Title: A Slight Detour Author: Sally Bahnsen bahnsen@alphalink.com.au Summary: A fill in the blanks for 'Detour'. Category: MT, UST Rating: PG Archive: anywhere you like. Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully aren't mine. They belong to CC and 1013. If they were mine, I'd take care of them a whole lot better than what they are doing at the moment! Authors notes: I originally wrote this story 18 months ago under another title, 'Detour through the Ads." I didn't post it to any lists, and it was my first solo writing effort. This one is a revamped version and I would be very surprised if anyone recognised it from the old one. Mainly because I don't think any of you would have read the old one Special thanks to Vickie, Suzanne and Laurie for beta reading this. You guys are great! And Kristen and Judie, just for being you. Feedback and constructive criticsm is really, really appreciated, and I always write back unless something unforseen happens. Like my 13 year old son deleting all my emails for the past 4 years. bahnsen@alphalink.com.au A Slight Detour By Sally Bahnsen *************************************** "Mulder?" "MULDER!" Fear crawls along my spine like a spiteful, evil serpent. Where the hell is he? If this is Mulder playing games I'll kill him myself. Then I hear it. A strangled cry. "..ully!" "Mulder!" I call his name, all the while moving, searching, heading to where he was last standing. The forest plays tricks with my hearing, confusing me, making it difficult to determine from which direction Mulder's frantic pleas are coming from. I make my way through the thick undergrowth, branches whipping at my body, tangling around my legs. With trembling fingers I hold my weapon out in front of me, ready, waiting. My arms ache, too long locked in this position. I relax my grip slightly to keep my balance. Where *is* he? "Scully!" His cry is desperate, muffled. I whirl around, turning my head, trying to find my partner. "Scully!" This time I see something. Trees moving, Mulder being dragged, struggling with his captor. What the hell *is* that thing? I see an image but it's blending in with the forest. I fire four more shots and hope to God I don't hit Mulder. Surprisingly, the thing lets go of him and flees into the bushes. My arms are locked again, gun poised in front of me. What if there's more? I spare a look for my partner sprawled on the ground, blinking as if he's just woken from a shocking nightmare. By some miracle, he still has his weapon and I find myself wondering how he has managed to hold onto it. If ever there was a time it would be understandable for his gun to be missing it would be now. Fear pulls his features into a taut mask. He's as scared as I am. My heart pounds so hard it feels like it might leap right through my chest. "You okay?" I ask as I continue to sweep the area. "Yeah, I think so." A hesitant reply, his voice shaky. I have an overwhelming need to tend to him, but my FBI training is fully engaged and I won't move until I know it's safe. A few more seconds and all is quiet. A little too quiet, but I waste no more time waiting, not when every nerve ending in my body is screaming at me to help Mulder. I lower my gun and return it to its holster, remaining alert, fully aware that the creature could return at any moment. "Mulder!" I gasp as I kneel beside him. My God, there's blood all over him. How could he possibly be okay? His eyes are darting between me and the thick growth surrounding us. He makes a move to get up. "No, don't, just stay there till I check you out." "I'm okay, Scully." "You are *not* okay. You're hurt. Now let me see how bad." I've seen plenty of blood in my career as a pathologist, but when it's someone you know, someone you care about, it's not the same. It's difficult to remain detached. I've certainly had a lot of practice doctoring Mulder, but I still can't get used to seeing him injured. As always, I attempt to push my personal feelings to the side and rely on my professional armour to keep me focused. It helps. But just once, I would like the opportunity to behave only as a friend, allowed the luxury of being worried and concerned instead of the responsibility of saving him. We are friends, there's no doubt in my mind about that. What there is between Mulder and me goes beyond mere friendship, it's something that can't be defined. Something unique, special. Priceless. A soft moan pulls me from my musings and reminds me there's business to attend to. I guess the adrenaline rush is over, time to play doctor. Damn! I don't have the medical kit. Well, why would I? Michelle was carrying everything we needed. Even venturing out here with Mulder I didn't anticipate anything like this. We were only going to be gone a few hours and in the case of an emergency, Michelle had food, water and medical supplies. She was experienced and I for one thought we had everything covered. I could kick myself of course. I should trust my instincts, and, taking past experience into account, should have realized that Mulder, plus wilderness equals the need for my own personal medical kit to be on hand. No use crying over what should have been done, my partner is hurt and I am just going to have to make do with what's available, which doesn't amount to much. The first thing I need to determine is how badly he is injured. A quick visual examination tells me he has some superficial cuts and abrasions on his face. Not too serious. I feel his head, looking for bumps or deeper cuts. Anything that may indicate a more severe head injury. I move my finger across his eyes. Mulder knows the routine and he tracks my finger without being asked. I smile to myself as I regard how much medicine I actually get to practice on my "accident prone" partner. "Did you lose consciousness at all, Mulder?" "No." He doesn't elaborate and I figure he's still coming to terms with what happened. I take a closer look at his upper torso. His jacket has some blood on it but it's his t-shirt that has the worst of it. The material is shredded and there appears to be a deep gash across his shoulder, still oozing blood. "Apart from the obvious damage to your shoulder, are you experiencing pain anywhere else?" He shakes his head no. His eyes look slightly glazed, and I wonder if he's really with me. Shock could be camouflaging the pain from other injuries and it may not be registering. Better to err on the side of caution so I continue my physical examination of him. His left arm is held stiffly across his chest. "Mulder, I want to have a look at your arm, make sure you haven't broken anything. I'll be as gentle as I can, but let me know if I'm hurting you, okay?" "Scully I told you I'm fine, really." He sounds lucid enough, but he's fooled me before. "Just humor me, Mulder, I want to be certain." He moves his arm slowly in my direction, a good sign in itself. I take his arm and run my own hand gently along its length checking for any unusual deformities or tenderness. The arm seems fine and I move to his shoulder. Mulder gives me a lopsided I-told-you-so look and I match it with one of my own as I touch his shoulder and he gasps in pain. My self-satisfaction is short-lived as a surge of guilt rushes through me, being proven right by hurting him was not my intention. "Sorry." There is nothing that would indicate a dislocation. I pick up his arm and gently rotate it at the shoulder. He hisses but I still see no sign of a break. No clicking or grating of the bones. No deformity. "I don't think you've broken anything, possibly some ligament damage. You're going to be in some pain." "Well thank you, Dr. Scully, but I could have told you that myself." I ignore his sarcasm, he tends to get that way when he's hurting. Instead, I search my pockets for something to stop the bleeding. As luck would have it, I find an old but clean handkerchief, along with a half packet of peppermint lifesavers, stuffed in there from God knows when. I pull out the handkerchief and hold it up triumphantly. Mulder just stares at me wondering what the big deal is. "To stop the bleeding from your shoulder." He can be so obtuse sometimes. I lift the shredded material from around his wound and carefully place the folded handkerchief over the top of the gash, applying pressure. A quiet whimper escapes as Mulder bites down hard on his bottom lip. I know it's gotta be hurting him but at the moment I'm more concerned with stopping the blood oozing from the cuts and protecting the wound from being invaded by some nasty little forest germ. Fortunately, there have been no major blood vessels or arteries damaged and after a few minutes the bleeding is controlled. I leave the handkerchief there and replace the damaged material of his t-shirt over the top, hoping it will be enough to keep the makeshift pad in place. Leaning over I reach for the zipper and fasten his jacket. Its going to be damn cold in the woods tonight. Already the temperature is dropping as the sun slips behind the trees. I stand up and take a good look around with a view to spending the night out here. It's doubtful we'll be missed for a few hours yet and then unlikely that a search party will find us till morning. I haven't a clue as to which way is back and I have no intention of attempting to walk out of here tonight. Mulder makes a move to get up and this time I let him. We need to find somewhere a little more sheltered than here but there doesn't appear to be a lot of options. Once on his feet, Mulder takes a few faltering steps, moving a little closer to my side. I take a couple of seconds to look him over. "Mulder, are you okay?" I ask, my voice echoing the worry I feel. I reach for his arm as he sways to the right. He stares right through me, eyes glassy and unseeing. Without further warning, his face completely drains of color and his knees slowly buckle beneath him. "Dammit!" I grab him tightly around the waist before he falls, and lower him awkwardly to the ground, laying him on his side. I rest my fingertips against his neck. Pulse is a little fast and not as strong as I'd like. His skin is cool and damp under my touch. I was just beginning to think we'd avoided shock, but, apparently not. Great. I need to get him warm but how the hell am I going to manage that out here? Another quick scan of the area reveals a clearing a little way off to the left. I think I see a log or something that will offer us some shelter. "Okay, Mulder, you're gonna have to help me out here. There is no way I can carry you that far." I give him a gentle shake not wanting to aggravate his injuries. "Mulder. Come on partner, time to wake up. Mulder!" Consciousness slowly returns and with it I gather, so does the pain. His eyes are now squeezed tightly shut, no longer relaxed in a state of oblivion. He lets out a low groan and moves his right hand to his left arm hugging it close to his chest, at the same time curling his body into a ball. I place my hand on his forehead and brush back his hair. "Hey, Mulder. It's me, Scully. Can you hear me?" "Mmm." His breathing is fast and shallow, coming out in little puffs, matching the rhythm of his body as it starts shivering uncontrollably. "Mulder, talk to me. I know you're hurting , but I want you to try and relax. Let's try some nice slow breaths, okay? Breathe with me. In. Out. In. Out. That's it, you're doing great." His breathing slows down, body no longer taut, only the white-knuckled grip he has on his left arm betraying the severity of his pain. As his respiration returns to normal the violent shuddering also subsides. He opens his eyes and looks up at me, brow furrowed, reflecting his discomfort, but he does seem to be more aware. "Scully?" "How are you feeling?" "Like shit," he moans. Ah yes, my partner sure has a way with words. "I'm not surprised, Mulder. I want you to lie back. You're in shock." I hear the tension in my voice. There is nothing useful at hand to prop his feet up and the lack of resources is starting to tell on my patience. Time to take up the challenge and improvise a little. I shuffle down by Mulder's feet and lift his legs onto my lap. "Scully, what are you doing?" "I'm raising your feet higher than your heart. You should know the procedure by now." Once again I hear myself snapping at him again. I take a breath to calm my nerves. When I speak again it's more gentle. "It's just for a few minutes, till your color improves and the dizziness abates." He seems satisfied with my explanation and lays back in acceptance. It only takes a few minutes before he looks better. The man's resiliance never ceases to amaze me. He has more lives than your average cat. Ideally, I would have liked to have given Mulder more recovery time, but nightfall is creeping in a little faster than I anticipated and I'd prefer not to be trying to find our way to the clearing in darkness. "Can you try and sit up for me, Mulder?" With my help he manages to get upright but his eyes squeeze shut again and his breathing quickens. "Slow, even breaths." I remind him. "Scully?" "Yeah?" "I'm gonna be..." the words are lost, as are the contents of his stomach. He shoves me to the side and proceeds to vomit all over the nice little patch of forest undergrowth by his head. I recover my balance and crouch down next to him, one hand resting on his forehead and the other supporting his uninjured shoulder. Eventually, the vomiting turns to dry heaves and then that ceases, too. He slumps back against me and I help him move away from the mess, laying him carefully on his good side. His face is pasty, a fine sheen of sweat stands out on his brow. "Mulder, you don't do things by halves, do you?" I remark, exasperated that things have an uncanny regularity for turning out like this for him. But at the same time I am reminding myself that it was me that forced him to sit up--probably before he was ready. "I always say... if you're going to do something...do it right." He offers me a wry smile and I shake my head wondering why he seems to attract trouble the way he does. We should be spending the night in a nice hotel in Orlando, courtesy of the FBI, not stuck out in the middle of nowhere, freezing our butts off. I should be practicing my social skills, not medicine. Mulder wipes his mouth on his sleeve. We have no water so there is nothing for him to rinse his mouth with. I remember the half-packet of peppermints in my pocket and offer him one. It's gotta be better than the taste in his mouth. "Thanks," he says and gratefully accepts the mint. "Mulder, we need to get moving. I saw a place not far from here that might be suitable to spend the night." He lifts an eyebrow in a suggestive smirk. "Agent Scully, are you coming on to me?" Yep. He's feeling better. I ignore this remark just like I ignore all the other hints and innuendo. One day, when he least expects it, I just might call his bluff and see if he's as good as he'd like to have me believe. With stiff legs protesting, I stand and reach out my hand to help him up. He sighs and I hear him mumble, "Can't blame a guy for trying." As he gets to his feet I drape his right arm over my shoulder and guide him to the clearing. We make it without further incident. By now it is quite dark and the stars are beginning to sprinkle the sky. I ease Mulder down by the log, he leans his head back and closes his eyes. Even the short distance here has taken its toll on him and I notice he is once again hugging that left arm close to his body. It's going to be a long night for him without painkillers. While Mulder rests, I gather some dry leaves and twigs intending to build a fire. The only problem is: no matches. So, time for some more improvisation. Although I've never tried it, I've seen and heard it can be done. You just have to hit the rocks the right way, get the spark to land on the dry leaves and pray it will be hot enough to ignite. Leaving Mulder to sleep, I scouted around the area for suitable rocks to use. However, I'm beginning to think that "rock fire-lighters" are all a figment of someone's overactive imagination. After constant rock bashing, I am no closer to having a fire than I was half an hour ago. I hear stirring behind me, the noise must have woken Mulder. "You were an Indian guide, help me out here," I suggest hopefully. "Indian guide says maybe you should run to the store and get some matches." "I would but I left my wallet in the car." I realize that this rock- hitting exercise isn't achieving anything so I move back to Mulder and start working on plan B. I saw this guy once on TV use the powder from a bullet to start a fire. So I figure; how hard can it be? Mulder asks me what I'm doing and I tell him. He seems very negative, not what I'm used to hearing from him. I explain that his body is still in shock and he needs to keep warm. "I was told once that the best way to regenerate body heat was to crawl naked into a sleeping bag with someone else who is already naked," he recites as he snuggles closer to me. Oh this is too good an opportunity to let go. "Well if it starts raining sleeping bags, maybe you'll get lucky," I remark casually. The look on his face is priceless. Why is it that you never have a camera when you need one? I bite back a smile and get on with my task. While I fiddle around with the casing on the bullet, my thoughts turn to my recent fight with cancer. I wonder if Mulder has ever thought seriously about dying. When I question him, his reply is flippant, mumbling something about the Ice Capades. Typical Mulder response. Over the years, I've learnt he masks his pain with humor. I know the subject of death is still a little sensitive with him, so close to my remission. I decide to push on anyway. I want to explain how I felt during that time, how I feel now. I must admit though, that it's making me nervous opening up to him like this. It's not something we do well with each other. Both of us find it so much easier to keep our personal feelings hidden, safely tucked away out of harms reach. After my brief explanation of my battle with life and death, Mulder, true to form, side steps the difficult issues and lightens the mood with humor again. This time I let a little chuckle escape my own lips. Finally, the casing comes apart and I move to the "fire" and put plan B into action. Unfortunately, it doesn't quite happen like it did on TV. In fact it doesn't happen at all. So we are still fireless. I was kind of hoping to use the fire as a deterrent to keep the thing that attacked Mulder away. What did Mulder call them? Mothmen. Surely he can't be serious. "Mothmen? Really?" "Yeah. But there seemed to be only two of them." Okay, so he's still sticking to that theory. Now is not the time for debating the finer points of moth creatures. Mulder is still in shock and needs to get warm. I return to the log and decide that I am personally going to have to be the one to do this. Snuggling up a little closer to him I gather him in my arms and attempt to pull him onto my lap. I can still feel him shivering but he resists and tells me he doesn't want to wrestle. "Get over here I'm gonna try and keep you warm." He winces as the movement jostles his shoulder, but he settles on my lap and I give his arm a gentle rub, not realizing that even this light contact is hurting him until he grunts with pain. "Sorry." He tells me one of us needs to stay awake, but it's not necessary. There is no way I will be falling asleep tonight. "Why don't you sing something?" WHAT?! "No, Mulder." "If you sing something then I'll know you're awake." "Mulder you don't want me to sing, I can't carry a tune." "Doesn't matter, just sing anything." The fact that I am even considering this proves how comfortable we have become with one another. Funny how Mulder can get me to do things that I would normally consider out of character for me. Well, if nothing else maybe it will keep those things--I can't quite bring myself to call them mothmen--away. So I break into my own rendition of "Joy to the World." I really liked that song when I was a kid. I can't help feeling somewhat foolish, but stick with it anyway. Eventually Mulder falls asleep and I stop my "singing". The silence of the night is almost tangible after the sound of my voice. Once again there is no noise. No night creatures scuffling, no crickets or tree frogs chirping. Nothing. Suddenly I feel very alone. The cool night air surrounds me and I shiver involuntarily. I hug Mulder closer, seeking the comfort and warmth of his body. It feels good to hold him, to take care of him. In the last year I've had to depend on other people as I battled my cancer. It owned me. In so many ways I lost control of my life, my independence. Everyone telling me what to do. The doctors: in charge of my treatment. My brother Bill: telling me how I should live the rest of my life. Even my mom: wanting me to return to the church. Although Mulder very rarely mentioned my illness, I could feel him hovering, trying to protect me. And all those times I had to leave him on his own, unprotected, working without back up while I had treatment. I thought if I continued working, denying the existence of the cancer invading my body, not talk about it, then I could pretend it wasn't there. I hated not being in charge of my own destiny. But here I am. Still on the X Files. Still with Mulder. It feels wonderful to be functioning again in my full capacity. No longer vulnerable to the disease my partner helped me fight. Mulder stirs in my arms and I calm him down, shushing him and rubbing his back. He settles and drifts back to sleep. It's my turn to protect him now, I won't allow myself to fall asleep and put him in danger. So I remain alert to our environment and alert to Mulder's needs. This is how we stay until morning peeks its head above the horizon. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 5.00am My legs are cramped and my backside is numb. It's been a long, slow night, as nights tend to be when you are uncomfortable. Mulder is sleeping peacefully now, having reached that pre-dawn deep slumber. The one you get just before the alarm goes off. I sit here awhile and watch the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. Admire the long lashes framing his eyelids. He looks so peaceful when he sleeps, not a care in the world. But the call of nature is louder than Mulder's gentle snoring and must be obeyed. I slide myself from under him and he doesn't even twitch. Put the man in a bed and he's awake all night, but here, in the cold; injured, and now lying on the hard ground, he sleeps like a baby. The first rays of the early morning sun are streaking the sky, lighting the forest in a warm, golden glow. As I return to Mulder, I notice some wild berries growing under a bush. The sight of them reminds me how hungry I am and my stomach growls in agreement. I am just in the process of gathering a bunch for Mulder when I hear his worried call. "Scully?" "I'm over here." I shout back unconcerned. He asks me what I'm doing and I tell him I'm looking for food. "I wouldn't go far." he warns. "Mulder you never left my sight." Sheesh! WHUMP! The next thing I know I'm flat on my stomach spitting out dirt. Now what? As I carefully rise to my feet I hear Mulder calling me again. "Scully?" "Down here!" "Where?" "I fell down a hole." I reply as I dust myself off. "Are you all right?" He asks a little unsure. "Yeah. I landed on soft dirt. Kind of." Mulder asks what's down there. I start to tell him when I run right smack bang into Michelle. "Jeezus," I gasp, but quickly recover and reach for her pulse. Mulder asks if she's alive and I tell him not for much longer if we don't get her some help. He is still speaking to me from above the hole, which I now see is more like an underground cave with passages branching off in all directions. Wait a second. I see something glowing. Oh, God, they look like eyes. "Mulder, I'm not alone." I call up to him, trying to keep the rising panic out of my voice. I instinctively reach for for my gun. It's not there. "I don't have my weapon!" This time I *know* there is fear in my voice. "Mulder?" "Hold on. I'm gonna drop my gun down." I hear it clunk and reach down to pick it up. As I turn back towards the eyes I hear something thud on the ground behind me. It's Mulder. He's landed awkwardly. I notice out of the corner of my eye that he is clutching his arm again and groaning. I try to see if he's okay and help him up when he yells my name. I turn quickly firing off a couple of rounds at the approaching mothman. It drops to the ground and I let out a long sigh of relief. We move closer to get a better look at it and I can't believe what I'm seeing. "There has to be a scientific explanation for this." The words are out before I realize I've spoken them. Mulder just stares at it, silent. We keep ourselves busy attending to the injured. We found the boy's father alive as well. Unfortunately some were not so lucky and as we stack their bodies near the opening of the cave we hear someone calling. "We're down here," we both respond, glad that the rescue party has finally arrived. It's Agent Kinsley. He wants to know what we're doing down here. Mulder and I just look at each other, momentarily lost for words. He has got to be kidding. We tell him we have injured people and need a ladder. He moves off, hopefully to get help. The lull in activity gives me a chance to check on the injured, Michelle being my first priority. She's still breathing and her pulse is relatively strong, amazing considering what she must have been through. It suddenly occurs to me that I haven't seen Mulder for the last few minutes. In a moment of panic I consider the possibility that the mothman we killed may have friends down here. "Mulder!" Silence. I call a little louder. "MULDER!" "Mmmm." It sounds more like a groan than an answer, but it's enough of a response for me to find him. He's leaning against the cave wall in a darkened corner, hunched over and hugging his left arm tightly to his chest. "Hey. Are you okay?" I ask hesitantly. "It hurts, Scully." The words are muffled, lost in the folds of his jacket where his chin is buried. "Come over here in the light where I can see you better." I tuck my hand under his good arm and coax him to his feet. He stumbles slightly as he stands and hisses as the movement jars his shoulder. "Here, sit down." Gingerly, he lowers himself so he's sitting on the ground then looks up at me, the lines around his eyes telling me just how much he really is hurting. Resting my fingers lightly under his jaw I tilt his head up so I can get a better look at him. Sweat has gathered on his brow in large droplets, some trickling down the side of his face. Errant strands of hair lay matted against his forehead, glued there by dust and his own perspiration. I put my hand to his head and he leans into my touch. He's a little warm but not too bad. "Not doing so good, eh, partner?" "My shoulder is burning, Scully. It just started when we finished moving the bodies. It's really hurting." He closes his eyes and tries hard to stifle a groan. I start to tick off the possible reasons for his pain. Infection seems the most likely, but what worries me is the type of bacteria that may be causing it. I can't help wondering if the mothmen might be carrying some new type of mutated bacteria, something science has yet to determine. I shake my head, dismissing that theory, I have definitely been working with Mulder for too long. I'm sure it's just a regular infection, nothing a course of antibiotics won't be able to fix. I hope. "Shit, Scully." Mulder slides to the left folding over his injured arm, eyes squeezed tightly shut, his face frozen in a grimace of pain. "Hang on, Mulder." I lean in and speak quietly to him, before running back to the opening. "AGENT KINSLEY! HURRY UP WITH THAT LADDER!" No answer. Dammit! What the hell could be taking them so long? They knew we had injured people down here. I go back to Mulder and squat beside him. "Mulder?" "Mmm." "Sit back a bit. I want to check your shoulder." The previously white handkerchief I'd used for padding is now soaked a deep crimson. I pull it back and Mulder gasps as some of the dried blood catches on the deeper of the gashes. The wound is oozing again, around the edges the skin is red, swollen and puffy, the symptoms looking more like an infection two days old or more, not a few hours. No wonder he's hurting. I begin to think my theory of a mutated type of bacteria isn't so far-fetched. How could the infection have set in this fast and this severe? Without the proper medical supplies, there's not a lot I can do. If that damn rescue party would just hurry up, I'd be able to give Mulder the attention he needs. Sighing in frustration, I replace the sodden handkerchief, it's just going to have to make do for now. "Agent Mulder? Agent Scully?" Stonecypher's voice echoes through the cave. Leaving Mulder, I make my way back to the opening. "Have you got the ladder?" I ask. "Right here." Kinsley's face appears beside Stonecypher's and he lowers a ladder down to me. "Where's Agent Mulder? Shouldn't he be helping you?" "Agent Mulder is injured and needs urgent medical help. Agent Kinsley, can you send someone in here to give me a hand?" I pull the ladder down and adjust it so it lays firmly against the opening. I needn't have worried about help. Within ten seconds of the ladder being lowered there are several Search and Rescue personnel entering the cave. Two stretchers are passed down to them and I point them in the direction of Michelle and Mr. Asekoff before returning to Mulder. His face is bathed in sweat, the lines around his eyes bearing witness to his agony. "Hey, partner. Help's here. Do you think you can make it under your own steam or will I organize a stretcher?" "No...stretcher." He pants. "Give me...a hand...I can...make it." I spare a quick look to see how things are progressing with the other two casualties. Both Michelle and Mr. Asekoff are ready to be moved. I catch the eye of one of the rescuers and beckon him over. "How is he, ma'am? Would you like us to send down another..." "No...no, that won't be necessary, but I could use some help getting him out of here. Careful of his shoulder, he's in a lot of pain." Mulder drags an eyelid open to see who I am talking to. "I...told...you...I can...make it." I lean in close to Mulder, uttering words meant only for him. "I know you can, G-man. But lets give the nice man something to do. He's come a long way to rescue us." I lightly squeeze the hand locked in a death grip with his upper arm. "Come on." Mulder succumbs to my suggestion, his will weakened by pain and fever. With the help of the other man, the task of getting him to the top is a lot easier. I climb up first, the rescuer bringing up the rear, first holding the ladder still, then following Mulder as he struggles towards me. Once out of the cave, people swarm around us. Volunteers, Agents Kinsley and Stonecypher, and finally the sight I've been waiting to see; a paramedic with a big medical kit, packed full of decent bandages, antiseptic and painkillers. The man who helped us out of the cave makes his way over to the EMT, half carrying my semiconscious partner. I spend minimal time introducing myself to the medic, "I'm Agent Scully, I'm a medical doctor and I need fresh bandages, antiseptic and the strongest Tylenol you've got. My partner, this man here," I nod towards the two men struggling beside me," has been attacked by an unidentified assailant. He's lost some blood, the wound is infected and he's in severe pain." To the man's credit, he doesn't question me or second guess what I've told him. He opens the medical kit and starts complying with my requests. "Dr. Scully, my name is Steve. Just let me know what and when you want it and it's yours." "Thanks." I smile at him. "Agent Scully? Is there anything I can do?" Agent Stonecypher squats beside me. "No, everything's...um, actually yes, we could really do with some water. Would you mind?" I ask, remembering Mulder's bout of vomiting and the fact that we've had nothing to drink in nearly 24 hours. And he's going to need something to help him swallow down the painkillers. Mulder is lowered to a nearby log, our log, the one we spent the night beside. He sits on the edge, exhaustion dripping from every pore in his body as he struggles to remain upright. Stonecypher gives him a dubious look then turns to me. "Is he going to be okay?" "He is if I have anything to do with it." I answer. "Um, the water? Please?" "Sure thing, Agent Scully." Then thankfully she disappears. "Scully?" Mulder looks up at me from under lids that hang heavy over his eyes. "Yes?" "If we have to ride back to the airport with those two, please, just shoot me now and throw me back in the hole." "Come on, Mulder, they're not that bad." I say as I pull the bloodied handkerchief from his wound. The bleeding has stopped and while the skin surrounding the gash is still an angry red, it doesn't seem to have gotten any worse. I relax a little and figure that once we get his pain under control he should be okay until I can get him to an emergency room for some proper care. "Steve, can you pass me the antiseptic, please?" "Agent Scully, here's that water." Stonecypher hands me two bottles." "Thanks." I turn back to Steve, "and the Tylenol. Three of them." Mulder gratefully swallows down the pain killers, gulping the water and nearly choking in the process. "Hey, take it easy, partner, or the pills are going to come straight back up again." He doesn't bother answering me, instead swipes at his mouth with his sleeve before taking another, more controlled swig. It takes me about fifteen minutes to swab the wound with antiseptic and put a clean covering of gauze over it. Having something more than an old hankerchief to work with allows me to get a better look at the cuts. I am surprised to see there is nothing obvious, like dirt or splinters embedded in the skin, just four neat scratches, the two in the middle are the deepest and the ones responsible for soaking the padding earlier. The fact that the cuts are fairly clean puzzles me even more as to why infection should have set in so quickly. Something in the claws of the mothmen? Some type of venom maybe? I'd really prefer to get Mulder to a hospital, and get started on a culture to determine what type of bacteria we are dealing with. Right now, I think I'd have about as much chance of moving Mt. Rushmore as I would have of transporting Mulder to the emergency room. So for now I remain content to leave it at clean bandages and painkillers and plan to work on getting Mulder the right medical care later. I'm not sure if it's the Tylenol or just being free of the cave, but Mulder's features seem to relax into a more comfortable expression. The protective hold he's had on his arm for the past few hours slackens and he opts for just resting it across his stomach. It never ceases to amaze me how quickly he can bounce back from dire situations. So severe were his symptoms just half an hour ago that if anyone had told me that mere Tylenol would take the edge off his pain I would have scoffed at them, in my heart I really didn't think we were going to get away with anything less than a shot of morphine. But once again Mulder's amazing recuperative powers rise to the top and he really is starting to look better. We manage to walk the few hundred yards back to the rescue base camp. Mulder treading carefully and slowly with two burly rescuers flanking our sides to make sure we arrive safely. Michelle and Mr. Asekoff are loaded into the waiting ambulances. They are both lucky to be alive. Mrs. Asekoff is walking beside her husband, her eyes shining with unshed tears, relieved to have him back in one piece. I breathe a sigh of relief myself. Now that the excitement has died down, there is nothing left but an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion and an urgent need for a hot shower and something to eat. Under the influence of Extra Strength Tylenol, Mulder has found his second wind and is caught up in the investigation again. Something written in a nearby shelter has caught his eye and he is currently involved in thoughtful conversation with Agent Kinsley. That's enough for me. I'm out of here. An all-nighter in the depths of Florida's wilderness is enough for me to be cured of my occasional need to get back to nature. I seek out Agent Stonecypher and let her know that I'm going back to the motel to grab a shower and pack up our things. One of the rangers is heading back to town, so I catch a ride with him, leaving the rental for Mulder and the "dynamic duo". ********************************************************** The temptation to linger under the hot spray of the shower is overshadowed by the need to be finished with the packing before Mulder and the others arrive back. So instead of the three-hour shower that I'd like to have, I settle for ten minutes. God, it feels so good to have the smell of rotting vegetation gone from my hair and my skin. It takes only a few minutes to pack up my room before I move onto Mulder's. As I enter the semi-darkened room-- Mulder never opens the curtains, seemingly content to live in the bat cavelike environment--the smell of stale cheese and old wine hangs in the air. I guess housekeeping hasn't cleared away my little attempt at fraternizing with a fellow agent. I'm not sure what I was thinking bringing a tray of wine and cheese into Mulder's room. More to the point, I'm not sure what I was expecting. I guess the relief of being cancer-free was pushing me past my usual boundaries when it comes to socializing while on a case. Well, strictly speaking we weren't officially on a case, and had we continued our journey and reached our destination, we would have been sharing wine and cheese anyway. Albeit at the team building seminar, surrounded by a whole bunch of other agents, not a quiet rendezvous in a motel room. But...Mulder being Mulder he found something more interesting to capture his attention than a glass of wine and a piece of cheese with me. Why should I be surprised? Like his namesake, when he picks up the scent, nothing will stop him until he's found the truth. Or more lies. I guess if I really thought about it, his snub at my offer of spending some downtime together did hurt a little. Until he flashed me that maddeningly, endearing, boyish grin of his. Then the anger flowed out of me, taking the strength in my knees with it. The man could charm the leg off a chair. I should have known better though. Mulder take up a chance to be social? It's not in his genes. He doesn't even notice how every female head turns in his direction when he walks into a room. And the fact that he's unaware only makes him all the more attractive. I can't help smiling to myself when I see those adoring looks from the opposite sex and all Mulder can do--in his oblivion to their advances-- is spout off some new and outlandish theory. But that's Mulder. And in all honesty, I wouldn't want him any other way. Well...maybe just a little more socially adept would be nice. I stroll around his room collecting the bits and pieces strewn from his bed to the bathroom and across the bureau. His suit pants are hung casually over the back of a chair, belt dangling to the floor like an uncoiled snake. His white dress shirt is flung in a corner by his overnight bag, along with yesterday's boxers, socks and tie. I scoop them up and stuff them into his bag. I take a little more care with his pants, rolling them up and placing them on top of the other things. The lap top isn't here, probably already stowed away in the trunk of the car. All that's left is a quick check of the bathroom. Laying on the sink in a pool of water is his toothbrush, tinged slightly blue with old toothpaste. His deodorant and shaver are side-by-side next to his toilet bag. The bathroom still has the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air. The smell is comforting, familiar. Mulder. And a little stirring deep in the pit of my stomach startles me, forcing me to face feelings I am unwilling to contemplate at the moment. Urging me to go places I'm not ready to visit. I gather up his things with a little more urgency, no longer feeling comfortable handling his personal belongings. I make one last quick scan of the room to make sure nothing is forgotten. Suddenly there is a desperate pounding on my motel room next door. Confused, I stick my head out and see Mulder. He looks relieved to see me and I'm wondering what his problem is as he pushes past me to come inside. "Let's get outta here." His eyes dart about the room. "'kay." "Did you pack everything?" He picks up one of the bags. "Yes." I give him a long look wondering what the sudden tearing hurry is. Physically, Mulder looks much improved, but if I didn't know better I'd swear something has him spooked. Maybe I'm overreacting. He *is* just recovering from being attacked by some kind of unidentified species. We throw the bags in the back and I notice Agent Kinsley's jacket sprawled across the seat. After two-seconds thought, I decide to hand it back to him at the airport. Exhaustion and hunger have lowered my patience and my tolerance. The thought of being trapped in the car with those two is almost worse than the thought of having to explain this little escapade to Skinner. With some luck and some fancy driving, we may even arrive at the airport before them and I can just leave the coat at the airline desk. "Ready Mulder?" "More than I've ever been. Let's go, Scully. The Florida sunshine has kinda lost its appeal for me." "I know what you mean, Mulder." I turn the ignition over and hit the road. City living never looked so good. ___________________________________________________________________________________ THE END