FOURTH SEASON SPOILER



Mulder deals with paralysis while Scully deals with the

case.  Set during the last few minutes and after 'Teliko.'



Rating:  R for language and violence.  No romance.



Disclaimer:  I don't own the X Files, I just play with

them.  I'll make you a deal, Mr. Carter.  You get rid of

Marita and I'll continue to shower you with the love and

adoration I have for the last three years.  And not

infringe your copyright, either.



Comments (no, I cannot be persuaded to like the blonde

from the UN) to vmoseley@fgi.net.



A Whiter Shade of Pale

By Vickie Moseley



Philadelphia

May 19, 1996



     Fox Mulder shuddered as another drip of water fell

on his head and rolled down his back.  He wiped at it

with disgust and looked up for a source, knowing that it

was unlikely he would be able to pinpoint it.  With a

shake of his head, he moved slowly on.



     <This is one of the dumber things you've done this

week,> he chided himself.  It amused him slightly to note

that whenever he got on his own case, his inner voice

sounded exactly like his partner.  His partner on one of

those mornings when he *knew* greasy french fries and

chocolate shakes would be the menu at lunch and the

phone better not ring too many times or she would shot

it.  Or him.  Or both.  <Yup, you have stuck your foot in

it big time,> his own voice sounded in his head.



     It seemed totally rational at the time that they would

find Samuel Aboah in a deserted demolition site.  The

man worked for a demolition company.  Why this

particular site, out of all the urban renewal taking place

in Philadelphia, jumped out and shouted to him from the

side of the road, he would never be able to tell.  He

wondered again at how far his relationship with Scully

had come.  She didn't even raise an eyebrow.  She had

just followed him into the site, even past the heavy

security chain and padlock.



     <I wish she would have questioned this one,> he

finally decided.  Maybe, if Scully had raised an eyebrow,

had asked 'why this one, Mulder', maybe then he would

have been able to shove the little alarm to the back of his

mind and drive past this site.  But she hadn't.  And so he

couldn't discount the alarm in his head.  And now, he

was sorely wishing he could be like most people and not

hear things like killer's thoughts and ringing alarms in his

head.  That he could turn off his job and just go home at

night, find a nice girl and let her drive him crazy trying to

figure out how to make her happy, maybe even get her

to say 'yes' she'd spend her life with him.



     He glanced over at Scully.  Well, he might not have

the first three items on that list, but he sure had number

four.  After all the horrors they had endured, Scully was

still there, beside him.  Well, actually, in this case, he

was beside her.  This had been her case.  Her

opportunity to shine.  How often did the CDC turn to

the FBI for back up?  <Pretty damn never,> he answered

himself.  And he had to go and stick his nose in, mucking

up her nice, pretty, scientific, it's-just-a-disease,-Mulder

explanation.  And here they were, in an abandoned

building and that damned alarm was sounding so loud in

his head that it was starting to give him a headache.



     This was crazy.  They had to split up.  He motioned

for her to take the left, he would take the right.  They

would stay in earshot, like always.  He didn't want to be

too far away in case she needed him.  Of course, he

would never tell her that was the reason.  As far as she

knew, he just wanted to know where she was if he

needed back up.  <Yeah, right.  I worry about back up

*a lot*,> he laughed silently.  In reality, the only back up

that concerned him was making sure that Scully had

plenty of it.



     The corridor he was going through seemed endless,

but finally opened up in a room.  There was a metal

ladder and Mulder was sure he heard someone up there.

<Nah, it's too good to be true,> he smiled to himself, as

he climbed the ladder.  He flashed his light around the

narrow corridor.  Nothing.  But he heard the noise again.

Cautiously, he started forward.



     <Rats,> he considered.  <Maybe I'm hearing rats.>

He moved on toward the end of the corridor and was

standing on a grate that looked onto the area below.

Suddenly, a sharp pain hit him in the neck.  It wasn't a

bug bite, this had some force to it.  He reached up and

brushed the spot, his finger came back with blood on it.



     "Scully," he shouted, but his voice sounded distant to

his own ears.  His eyes were getting blurry, everything

around him was starting to wave and distort.  "Scully,"

he tried once more, but this time, it was little more than

a whisper.  All feeling left his body and he collapsed

onto the grate.



     It must have been just a few seconds until Mulder

sensed a form standing over him.  He couldn't focus

properly, nothing was working.  Worse yet, he couldn't

feel his legs or his arm or even the grate under his cheek.

<I'm paralyzed,> he realized in a panic.  <Oh, God, no,

not again,> he thought in terror.  The feeling was just

like the last time, the time his sister had been taken from

him.  Except that time, there had been no dart involved,

only a light, a very bright light.  But the end result was

the same, he couldn't move.



     For a moment, he feared that the poison on the dart

would take over his involuntary responses, as well as the

voluntary ones, and that he would suffocate because he

wouldn't breathe.  But he was breathing, and it appeared

that he would continue to do so.  <Maybe this is a good

thing,> he decided wryly.  <If I had any control over my

breathing right now, I'd be hyperventilating.>  But his

breathing remained steady, even though his heart was

pounding at the speed of a race horse after a full mile

and a quarter run.



     The form moved into the light of Mulder's flash and

with a little concentration, Mulder could make out the

face.  Samuel Aboah.  <Big surprise,> Mulder thought.

But there was something different.  Aboah looked

bleached of all color.  Even his eyes were strange, the

bright red pupils staring at him, watching Mulder to see

if the poison had taken affect.  Aboah kicked Mulder in

the stomach.  There was no pain, no movement.  Aboah

smiled and grabbed the stricken agent by the legs and

dragged him down the corridor.



     <Scully, now would be a really good time to show

up,> he prayed.  He had seen the INS social worker and

the prospects of ending up without a pituitary gland did

not appeal to Mulder one bit.  He tried to figure out

where Aboah was taking him, but it was dark, the flash

now yards behind them.  He was disoriented enough

from the poison, there was no way he could keep track

of where they were going.



     Aboah stopped and pulled on something out of

Mulder's line of sight.  He heard metal scraping and then

he was being hauled into what appeared to be an air

conditioning duct.  <Oh shit, visions of Tooms,> he

quipped to himself.  He didn't have time to consider

anything else, because he was being dragged down the

air duct.



     It was so hard to keep the panic away.  He was so

totally helpless, not even able to call out to warn Scully.

<She'll come looking for me,> he reminded himself.  He

remembered that Aboah had left the flashlight lying in

the hallway.  She would see that.  With any luck, she'd

call for backup.



     <And would *you* call for back up, Einstein?> he

asked himself.  <Noooo, and she probably won't either.

She wouldn't want to waste the time or make the noise

that might tip this guy off.>  He became horrified that

Aboah might have more darts with him.  With Scully's

smaller size, one of the darts would have enough poison

to kill her.  <If I get out of this, we are changing

procedure!  Call for back up _first_, then come looking

for the other.>



     "Mulder!"



     He could hear her, beneath them, calling to him.

<Scully!> his mind returned, instinctively.  <Scully, get

the hell out of here and call for back up.  Lots of back

up.  The Fucking Fifth Army, for all I care.>  The

frustration of not being able to warn her was making him

physically ill, but even in that he had no control over

himself.  <Shit, I can't even throw up if I want to,> he

raged inwardly.



     Aboah stopped and dropped Mulder in a heap against

a grate.  Mulder's head fell to the right and now he was

staring out a grate.  <Not much of a view,> he thought.

He could hear, though, and listened as closely as he

could, trying to figure out what the small African man

had in mind for him.  <You know what he has in mind,>

he reminded himself with a mental shudder.  He realized

he couldn't even close his eyes against the horror.  He

could blink, but didn't have the control to keep his lids

shut.  <This stuff _sucks_ big time,> he decided.



     It took a moment for it to sink in, but finally Mulder

realized he was alone in the duct.  Aboah had gone.

<Scully!> Mulder's mind screamed.  <The bastard's

going after Scully!>  It was getting harder to breathe and

his heart was pounding, the blood loud in his ears.

<Calm down.  It won't help to have a fucking heart

attack, Mulder,> he heard her voice in his mind chastise

him.



     It felt like he was in the dark forever.  Occasionally,

he heard a noise.  A thought flashed through his mind,

that in his present condition a sewer rat could gnaw his

foot off and he would never be the wiser.  <Think of

something,> he commanded.  <Anything!  Just think of

something to keep your mind occupied.>



     <What if he kills Scully and then comes back and

finishes me off?>  It just popped into his mind, unbidden.

He tried hard to think of anything else, but the thought

wouldn't leave.  <What will this do to Margaret?  Two

daughters gone.  And it would be my fault.  I promised

her I would protect her daughter.  I deserve to die, but

not her, not Scully.>



     Then, the vision of his own mother came into his

mind.  <Damn it, Mom.  I feel like you have so much

you could have told me.  And we finally had the time.  I

came so close to losing you, and I've been so happy that

you're OK.  I haven't wanted to risk asking.  Now, I'm

gonna die and the search will end.  It will all end, just

like Dad told me when I was in that Hogan.  All end.>

The despair engulfed him and mentally he sobbed against

it all.



     The sound of scraping and movement clawed him out

of his self-induced torment.  <Aboah,> he reasoned.

That would mean that Scully was probably dead.  He

hadn't heard her, but then, she hadn't heard him, either.

He heard more scraping. It was coming toward him,

slowly, methodlically.  The logical conclusion was that

his partner was dead and he was about to die.  <Good, I

wouldn't want to go on without her, anyway,> he

decided and oddly enough, the thought calmed his racing

heart.  <We'll still be together,> he considered.  <Unless

there is a God, and I get what I deserve,> he thought

and the despair enclosed him again.



     "mulder?"



     <Scully?>  Could it be possible?  Could she still be

alive?  <Scully!  Oh God, Scully!>  He struggled to

acknowledge her, even just to turn his head toward her,

but nothing responded.  The panic enfolded him again.



     "mulder" she whispered, her voice full of worry.  "oh

god, mulder," she sighed.  "I'm here."



     She turned suddenly and fired her weapon.  The

panic was gripping Mulder so tight he couldn't breath.

<Not a good time to pass out,> he thought.  <But then

again, not exactly a *bad* time, either.>



     Scully was climbling over him.  He knew that if he

could feel, he was going to hurt.  She was putting

bruises on bruises and there was nothing that either of

them could do to avoid it.  She pushed past him to the

grate and pounded on it with her flash until it broke free.

As gently as she could she pushed and pulled him out of

the small opening, dropping him down to the floor.  She

winced when he hit, and slid boneless into a heap.



     There was a little more light now, with her flash and

his and he could take a good look at her.  She was still

fuzzy and wavy, but it only made her look even more

beautiful than she already did to him.  Quickly, she

pulled out her cell phone and he heard the number pad

sing out 9 - 1 - 1.  <Thank God,> he sighed.



     The operator was giving Scully a hard time, he could

tell by the tone of her voice.  <Badge number, Scully.

Always give them the badge number FIRST, then the

rest.  You know that,> he chided her.  A movement

above her left shoulder caught his eye.  He wanted to

turn his head, and tried, but nothing happened.  <Damn

it, I HATE THIS!> he screamed.  Not only couldn't he

move, he couldn't even feel anything.  He was beginning

to think it might be a permanent condition.  The only

thing he could do was watch.  He focused his eyes on

the movement.  Red eyes gleamed back at him.



     Aboah!



     <Scully!  Scully!  Behind you!  Look behind you!> he

ranted on silently, knowing full well that she could not

hear him.  <Eye contact, I have to get eye contact with

her,> he ordered himself.  He stared at her, hoping the

horror in his eyes might break through to her.  <Come

on, Scully, work with me here,> he begged.  But then,

he considered that he probably looked pretty stupid,

afterall.  He knew his eyes were open as far as they

could be, it was the only movement he could make and

allowed him to focus.  She had to look directly at him,

she had to 'see' into his mind.



     <She'd not a mind reader, dumbshit,> he chastised

himself.  But then, there had been times . . . many times

that there was only one explanation for her sudden

appearance or her flash of understanding.  Maybe, just

maybe she COULD read his mind.  <Come on Scully!

I'm SCREAMIN' it here.  THE BASTARD IS BEHIND

YOU!  TURN THE FUCK AROUND AND SHOOT

HIM!>



     And suddenly, she looked over her shoulder at the

spot where he had been staring.  Just as Aboah leaped

down to the floor, she fired and Aboah crumbled into a

heap.



     For whatever reason, the poison, the fear or maybe

the relief, Mulder passed out.



Northeast Georgetown Medical Center

May 20, 1996



     "How's he doing, Scully?"



     Somewhere in a fog of cotton and cobwebs, Mulder

heard the voice of his Assistant Director.



     "The doctor thinks the poison is almost out of his

system, sir.  He's moved a little in his sleep," came the

voice of his partner.   She sounded tired, exhausted.



     "Then why is he still unconscious?"  Mulder was as

curious to hear that answer as his boss.



     "A combination of things.  The poison, for one.  It

affects the central nervous system.  He still isn't

responding to stimulus."  Mulder did a little test of his

own.  Nothing.  He couldn't feel a thing.  The fog was

looking good again.



     "Permanent damage?"  Again, Skinner seemed to be

coming up with all the good questions.



     "They've done a CATscan and did an EEG last night.

There were some spikes on the EEG that could be

considered abnormal, but not alarming.  They plan on

another one in the morning.  Hopefully there will be no

permanent damage.  But it's very hard to tell.  This

concoction is ordinarily used to kill animals in the wild.

We aren't real sure of it's affects on humans."  Scully was

silent for a moment.  "You know, Marcus Duff was

moved out of ICU.  He should be released in a week to

ten days."



     "No, I hadn't heard," Skinner said slowly.  "That's a

good sign, isn't it?"  Mulder couldn't hear the answer.

There was more silence.  "Let me know if there is any

change," Skinner said and Mulder heard the door swing

open and then click closed.



     There was a soft rustle of cloth and then a squeak of

a chair spring.  Just on the edges of his consciousness,

Mulder felt <felt!?> something, a soft weight on his arm.

It felt warm and filled him head to toe with an incredible

joy.  <I can feel that!  I can feel my arm!  Her hand is on

my arm!>  It gave him the courage to attempt the

impossible.  Concentrating his efforts, struggling against

the fog and the mist, he felt his eyelids slowly slide open

and with an effort, he focused on his partner sitting by

his side.



     She noticed the change immediately.  There was that

smile, the one she always gave him.  The best 'welcome

home' he could have hoped for.  She tightened her grip

on his arm.  "Hey there.  How are you doing?"



     He tried to answer her.  God help him, he tried.  But

the control was not there.  It had exhausted him just to

open his eyelids.  She noticed the anguish in his eyes.

"It's OK, Mulder.  The poison is still hanging around in

there.  They tried to find an antidote, but nothing has

worked.  We're pretty sure it will dissipate on it's own.

Till then, can you blink for me?" she asked.



     He tried again.  <What is that code?  Oh, yeah, one

for yes, two for no.>  He blinked once and nearly passed

out from the relief.  At least he could communicate on

some level.



     "I take that as a 'yes'," she smiled again.  Then her

expression grew serious.  "Mulder, are you in pain?"

Two blinks answered her.  "Good, but I think that might

change.  You look like the 'geek' we meet in Circustown.

All black and blue marks.  Can you feel anything yet?"

One blink.  Again, good news.  "OK, now for where.

Your legs?"  Two blinks.  "Your arms?"  One blink.  She

smiled brightly.  "Hey, it's a start, right?  And it means

that it will all come back with time.  Now, I think you've

had enough excitement for a while.  You just rest now, I

need to talk to your doctor.  I'll be back."  Before she

got up, she ran her hand through the hair on his

forehead.  He could feel her hand, warm on his skin.  He

looked up at her and blinked, once.  She smiled even

brighter.  "We're making progress," she told him and left

him to fall back to sleep.



May 22, 1996



     "Mulder, don't start with me," Scully sighed in

frustration.  "You are not ready to go home.  You still

can't stand without your knees turning to jello."



     "I would have been fine, I just moved too fast.  I

want to get out of here, Scully.  And speaking of jello,"

he rasped, "I'm not eating that shit."  Jerking a bit, he

pointed to the green glowing pile in the bowl on his tray

table.  "Looks like . . .ectoplasm," he said in disgust.



     "If I could find some red jello with bananas in it,

would you 'try' to eat some?" she offered, teasing him.



     "No," he said, crossing his arms.  When he had woke

up, he had feeling--bruises on top of bruises and a

sprained shoulder from the fall from the duct, but with

feeling.  And motion.  Not very steady, and it was only

with a firm grip on the IV stand he had made it to the

bathroom before the nurse surprised him and he landed

on the floor.  Still, even his partner was having a hard

time coming up with reasons for him to stay much

longer.  But he knew the real reason.  Everyone was

giving him that psychobabble again.



     "The nurse told me you had a nightmare last night,"

Scully said quietly and waited, watching him.



     "So?" he returned.  He was the psychologist here.

Did he ever tell her how to perform an autopsy?



     "She said you were screaming that you couldn't

move."  Scully sat down next to him on the bed.  "Want

to talk about it?"



     He resolutely stared at his hospital wrist band.  "No."

It wasn't that he didn't want to talk about it.  He

_couldn't_ talk about it.  It was too frightening, now that

it was over.  How could he tell her what it was like?

How horrifying it was to just lie there, aware of all that

was going on, but totally unable to do anything to

change it?  How helpless he felt?  How much this

experience had brought back all the feelings he had after

Sam's disappearance?  He knew she would understand,

he just couldn't make his mouth form the words--

couldn't even let his mind form the thoughts.



     She nodded slowly.  "Mulder . . ."



     He looked at her and their eyes locked.  After a few

seconds, she nodded again and let a small smile, a

knowing smile, grace her lips.  He didn't need to say the

words.  She understood.  "I'm here," she told him, but

the spoken words were like an echo to the thoughts he'd

already heard.



     He smiled back.  "I knew that already."  He could get

through this.  And she would be there to catch him if he

fell.  He let the silence settled again.  "Of course, you

might decide to run off to the CDC, . . ."  He was

teasing and she knew it.



     She was happy to see the mischief in his eyes and

laughed in response to it, a bright, happy sound rang off

the walls of the small private hospital room.  "Right,

Mulder.  Not a chance.  If it's one thing I discovered

during this case, those guys at CDC are a bunch of 'light

weights'.  Too ready to accept the first half-baked

plausible conclusion.  Afraid of what a little

'investigation' might dig up.  I'd be bored to tears in a

week."  She patted his leg affectionately.  "I'll get the

doc to commute your sentence.  I'll be back after lunch

to spring ya."



     "Thanks," he said with a nod.



     "Don't mention it," she answered.



the end