Summary: What happened between Mulder collapsing and Scully typing at the end of 'Demons'. Category: VA Rated PG with one really bad word. Disclaimer: Well, we all know where they're getting their ideas from now, don't we? But they have the law on their side, so I won't infringe on their copyright. Everything belongs to 10-13 Productions. Please archive anywhere as long as my name is attached. Comments to me--vmoseley@fgi.net Demons In the Light of Day (1/1) By Vickie Moseley His head was pounding. Some evil person or entity had poured what tasted like Elmer's glue and sour milk in his mouth and he had no moisture there to swallow. He was laying on his back, flat on his back. He tried to turn over, curl around his pillow, but his arm kept getting caught on something and he couldn't get all the way on his side. "Don't try rolling over, Mulder. The restraints won't let you," his partner's tired voice told him firmly. He opened his eyes and then slammed them shut against the bright sunlight pouring through the hospital room window. When he opened them a second time, he knew enough not to look directly in the light. He noticed briefly that he'd managed to escape being sent to ICU, but the Velcro straps that held his wrists to the bed rails were not all that comforting. He tugged at his left hand. "Why am I restrained?" he asked hoarsely and immediately regretted saying anything. His throat had been rubbed raw with sandpaper. He saw the water pitcher sitting on the bedside table and would have given anything for the ability to levitate some of that into his mouth. Once again, her uncanny ability to read his mind worked in his favor. Scully reached over and poured a half a glass of water and then held the straw for him to take a drink. He couldn't help but notice that she made no effort to remove the straps on his arms, however. "You were seizing last night," she said tersely. She was quiet for a minute and he almost thought he'd have to actually ask her what she was talking about. But she was just waiting for him, waiting to see if he was really awake or just in some 'never never' land of waking unconsciousness. "You had 14 separate seizures last night. Not including the ones at the summer house and in the ambulance on the way to the hospital." Her voice was too flat. He knew she was keeping it that way so she didn't break the windows when she started yelling at him. The water had soothed his throat a little, but he wasn't real sure how he could respond to his partner. Somehow, the tinny "I'm sorry" he managed just seemed completely inadequate. Scully looked at him hard and long. Slowly, she shook her head. "I'd feel better if I thought you meant that," she said finally. She then got up and moved over to fiddle with the blinds on the window, lessening the brightness of the room. The silence was more pounding to his soul than the pain in his head. "Do you remember anything of last night?" she asked. He was pretty sure that she wanted to say more, but again was keeping a tight lid on her anger. "No," he said with a shrug. "You don't remember going to Dr. Goldstein's office?" He shook his head in the negative, then winced because it was a really lousy idea. The pounding threatened to explode and he was pretty certain Scully wouldn't bother cleaning up the mess when it did. "Would you like to know what you did?" she asked. It was inevitable. At this point, all his training told him that unless she unleashed some of that tension, one of two things was going to happen. Either she would die of a stroke, or she'd walk out the door and he'd never see her again. Neither was acceptable to him. He had to face the music, no matter how much he wanted to avoid this. Better now than never. "What did I do?" he whispered. She nodded. The way she always did when she was gearing up. He often got the impression that she was a pitcher on the mound when she did that. 'Here's the warm up--and the pitch . . .STRIKE ONE!' "You left your mother's, took my car, and ran off to the good doctor's, where he proceeded to pump you full of hallucinogenic drugs and drill a hole in your head," she said, starting low and building as she continued. "Then, still driving MY car, you took off for your family's summer home. Thank you for have the good grace not to wrap my car around a tree, by the way. My insurance company will send you a bundt cake. But once in the house, you took your service weapon and spent the next several minutes, now here I'm speculating, but what the hell, spent the next several minutes contemplating what pattern to spray your brains on the closest wall! I came in and you held the gun on me while I tried to talk you down. You seized again and then started shooting. I should be grateful that in the course of the seizure you managed to turn away from me and you shot out only windows, but see, Mulder, I'm pretty certain it was muscle reflex and not you trying to avoid hitting me." There were tears in her eyes and she wiped at them angrily. "Then you had another seizure, more severe and collapsed on the floor. Since there was a SWAT team and about fifty cops outside, somebody thought to call an ambulance and they took their sweet time arriving. I lost track of how many smaller seizures you experienced until we got you to the hospital. They started you on sodium pentathol immediately. You were so far under by that point, we could have used a small nuclear device in your frontal lobe and I don't think it would have made a tinker's dam bit of difference." For whatever reason, she stopped for a minute. The anger in her eyes faded and was replaced by a great sadness. "Mulder, I won't even ask if it was worth it. I'm going to tell you. It wasn't. You almost lost it all last night. If it weren't for the drug and the hole in your forehead, you would be on permanent disability this morning. The doctor wanted to put down a diagnosis of temporary epilepsy, but I got him to revise that. I was afraid that if the Bureau saw that, if it ever got back to them . . . Don't you see it doesn't matter if anybody else shuts us down, Mulder? Don't you see you're doing it for them, now?" "I wanted to remember. I did remember," he said weakly. It sounded lame even to his own ears. "I'm sorry, Scully. I'm really sorry." "You know, Mulder, our parish priest, when I was a kid, used to tell us that 'sorry' was only half the apology. The other half was trying to make sure you don't ever do the sin again. And I can't believe you're ready to do that, Mulder. I can't believe that you won't run off and do something this . . . this damned STUPID . . ." She stopped and he could see she was physically biting her tongue to keep from saying more on the subject. When she could finally look at him again, she took a deep breath. "It doesn't matter. You're on so much shit right now, you'll wake up in the morning and think you had a conversation with a big purple dinosaur." "When can I leave?" he asked, not really expecting the answer he was hoping for. "The neurologist brought in a cardiologist last night after you went arrhythmic about 4 am. He wants you here for another 48 hours and then they'll do a stress test on your heart. That should take a couple of hours. If it goes well, they'll release you. If there was damage, they'll want to do surgery." She was glaring hard at him but she softened when he realized exactly what she was saying. "My heart?" "Yes, Mulder, your heart. What, you think you can do this shit and just walk away?! Everytime you had a seizure your heartrate shot up into the 150's. After last night, it's a wonder you didn't have a full blown attack. Instead you settled for little 'burps'. They gave you nitro last night. And then, toward morning, the seizures started lessening and getting further apart. That helped. You haven't had one in about an hour and a half. You're probably due," she added, a sarcastic note coloring her words. "One more thing, Mulder. What did you say to your mother?" He bit his lip but didn't answer. "The reason I ask is because I called her last night, to let her know that you were in the hospital and since she was close I offered to go get her. She informed me that she would be available if 'arrangements had to be made', but otherwise, I wasn't to bother her again. She wants nothing to do with you. Now, what the hell--" "It's nothing Scully. It's how it's always been. Situation normal, all fucked up," he said casually, but she could see the pain in his eyes. This whole thing was getting to both of them and she realized it wasn't going to get any better by rubbing salt in old wounds. "I'm going down to get something to eat. Since you're awake, I'll have them bring you a tray. Do you want anything--besides the standard order of sunflower seeds?" she asked, her voice finally sounding like Scully, his partner, and not Scully, his keeper. "A big glass of iced tea would do wonders right now," he said, giving her a half-smile. "If I can find some decaf, I'll bring it back. And I'll see about getting you cut loose from the Velcro, if you promise not to try and get out of bed. You'd get tangled in the tubes and end up in the orthopedic ward anyway, if you tried." "Scouts honor," he vowed, holding up the three fingered salute. "Right," she said and it was clear she just barely believed him. She turned to leave. "Scully," he called to her. She stopped at the door and turned toward him, waiting. "I really am sorry. Don't worry, OK. I have to do this." He wanted to tell her more, to tell her he wasn't worth all the effort, but the words just stuck in his throat. "Too late, Mulder. Worry is in my job description. And there are other ways of finding the truth. We both know that. Don't go into the darkness without me, OK?" He swallowed, but said nothing. She closed the door softly behind her and let the tears fall. the end