From: vmoseley@mail.fgi.net (Vickie Moseley) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: THE FIGHT (1/?) Date: 27 Apr 1996 14:35:46 GMT OK, folks. Never let it be said that I didn't have a few old (moldy) stories sitting on my hard drive for times when MaryKate screams "We Are Out Of Stories!" I did this one a while back, but it was fun, so what the hey, right. MSF--yeah, that's right, it's strictly friendship. I am not turning in my relationshipper merit badge, I just needed a change of pace. No Spoilers (it's old), some naughty words (I'm in politics, give me a break) and no guns and bombs although there is one white paneled van. Disclaimer: If you decide to sue me, even though I do not intend to infringe on your copyright, Mr. Carter, keep in mind that I have nothing but debts children and you don't really want them Thanks. Comments to me, vmoseley@fgi.net. I have my really neat e-mail program now and I love using it! The Fight by Vickie Moseley Washington DC outside the FBI Building August 11, 1995 11:56 am Dana Scully had stormed out of the building so fast that she almost ripped her purse strap on the door handle as she left. After a violent tug, the strap had fallen free and she continued to stomp down the few steps and onto the sidewalk. She was all the way to the corner and waiting for the light to change when she heard him coming up behind her. Fox Mulder was at least a foot taller than his diminutive partner and had much longer legs, but even he couldn't keep up with her when she was angry. And today, she was angry--at everything, but especially at him. He tried frantically to remember if the last time she had gotten this mad at him had been toward the middle of the month, too. PMS. That could explain everything. But how to go about proving his theory, short of following her into the bathroom or, worse yet, asking her outright, was beyond him. he decided to himself. As she heard his footsteps slow down and could smell his aftershave, she suddenly saw red. "Mulder, get the hell away from me," she growled, just as the light changed and the pedistrians from the other side of the street started toward her. She stepped off the curb, her heel caught in a chink in the pavement and she started to stumble. Strong hands grabbed her arm, and gently helped her regain her balance. The minute he did it, he knew it was the wrong thing to do. That was what started the whole argument in the first place: his overprotectiveness. he reasoned. As she glared up at him, fire in her eyes, her answer was unspoken. She whipped her arm out of his hand so hard, it stung. But it was the look in her eyes that hurt more. "Scully, can we talk about this over lunch?" he asked meekly. "If I had to eat across from you right now, I would only throw up," she seethed. "Then can we go somewhere on the Mall and just sit for a minute. You know, outside of the building. Someplace quiet," he suggested. A gleam formed in her eyes. "Someplace with no witnesses," she hissed. "Scully, I did not do anything that I haven't done a thousand times before," he objected, trying with one last hope to defend his actions of the previous day. By this time in the argument, he was having difficulty remembering exactly what he had done to set her off. They were on the other side of the street now and suddenly she stopped, dead. She put her arms on her hips and looked up at him with the same kind of fury she usually reserved for serial killers and people she was just about to blow away. "Get it through that think, testosterone-saturated, male head of yours that I do not need, do not want to be your little china doll! Now, if you don't leave me alone, I am going to count to three, pull my gun and shoot you where you stand, Mulder!" There is a very good reason why retreat is a battle strategy-- sometimes, it's the only thing that works. He bit his tongue to keep from saying something really stupid and turned around to return to the building. he reassured himself. She would go window shopping, grab a sandwich with enough sprouts on it to choke a cow, soak up some August sunshine and Baltimore smog that hung over the city at this time of year, and come back down to the basement like nothing had ever happened. he reminded himself ruefully. With a sigh of resignation and with warp speed, his mind started to try and untangle the case that he had left on his desk when the whole fight began. Which explains why he wasn't really looking as he made his way back across Pennsylvania Avenue at one of it's busiest times of the day. =========================================================================== From: vmoseley@mail.fgi.net (Vickie Moseley) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: THE FIGHT (2/?) Date: 27 Apr 1996 14:48:33 GMT The Fight (part two) By Vickie Moseley vmoseley@fgi.net Disclaimer in part one The minute Scully heard the 'thud' and the squeal of tires and the scream, she knew what had happened. Her heart stopped, her stomach dropped out from under her and she almost fell as she spun on her heel and ran as fast as she could to the street. she tried to convince herself. The second she saw the leg, at a very precarious angle, she recognized the suit. It was everything she could do to keep from screaming herself. She shoved her way through the crowd mummuring "I'm a doctor" to anyone who would pay attention. A couple of men heard her and helped her get to the center of the circle that had formed. It was too tight, there was no air. "Could you all please step back," she asked, her voice finally taking on the tone of authority it always had in emergency situations. He was unconscious, lying on his back with his head to the left. His left arm was pinned uncomfortably underneath him, she was certain it was broken or the shoulder was dislocated, maybe both. His left leg stuck out a sickening angle just below the knee. She put her hand on his chest, to check his breathing and immediately started CPR. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of a siren picked at her concentration, but she brushed it aside. Another thought, almost as unbidden, told her that her hand was very wet and sticky where she held his head when she breathed into his mouth. She brushed it aside, too, and focused on breathing, pushing, breathing, pushing, until strong arms gently pulled her up and the paramedics took over. She was so concentrated on her efforts, she fought momentarily to return to them when she recognized the voice. "Agent Scully, let the paramedics take over. Come on, I'll give you a ride to the hospital." It was Assistant Director Skinner, their supervisor. Where he had come from, God only knew. He had probably been on his way to lunch, just like everyone else and just happened to be there. At that point, Scully really didn't care, she was willing to take even small miracles where she could get them. She sagged in his arms and let him guide her back to the office and into the parking garage underneath. Neither spoke on the ride to Georgetown University Medical Center. Walter Skinner wasn't exactly comfortable, pacing the emergency room lounge, waiting for word on Mulder. Usually he avoided the ER, preferring to wait at the office for a call. But this time, he had been on the scene, had seen the whole thing, right down to witnessing one of his agents getting hit broadside by a white van with Maryland plates. That made it all the more personal. Besides, Agent Scully was acting very strangely, something he would expect of her injured partner, but not Scully herself. If she kept it up, he was going to be forced to 'talk' to her about it. Scully was sitting in a plastic covered waiting room chair, staring at the black and white tile floor. She was numb. The driver of the van was a 16 year old boy who had only had his license for four months. It was the first time he had driven downtown alone. He had turned the corner, thought it was all clear, was going a little too fast because he was late picking up his mother for lunch. He had never seen Mulder step off the curb. They had to sedate him, he was still in the hospital in shock. Scully had already called her mother, but had gotten the answering machine. In a few terse words, she had explained what had happened, given the name of the hospital and asked her mom to come as soon as she could. With that done, she had nothing left to do. What she wanted to do was go into the ER and find out what in God's name was taking so long. He had been in there over two hours. She had seen nurses and doctors coming and going and tried to get a look into the curtained dividers, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mulder. One cubicle, at the far end, seemed to have more than its share of activity. she figured. she teased him, and herself. she added. she pleaded. All scientific theory aside, Dana Scully _knew_ Fox Mulder could hear her. Even though she was sitting yards away, with thick walls between them, and she was only thinking, she knew he could hear her. And with that thought, the floodgates opened, and she started to sob uncontrollably. Skinner heard the sobs behind him and his heart sank. He hated this. He knew how close these two were, how much they depended on each other. He had seen Mulder lose it when Scully had been abducted. He should have expected that she would lose it, now, when Mulder's prognosis wasn't that hot. But he had really hoped her mother would be here, or one of the doctors, or *any* one, not just him. Slowly, he walked over and sat down beside her and did the only thing he could think to do: he wrapped her in his arms and held her while she cried. It was the gentlemanly thing to do, but it was the wrong gentleman. Scully fought to gain her composure and finally managed to stop the tears. "Thank you, sir," she mumbled. "I'll be fine. It's just. . ." her voice trailed off and her lips started to quiver again, but she caught herself, and cleared her throat. She swallowed hard and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I wish we'd get some word, you know," she said, and got up to pace the room. =========================================================================== From: vmoseley@mail.fgi.net (Vickie Moseley) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: THE FIGHT (3/?) Date: 27 Apr 1996 14:56:38 GMT The Fight (part three) By Vickie Moseley vmoseley@fgi.net Disclaimer in first part It had been 45 minutes since she had lost it, she figured, when the ER doctor came into the room. They were no longer the only people in the lounge, so the doctor motioned for them to follow him and they arrived at a tiny office with two slightly more comfortable chairs than the lounge. He offered the chairs with a wave of his hand. Scully bit her lip. This was not good. "I'm Dan Pierson, I'm the doctor in charge of ER and I've been working on, ah," he double checked the chart in his hand, "Agent Mulder. I understand one of you is listed as his next of kin?" He looked expectantly at them both. "That would be me," Dana said quietly. Dr. Pierson nodded. "His injuries are severe, but I understand you were performing CPR on him when the ambulance arrived, so you know it wasn't a simple fall. He's suffering from a broken femur, a dislocated shoulder, bruising of the spleen and left kidney that could result in hemmoraging if we aren't careful, but most distressing is the skull fracture. It's severe. He is not responding well at the moment, although he has not met the criteria in his living will to discontinue life saving efforts. All told, he is definitely in bad shape and the next day should make the difference. Either he will stablize, or he won't. It's really that simple. I'm sorry to put it so bluntly, but if there are any other family members, I think you should go about notifying them as soon as possible." Dr. Pierson stood up. "I'm having him moved to ICU as we speak. It's on the fourth floor. You can see him, as soon as he's settled. They can make arrangements there, if you care to stay with him until we know one way or another." Scully nodded silently. Skinner stood up and helped her to her feet. "Come on, Agent Scully. You could use a cup of coffee. Then we'll go check on Mulder." He led her down the hall to the elevator and up to the cafeteria. Once seated, with coffee, Skinner couldn't take it any longer. "Agent Scully, is there something wrong, something you want to talk about?" he asked. He had seen her in emergencies plenty of times, but he had never seen her act like this. Before she could stop herself, the words came tumbling out. "We were arguing. I was mad at him because. . .because he's always so damn protective of me! I had yelled at him in the office, then I stormed out to go to lunch by myself and he followed me, so I told him if he didn't leave me alone I was going to. . .going to _shoot_ him. And then, the idiot didn't look where he was going and got hit by a _truck_, for God's sakes! A frigging truck! Might as well been a bus. He's overprotective of *me* and the minute I'm not there to look both ways before he crosses the street, he gets hit by a truck! And if he dies. . ." she stopped herself and bit her lip so hard she drew blood. She wasn't going to lose it again, not in front of Skinner. Skinner sat there, stunned, for a moment. He hadn't expected this. He figured she would clam up and not talk, like most agents did. This onslaught of emotion was totally unlike anything he had ever experienced from Scully. But the guilt sounded just like Mulder. "Look, Scully, I don't know of a pair of agents, *good* agents, *good* partners, who aren't just a little overprotective. You and Mulder spend more time looking over your shoulders than you do looking forward. You tackle things no sane people would even consider! But that makes you good at your jobs. And to keep from getting killed, you learned to depend on each other. Mulder couldn't care less what happens to his own body. Hell, I spend more time signing hospital reimbursement forms for him than I do for the entire rest of the section! But with you, it's another matter. He *cares* what happens to you. And from where I'm sitting right now, I would say the feeling is mutual. I just thank God you have more common sense than he does or else you two would be on permanent disability by now." "Scully, face it. You argued. Then he walked in front of a van. The two were totally unrelated events. It was an accident. Sure, it could have been avoided, but we can't go back into the past and change the way things are today. We have to live with them the way they are. Right now, Mulder needs you. He needs you to remind him what he has to live for. Come on, I'll go up and help you find the room. Then, I'll head back to the office. You can call me when there's good news." His emphasis on the word 'when' was not lost on her. She smiled meekly and nodded. Georgetown University Medical Center August 15, 1995 4:45 pm Dana was running down the hall and almost slammed directly into the nurse coming out of Mulder's room. The nurse, whose name was Janice and had been a real godsend in the last few days, smiled broadly and held the door open for her. "He hasn't opened those baby blues, but he's coming around," she said happily. "They aren't blue, they're hazel," Scully corrected her breathlessly as she slowed down enough to slide into the chair next to the bed. Without thinking, she reached over and took his wrist, checking his pulse, as she had done about every ten minutes during the first twenty four hours he had been in ICU. Finally, her mother had convinced her to go home and get some rest. The next day, her mother convinced her to go to the office for a few hours. That had become the routine. She had timed exactly how long it took to get to the hospital from the office. 10 minutes, her office door to his room door. 15 minutes if the lights were against her. She had received the call just 14 minutes before. His EEG was showing activity. He was waking up. Somehow, her thoughts drifted to the little military hospital at Eishenhower Field in Alaska. He had been in a coma for so long then. She had been worried sick and far away from home. Once again, he had been alone when it happened. she decided. It was going to be tricky, but somehow, she would stick to him like glue, if necessary. All this medical crap had to come to an end. It just wasn't healthy. Slowly, he moved his head from side to side, almost imperceptably. Then his eyelids fluttered, and he tried to focus. He swallowed a few times, he had been without the respirator for a day now, but his throat was still sore. "Hello," she said, trying to pull his attention to where she was sitting. She was rewarded with his eyes, staring directly at her, trying to focus on her face. "How are you feeling?" she asked. It was her standard question, and almost always got a flip comeback. It was sort of their way of reassuring each other, if they could get through this little routine, him as the comic, her as the straightman, they knew everything was all right. He looked at her, confused. "Throat hurts," he croaked softly. It wasn't what she expected, but it was Mulder, he was alive. She'd take it. She reached behind her to the bedside tray and found the cup of ice chips that Janice always had waiting for just this occasion. She spooned some into his mouth and he swallowed it and nodded for more. She gave him a couple more spoonfuls and put it back on the tray. "Better?" she asked. He nodded. "Are you the nurse?" he rasped. She chuckled at his joke. "No, silly, I'm a doctor, remember?" she teased. But instead of laughing with her, he only looked more confused. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to reach for his thoughts. When he opened them again, he looked scared. "Do you. . .do I know you?" he asked, sounding as timid as a four year old. =========================================================================== From: vmoseley@mail.fgi.net (Vickie Moseley) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: THE FIGHT (4/4 Date: 27 Apr 1996 15:06:02 GMT The Fight (part four of four) by Vickie Moseley vmoseley@fgi.net Disclaimer in part one Suddenly, Dana felt something very cold in the pit of her stomach. "What is your name?" she asked him, looking into his eyes. He sat thinking for a long time. "I. . .I don't know. It. . .it won't come to me!" he whispered. "I do know you, don't I," the words were a statement, more than a question. Scully ignored him. "Do you know what happened? How you got here?" she asked. Again, he thought hard. No flicker of recognition came to his face. He shook his head and then winced at the pain it caused him. Scully reached over and pressed the call button. Janice answered immediately and Scully instructed her to page Dr. Pierson. Then she turned her attention back to her partner. She sighed, heavily. "You're name is Fox Mulder. You're an FBI agent. You were hit by a van while crossing the street in front of the Hoover Building. I'm your partner, my name is Dana Scully. Do you remember _any_ of this?" she asked, pleading. He shook his head and looked even more frightened. Suddenly, Dana realized that he was still in critical condition and this was not good for him. The heart monitor was beeping faster and she could see from the monitor next to it that his blood pressure was shooting up, too. "Listen to me," she said, gently pulling his face toward her so that he was looking directly at her. "You have a concussion, brought on by a fracture to your skull. It is normal for you to have trouble remembering, OK? You have been unconscious for four days, since the accident. Now, I'm going to have the nurse bring you something that will help you get some sleep. You are still a long way from being well, you need to rest so you can get better." She brushed the hair off his forehead. "Are you the only one here? Do I have any family?" he asked, struggling to calm down as she talked. She hesitated to tell him. She had talked to his mother, but the woman had been so distraught that Dana had thought it best that she not make the trip down. His father had been murdered in April, but this was not the time to bring that up. Her own mother had spent quite a bit of time with him in the last few days. She would be coming up in a few hours to sit with him again. He was waiting for an answer. "You aren't married. You're mother is in Massachusettes, where you were born. She was. . .she couldn't make it down right away. I've been here, and my mom has been here. My mom has sort of adopted you, since we've worked so closely together." Janice came in and Scully gave her directions on what tranquilizer to give him. She nodded and left, returning quickly with the syringe. "How about brothers or sisters," he asked, eyeing the nurse warily as she swabbed the joint in his IV and injected the fluid. "You have a sister," Scully started. "But she. . .doesn't live nearby." She hoped that would take care of the matter until he was better able to accept the truth. Besides, as far as she knew, it was the truth. And it was what Mulder believed. He nodded and accepted it as enough. Gradually, his heartbeat slowed to a steady beat and his blood pressure lowered to a more normal range. His eyelids grew heavy and he sighed, taking hold of her hand, he drifted off to sleep. Dana sat there for a long time and held his hand. She was worried. He had been hit in the head before. Too many times, as far as she was concerned. But this was the first time he had lost all of his memory. Sure, he had been disoriented, but he always knew who she was, knew his own name. This was all too strange and she didn't like it one bit. Mulder had been asleep for about 15 minutes when Dr. Pierson arrived. Scully told him the entire exchange, and even how frightened and upset he had become when he couldn't remember. He agreed with her that sedating him was the only answer if he had become that upset. He had left that standing order for just this circumstance. "He's never lost his memory before, in any other instance?" Dr. Pierson asked, going over the inch thick medical file he held in his hands. It occured to her just how many times Mulder had partaken of medical services since she had come to work with him. He might be overprotective of her, but maybe she wasn't doing such a bang up job keeping his head down, from the looks of things. Maybe there was something she could learn from him. "There was once," she said slowly. "He, ah, he was investigating some activity on a military base. I don't know exactly what happened, but the next morning, he had no memory of what took place. He was disoriented, feverish, and shocky for twenty four hours. Then he slept for the next twenty four. When he woke up, we had lab work done, but they found nothing. I think he may have been drugged, he had needle tracks on his inside forearm, but the tests came back negative. That's the only time he has ever lost track of a second of his waking life. He has a photographic memory." "So, did he ever regain the memories of that night?" Dr. Pierson asked. "No. Never," Scully said flatly. Dr. Pierson looked grimly at the chart. "I doubt that it relates to this in anyway. What was he doing immediately before the accident. Was it traumatic in any way?" Scully swallowed hard. "We were, ah, arguing just before the accident. We were yelling, actually. No, that's not right. _I_ was yelling. I was really mad at him and I was yelling. I told him to leave me alone or I was going to. . .to shoot him where he stood," she said quietly, almost like a confession. Dr. Pierson smiled and tried not to laugh. "You sound like my wife and me when we get into it." He put his hand on her shoulder reassuringly. "I don't think that was as traumatic as you might think, Agent Scully. Most men are used to being violently threatened by the women in their lives in the heat of an argument. Usually, they understand it isn't real. What I meant was, had he received any particularly shocking news, a death in the family, something he might want to suppress?" "No. Not recently. His father was killed this spring, but he's had a while to deal with that. There was nothing the other day. We were just getting back from a case and doing paper work." She looked up at the doctor and a glimmer came to her eyes. "He hates paperwork. Maybe this is his way of pushing it all off on me. That would be his style." She grinned in spite of her worry. Dr. Pierson let go of his laugh. "Look, Agent Scully, four days ago, we were worried that he wasn't going to make it through the next 12 hours. Now, he is awake, his vitals are all strong, and we're worrying that he can't remember his name. Somehow, I have a feeling this too will pass. And when that happens, he'll recover, go home and he'll go back to being *your* worry, not mine. I suggest we calm down ourselves and see if time and rest won't do our work for us, what do you say?" August 16, 1995 Georgetown University Medical Center 8:03 am Dana hesitantly pushed open the door to Mulder's room. Janice had assured her that he was awake and had already complained that he wasn't allowed any 'real' breakfast. Dr. Pierson was still concerned about his internal injuries and was keeping him on a liquid diet for the time being. It was music to Dana's ears that he had the gumption to complain about anything and it also indicated that he was hungry--a perennial trait in her hypermetabolic partner. His eyes were closed and he still looked too pale, but he snapped awake when he heard her shoes on the tile floor. He looked at her and smiled wanly. "Hi, Dana, isn't it?" It hurt that he had to ask, but she hid it as best she could and smiled in return. "Yes, it's Dana. I came by before work to see how you're feeling. I hear they won't give you any breakfast." He held up his right arm, securely connected to an IV tube. "Janice said this is breakfast!" he said, glumly. Dana repressed a laugh. "The room service in this place is lousy. I'll tip the matre'd and see if it gets any better." Mulder looked at her, slightly confused. "Room service. . .something about room service. Or service of some kind. . .It was lousy." He was concentrating hard, trying to pull the memory out of his subconscious. Finally, he shook his head, again wincing when he forgot the pain the action caused. Dana leaned over and took his hand. "It's all right. They'll come. It might take time, but you need to be careful. We don't want you hurting yourself trying to remember. Just relax and let the memories come back on their own." "But I have to remember!" he exclaimed. "Do you have any idea what it's like not to remember? How frightening that is? Your mother came by last night. She's such a nice woman. She sat here for the longest time and told me stories about myself--and they felt like they were just that: stories! None of it felt real, none of it felt like it had happened to me! She told me I remember everything. So why can't I remember it now?" He was very agitated and frustrated and the monitors were proving it. Dana reached over and called Janice. "What are you doing?" he asked, grabbing her arm. "Mulder. . .Fox. You are getting too excited. You have internal injuries and this is not good for you. I'm having Janice bring in a sedative, just to help you relax. It will help, I promise. I know how hard you want to remember, but you are going to hurt yourself if you keep this up." Gently, she pulled her wrist away from his hand. "You don't want me to remember," he glared at her. "That is ridiculous!" she shot back, stunned that he would even think such a thing. "No it's not. You don't want me to remember. This way you have a clean slate. I've noticed how guilty you look when you look at me. You did something and you're trying to make up for it. But you don't want me to remember it. So, you don't want me to remember anything at all." He was looking directly in her eyes, trying to gauge the effect of his accusation. "Funny, you can't remember your own name, but you remember how to be paranoid!" she seethed, dropping her gaze so he couldn't see her eyes. She glanced at the door and wondered where the hell Janice was with that sedative. "I'm not being paranoid, if I'm right. And by the looks of it, I'm right. You are being entirely too overprotective of me. So what if I get a little excited!" he shouted. "I'm in a hospital, I can't hurt myself that much. I have to remember. You can't protect me from my memories. I'm not your. . ." he stopped shouting and looked off into space, concentrating. "I'm not your china doll. . ." he whispered. "You said that. You told me that. _Get it through your thick, testosterone-saturated male head of yours that I do not need, do not want to be your little china doll_." A look of sheer amazement crossed his face that he was finally getting somewhere. He looked at her expectantly and waited for her response. Tears were starting to stream down her cheeks. "Out of all the millions of things we've said to each other, Mulder, why the hell do you have to remember that, word for word?" She looked totally miserable, and she felt even worse. Finally, at that moment, Janice entered, carrying the syringe. "Sorry I took so long," she apologized. "We had a code blue going, and I couldn't get away fast enough." She looked at the monitors, slightly confused. "A little elevated, but within normal ranges. You sure you want me to sedate him, Dr. Scully? She looked over at Dana and noticed the tears still dampening her cheeks. "Dr. Scully, are you OK?" Mulder reached over and took Dana's hand. "I think Dr. Scully is in more need of that sedative than I am right now, Janice. But she'll be OK. She's very strong and very capable. She can handle herself and *me* in any situation. Let's hold off putting her to sleep right now." He was smiling broadly at her. "You remember. How much?" she asked between sniffles. "Snatches, but more and more every minute. I remember a boat that was rusting. Being really cold and waking up with you there. It all started to come back when I got mad at you." He grinned at her. "You have a way of getting my dander up, Scully," he said affectionately. Scully wiped her eyes with the corner of his blanket. "It's in my job description. 'Get Agent Mulder's dander up at least once a day.' As a matter of fact, it's in your job description, too. And I have to tell you, Mulder, you are far and away better at it than I am!" the end>