell?" I find my voice. Silence. A quiet chuckle. "Not exactly, but close." "Do you know today's date?" "Mm. Maybe. What...day...is it?" "No clues, Mr Mulder, sorry." "June something...third...I think." "Very good, you're right on the money." I try to focus on the face behind the voice. Too hard. It keeps changing shape. "We're just moving you over to our stretcher, stay still, okay?" I feel myself being lifted momentarily. A sharp burst of pain shoots through my leg, sending my stomach rolling around itself, as I'm placed on a different type of gurney. "Feel...sick." I mutter to anyone who will listen. "Do you think... Oh-Oh. He's vomiting folks. Let's roll him." More dry heaves wrack my body, and with some help I'm turned on my side. Nothing comes up though. When it stops, they roll me back. "Call Respiratory and tell them we want ABGs on this patient." "BP 130 over 70. Pulse 88. Resps 26." "You're doing better now, Mr. Mulder." The smiley voice again. "Better than...what? Feel like shi... Oh, no. Gonna puke." And I start the useless exercise all over again of heaving my guts out when there's nothing to lose. "Roll him!" Oh God. I was right. This is hell. "Mr, Mulder, do you have any allergies, are you allergic to any drugs?" "Doctor? I'm Agent Scully. Agent Mulder's partner." Scully? I try to find her, but too many people block my view. "Agent?" "Yes. We're FBI. Maybe..." "I'm sorry, Agent Scully, would you mind waiting outside. We'll have someone come speak with you when we get Mr. Mulder stabilized." "I'm a Forensic Pathologist and a Medical Doctor. I'll be staying right here. Any questions that Mulder is unable to answer, I can." "Of course, I'm sorry. I didn't realize. And you are most welcome to stay. I'm sure you understand, but I need to know if Mr...uh...Agent Mulder can answer for himself." "He's not allergic to any drugs, but if he needs surgery he does react badly to Versed." "Thank you. We'll make a note of it." Scully's face hovers above mine. "Hey, partner? These guys are doing a good job, I'm gonna step back and let them work, but I'll be right here if you need me." She smiles at me and I feel that painful clench in my heart again. Then she's gone. "Let's get him started on some Compazine. 4mg IV." "Mr. Mulder, we're going to give you something to ease the vomiting. You should be feeling better real soon." "'kay." Someone shines a light in my eyes. Then, "Track my finger." I do. I think. "Did he lose consciousness after the head injury? Agent Scully, do you know?" "Not as far as I know." "Good, thankyou." A nurse sidles up to my bed, trying to get my attention. "Mr Mulder, I'm just going to draw some blood. You'll feel a stick in your wrist, it might hurt a bit, but it will be over quickly." I try and pull my hand away. The last time someone told me it might hurt a bit, it hurt a lot. I'm not so trusting this time. My wrist is held tight and I pull a little harder. "No...no...let me go." "Let's get his partner over here. It might help if he has a familiar face with him." Scully. Yes, get Scully. She'll stop them. "Hey, Mulder. Shhhhh." I feel her warm breath on my cheek as she speaks quietly into my ear. "No more...needles, Scully." "They need to check the oxygen level in your blood. The only way they can do that is by getting the blood from an artery. I'm not going to lie to you, Mulder. It will hurt when the needle goes in, but it will only be for a second. Okay? I'll be right here with you. I promise." "Mm. Okay. You stay." "Always, partner." She trails her hand lightly down the side of my cheek. Then gives my shoulder a squeeze. "Ready, Mr. Mulder?" "Yeah." Scully was right. It feels like a spear sticking into me, digging deep into my wrist. Some kind of pad is placed over the needle puncture, held down firmly. Hurts. "Agent Scully, would you mind keeping pressure on this, you'll need to hold it there for about 5 minutes." The smiley voice again, I'm beginning to like that voice. As soon as I can get my eyes to focus properly I'm going to put a face to it. I feel Scully shift as she takes over from the nurse. A horribly familiar pain squeezes at my leg. And again. I try and get comfortable but can't move. "Switching monitors. Sinus rhythm a little tachy." "Let's up his IV to 100c." "Done." "Femoral and popliteal pulses strong on both legs. Pedal pulse a little weak on the right." "Temp's 101.1" "Where's that fever coming from?" One of the voices mumbles quietly. Doctors, nurses. Their voices volley across the room. "Are you having any chest pain? Difficulty breathing?" "Uh-uh. Not...right now." "Good, you let me know if you do, okay?" "Mmm." I think I nod. My leg gives me another quick reminder that it needs some attention. The muscle starts to contract along my thigh. "Mmrrrrm." I groan, but I can't move, can't reach my leg. "Mr. Mulder, are you able to urinate for us?" Urinate? What the hell for? My boxers are removed and a sheet is draped across my waist. Then, something else, something suspiciously plastic, is placed against me, confirming all my fears that I have somehow died and ended up in hell. I wonder vaguely if Scully is getting a good look at this. "Can't. Don't need to pee." I try and push it away. "Okay, that's fine, maybe later." The bottle is removed. The sheet is pushed away from my thigh and someone starts pressing on my leg, just near the hip. "Tell me where this hurts, Mr Mulder." The hands move lower towards my thigh. To where Cantlon hit me with the bat. I can feel my breathing start to quicken. No...don't go there. Hurts down there. Then... "AAArgh!" The hands disappear. Then reappear on my foot. Against my toes. Nononnono. Not that. They push my foot up towards my knee. "AAARRRRGH. NO! DON'T!" My head pounds and my vision blurs. "Okay Mr. Mulder, we won't do that again for awhile." I squeeze my eyes shut so tightly that tears leak from the corners and a pathetic whimper escapes from my throat. "Shh, Mulder. You're gonna be okay." Scully is at my side and does a double sweep of my hair, with both hands this time. "No more tests that hurt." "Scully. You promised...the good stuff." "You had some already, remember?" "Didn't work. Still hurts." I hear the doctors at it again. Issuing orders. "Let's get a portable chest X-ray, CBC, a chem-12, PT, PTT, urine. Get the vascular lab here for a portable venous doppler, CT of his head and cervical spine. And lets get a CT of that right leg, too." "Scully? What are they...doing?" "They just need to run a few more tests. I promise, none of them are going to hurt. You've been through the worst." "Mr. Mulder, can you squeeze my hands? Good and tight." I'd rather squeeze his neck after that last test. "Nice. Now, can you wriggle your toes?" Tentatively, I make the toes on both feet wriggle back and forth. "Good." The doctor turns to address his 'partners-in-crime', and issues more orders. "Let's get another IV started. Heparin, 1000 Units per hour, after a loading dose of 5000 Units IV push. Start that after the blood is drawn." "Scully." I gasp at my partner, feeling my breathing start to quicken again. "It's coming back." I try to shift position on the gurney. "Mulder?" "The...pain...it's coming back." I squeeze the small hand nestled in mine and grit my teeth. "Doctor!" Scully calls him over. He takes one look at me and figures it out, but feels the need to ask the question any way. "Are you having pain, Mr Mulder?" "Uh-huh...yeah." I nod. "Where is it located?" "Leg." I gasp out. "Let's give him another 5mg of MS IV push, okay?" He calls out to the room full of people, then turns back to me. "You should be feeling better soon, sir." Thank God. I knew there was a good man hiding in there somewhere. "As soon as we run these other tests we'll get you admitted and find you a room. Shouldn't be long now." A nurse appears by my side with a needle in her hand. She injects it into the IV port and immediately that wonderful pain-free euphoria washes over me. I smile my thanks up at her blurry head. "Thank you." I sigh as she floats away. "Scully?" "Yes, Mulder?" "You should try some of this stuff. It's really very good. Feel a bit sleepy though." I struggle to keep my eyes open. Can't sleep yet. Still more to say. "Just relax, Mulder. Get some rest." She strokes my cheek, and I have to fight harder to stay awake. "You too, Scully. You...should sleep...too. Been...carrying me...all day. Must be tired." "I'm fine, partner. I'll get some sleep later. When you're settled." "'kay, Scully. Make sure...you do." "Sleep, Mulder." "Mmmm. G'night." ************************************************* Atlantic City Medical Center Treatment Room 1.03am ********* "Mulder?" A hand, shaking my shoulder. "Mr. Mulder?" I hear the voices but can't reach them. A sharp pain pinches my ear. "Ah. Ow. Lemme alone." A light shines in my eyes. I squeeze them shut. Then try to push them open. Can't. Heavy. "Come on, Mr. Mulder, wake up." Hands slapping my cheeks. I force my eyelids up. Blinking. "Ah, there you are. Welcome back." I see a head swimming above me. And another. A red halo frames the second one. "Where..." My voice gets stuck in my throat. I try to swallow. Tongue feels fat and dry. Hands under my head, lifting. A plastic straw in my mouth. "Just a sip, Mulder. Easy now." I just get started when the cup disappears. "More." I grunt. "If you keep this down, you can have some more later." I flop back against the pillow. And put a little more effort into remaining awake. My surroundings gradually become clearer. Scully standing on one side of me, a nurse on the other. "Where...am I?" "You're in the Atlantic City Medical Center," Scully answers me. Tubes. Wires. I look like I'm hooked up to every medical invention known to man. "What happened to me?" A worried look passes between the nurse and Scully." "You don't remember?" "I...I remember bits and pieces. Back in the motel. My boxers were wet. I was going to the bathroom...to change them. That's my last clear thought." "Mulder. I found you lying on the floor. You were in terrible pain." I close my eyes again and try and sift through the odd assortment of images rushing through my mind. "Oh, God. Yes. I remember. My leg. Felt like someone was chewing it off." I look down to make sure both my legs are still attached. "You were pretty out of it. How does your leg feel now?" "Still aching a bit. Not as bad as before." "That's good news, Mr Mulder. The pain meds are working." I recognise that voice. It's not the smiley one though. "Let me know if it becomes too uncomfortable and we'll adjust the dosage. The doctor will be along in a minute to talk to you." The nurse scribbles something on my chart then leaves. "Scully, what's wrong with me?" She picks up my hand, carefully laying the tubes to one side. "I think that's what the doctor wants to explain to us." "But, you're a doctor, you should have some idea." "I do, but I haven't seen all of the test results yet, so let's wait and see what he says." "See what who says?" Recognise that voice too. "Ah, you've decided to rejoin us, Mr. Mulder. That's good to see." A tall, slim man, dressed in green scrubs enters the room. A stethoscope hangs lazily around his neck and wire rimmed glasses frame warm, green eyes. A few strands of gray streak his sandy, red hair. He seems to sum up my condition with a quick flick of his eyes before reaching for the chart hanging from my temporary bed. "Vitals are looking good. How's the pain?" "Bearable." I move my leg a little, wincing as a sharp pain surges through my calf and thigh. "Hurts if I move." "That's to be expected." He replaces the chart and looks at me directly. "Well, now that you're awake I'll formally introduce myself. I'm Doctor Phil Gordon. I was the attending physician when you were first brought in." He gives me a smile. "Nice to meet you. I think." Something about his voice reminds me of extreme pain. "We've run some tests and while I'm still waiting for the final results of some of them to come back, I have been able make a preliminary diagnosis. What I think we're dealing with here is a Deep Vein Thrombosis. Resulting, as a complication from your initial leg injury. What that means, is that you have a blood clot in one of the deep veins in your right calf." I give Scully a quick look, checking to see if she's getting all of this. Her frown tells me that what we are hearing is not great news. "We've also found a small tear in the right thigh muscle, but most of your problems are being caused by a nice big hematoma in that same muscle. Basically, as a result of your injury, you have been bleeding directly into the muscle and the blood has collected in one area. This in turn has put pressure on the muscle, nerves and bone and would account for the severe pain and the tingling sensation in your foot." "A hematoma? A bruise? I'm in the hospital for a bruise?" I can't believe this. "It's a little more serious than just a bruise, Mr. Mulder. But it's the DVT that has us most concerned. It needs to be treated aggressively, or risk having a piece of the clot break off and travel to your lungs, where it could do serious damage." "He's right, Mulder. This is not to be taken lightly." "We've started treatment, and we'll be doing everything we can to make sure that doesn't happen." He nods to one of the bags hanging from the IV pole. "We're running an anti-coagulant--Heparin--as a precaution to prevent further clots forming. I should have the results of your venous doppler back within the half hour. I expect this to confirm my diagnosis." "What the hell is a venous doppler?" I ask. "It's like an ultrasound and used in much the same way. A gel is used to facilitate the movement of an ultrasound probe over the veins of the leg to determine if they are blocked." I lay back against the pillow, trying to digest all this information. How the hell could this happen? "Compared to some of the injuries I've had, this is pretty minor. Why a blood clot this time?" "Basically, it's just bad luck. It's not common in men your age. It tends to happen after surgery or long periods of immobility, like on an airplane ride. But, a trauma to the leg, like the blow you received, can cause a clot to form. DVTs have recently gained a lot of media attention, where it's been referred to as 'Economy Class Syndrome'". Bad luck. Figures. That fits in perfectly with the whole damn theme of this weekend. "We'll be admitting you to the hospital as soon as I get a room organised. Once we have the nausea and vomiting under control we'll start you on a soft diet. But for now it's clear liquids only. The severity of the pain probably caused the vomiting. With proper pain relief, I predict you'll be enjoying jello and pureed vegetables by tomorrow." He grins like he's just informed me I've won the lotto jackpot. I fail to share his enthusiasm. "I believe the bed rest will help your initial injury quiet down and your pain should be minimal in a few days. I'm going to leave you for a couple of minutes and find out how the arrangements are coming along for a more permanent place of residence. I'll come and speak to you again as soon as I get the final test results back." "Thank you, Doctor." This from Scully. "Agent Scully, there's a coffee machine just outside in the waiting area, but I'm sure if you smile nicely at the night nurse she'll point you in the direction of a decent brew in the staff room." He turns to me, "Okay, you just relax, and I'll see you soon." The doctor leaves, and Scully and I are left alone in the treatment room. "Well, here we are again." Scully folds her arms across her chest, dips her chin and paints a resigned frown on her face. "Think of it this way, Scully. Another opportunity for research. Maybe you'll discover some new and exciting sandwich spread with even more amazing powers than peanut butter. I hear 'Vegemite' is very popular with our Australian friends downunder. Just look what it's done for Steve, the 'Crocodile Hunter.'" My commentary leaves her unmoved. "You scared me, Mulder." She lifts her head to look at me, and for the first time I notice the dark smudges under her eyes. "When I walked into the motel room and found you on the floor..." "Hey." I pull her hand from under her arm and clasp it in mine. "Scully?" "Mulder, you've been through so much this past year. You've been in the hospital more times than I care to remember. How many more chances are you going to get before...before your luck permanently runs out? Before your body simply refuses to fight whatever disease, or injury or abuse it's subjected to." She looks at me intently. Studying me as if she'll see the answer to her question suddenly appear on my forehead. "What are you saying, Scully?" She heaves a long frustrated sigh. "I don't know what I'm saying, Mulder. All I know is that each time I have to deal with you being sick or hurt, each time I come close to losing you..." She chews on her lip as if to stop herself from revealing some part of her that is not ready to be seen. Another deep sigh before she continues. "I don't *know* what I'm saying." "Scully, you heard what the doctor said. What happened to me today; it's just bad luck. It could have happened to anyone." "But it didn't, Mulder. It happened to you. And this sort of thing seems to be happening to you with an alarming amount of regularity." "Scully. It's a simple complication. I had no control over it. I had no control over what Cantlon did to me yesterday. These things happen. It's part of the job." She drops her chin to her chest again, and stares at our clasped hands resting on the crisp, green, hospital sheet. She draws a deep breath, seeming to steady herself, regaining control, before lifting her head and smiling at me. "I guess I'm just tired, Mulder." "Well, you should be. You've been lugging me around most of the day." "Good news, Mr Mulder!" Dr Gordon pushes his way through the swinging doors and bounds into the treatment room. The only news that might remotely resemble 'good', is if he is here to tell me that it's all been a big mistake and I can go home. "We're going to transfer you to a room now. We have space in our step-down unit. It's a monitored bed so we can watch you for at least 24 hours." And this is cause for celebration? "Um...is everything all right in here?" He pauses and looks long and hard at Scully and me. Confusion pulls his eyebrows into a tight frown. "Everything's fine. What did the tests show?" Scully gives my hand a quick squeeze before releasing it and stepping towards the doctor. "Okay. So far the tests confirm my diagnosis. The venous doppler shows a clot in your right calf with lots of inflamation in the vein. That's why it hurt so much with the Homan's sign. We stretched your muscle and vein." I squirm uneasily on the gurney as I remember the pure agony inflicted on me earlier. My leg takes up a defensive throb at the memory. "Your chest X-ray and EKG were fine, as were your CAT scans. The good news is that we are only dealing with the muscle injury and DVT. No sign of a PE thus far." "PE? Isn't that something you do to keep fit?" Scully shoots me a look that any school marm would be proud of. "Not in this case, Mr. Mulder. We're talking about a Pulmonary Embolism. I explained to you earlier about the danger: what would happen if a piece of the clot breaks off and gets into your circulatory system. So far, so good. No sign of that happening." I nod my head in understanding. "We might want to do some more tests on that muscle if we don't see any improvement in the next few days, but I think it will get better with some rest and attention on our part. A nurse will be along in a few minutes to move you to your room. You should be more comfortable then. Right, any questions?" "Yeah. When can I get out of here?" *** ER Atlantic City Medical Center 1.30am ************************* "Mulder, it was a stupid question and you know it." Frustration and exhaustion drip from her words. "Why? All I wanted to know is how long I'm in for this time?" I tell her reasonably. "You make it sound like a jail sentence." "Your point?" She sighs, folds her arms across her chest and draws a long breath, releasing it slowly through her mouth. "Relax, Scully. I know already. But what about our case? The kid? Thompson? The bones..." "Mulder, stop. Let's get one thing clear. We are not on a case. Right now, I'm not particularly concerned about the 'kid'." Her tone softens. "I'm concerned about you. Your leg needs to be immobilized. You cannot get up and you most certainly cannot go galivanting all over the country side in search of this so-called kid. You need rest." I push the hospital-issue blanket over to the side of the gurney. "Mulder, what the hell do think you are doing?" "Is it hot in here?" I ask, feeling beads of sweat break out on my upper lip. Agent Scully suddenly morphs into Doctor Scully. She lays a hand across my brow. "No, it's not hot in here, but you are. Mulder, you're burning up." "They probably have the heat turned up." But as soon as the words are out, the crappy feeling that usually accompanies a fever starts to spread through my body. I sink back a little lower into my pillow and close my eyes. "I'm going to get someone," Scully says decisively. "Why? Someone will be here soon, anyway. They're moving me to greener pastures, remember?" "Agent Scully?" Speak of the devil. I hitch an eye open just enough so I can see who the voice belongs to. A nurse and a rather spindly-looking orderly enter the treatment room. I immediately lose interest in them and decide to let Scully handle the travel arrangements. Between the headache building behind my eyes, and the quiet, insistent throb in my leg, I am really not in the mood for socializing and making new acquaintances. So, I feign sleep. "Yes, I'm Agent Scully." "Agent Scully, my name's Suzanne, I'll be accompanying Mr Mulder to the step-down unit. This is Craig. He'll help us get him settled into a bed. Is he sleeping?" I assume she's referring to me. "I don't think so, he's just resting. But I think his fever is a little worse. Would you mind checking his temperature?" A slight rustle of clothing, then a thermometer is placed in my ear. I continue to lay with my eyes shut. Less chance of having to deal with annoying questions. The thing in my ear beeps and is removed. "Hmmm." Medical-speak for just about everything. "101.7." I sneak a look at the nurse. She picks up my chart and scribbles something down. "He is a little warmer. I wouldn't worry too much. You can expect a fever with the phlebitis. I've noted it on his chart and will mention it to the nursing staff in the step-down unit. We can get him started on some Tylenol if it doesn't settle down." "He's been vomiting and hasn't been able to keep anything down," Scully informs her. "Well, he doesn't have to take it orally, you know. A suppository will do the job." Now she has my attention. "Um...Scully?" I throw her a look that leaves no room for misinterpretation. There is no way anyone is going to be administering medication to me in that form. "Ah, you're awake, Mr Mulder." "Yes, and I'm fine, so you can forget about the Tylenol." "Mulder!" "Scully," I grind out and give her a stronger version of my earlier look. "I'm *fine*." "Let's see how things go," the nurse says. "We'll monitor your temperature and if it get's any higher, we'll decide what course of action to take then. Now, I believe there is a room waiting for you upstairs." *******************************************