Date: Tue, 15 Jul 1997 Adventures in Babysitting Summary: Scully's thoughts as she gets her first taste of the conspiracy and begins to understand her reckless partner. Dedicated to LuvMulder, Esther Walker, and MacSpooky. Spoiler/Post Episode: Deep Throat Rating: PG Category: S A UST Standard Disclaimer: I have always liked this episode, Chris, so you know I couldn't keep my hands off it. Make you a deal. Finish up the cancer arc, get the movie in the can, take a week off and go surf and then get your butt back and write the season premiere and I promise not to infringe on your copyright. But at the rate you're going, the temptation is getting really hard to ignore. Archivists: Please put it anywhere you want, just keep my name on it. Comments: Please send them to me. I'm thinking of going through the whole first season--what do you think? vmoseley@fgi.net NOTE: Be sure to read MacSpooky's 'Second Case' for another take on this scenario. It's wonderful and I bow in it's presence. Adventures in Babysitting By Vickie Moseley vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com The gun was slippery in Dana Scully's hand, and she gripped it tighter to keep it from sliding out of her grasp. Her gaze, however, never faltered. "You don't want this to come to violence now, Ms. Scully," the would be reporter/turned undercover security guard told her as he, too, gripped the steering wheel more firmly. He was still squinting from where the butt end of his own revolver had made contact with his eye. Hand to hand combat, compliments of the FBI Academy, had never come in handy for her before. In some ways, she was more than a little excited that she'd come out on top of the little altercation. She was finally realizing that she had the makings of a decent agent after all. If she could manage to get her partner back alive. This whole assignment had been a classic 'c-f' from the beginning, as her Naval Captain father had often said (when he thought she wasn't around). In essence, it was a wild goose chase, the goose being one test pilot by the name of Captain Budahaus and the chase ending when the good Captain had returned home, no longer 'kidnapped' and in seemingly undamaged condition. Then Mulder decided to investigate the Captain's memory loss and his own 'lights in the sky' theory, without her, and didn't come back to the motel. It appeared that her wayward partner had managed to get himself 'kidnapped' while investigating the apparently solved kidnapping case. If it hadn't been so serious, she would have laughed herself silly, boarded the next flight to DC and left him to fend for himself. But she couldn't do that. If her father had taught her anything, it was that you took care of your own, whether that be your siblings, you shipmates, or some nutcase the powers that be had assigned to you as a partner. Even if the nutcase had only been your partner for three months, you still did not leave him behind. Not ever. The sweat was dripping down the back of her neck, but her pony tail hid it from view. The security guard was now talking into his little radio, making sure the 'exchange' would come off smoothly. Scully bit her lip as the military jeep pulled up to the fifteen foot high chain link fence and screeched to a halt. "Leave the car running and get out, but slowly," she directed her 'hostage'. The thought flashed through her mind that he really was her hostage at this point. Short of impersonating a reporter (not exactly a capital offense in any state), the man before her had not committed a crime. She had no reason to hold him at gunpoint, save the very real feeling in the pit of her stomach that he knew where Mulder was and what was being done to him. The image of Captain Budahaus, confused, frightened, unable to remember large portions of seemly essential information came to her with terrifying clarity. Just let him be in one piece, she prayed. So I can tear him apart limb from limb on the eight hour flight home. Her attention was glued on the man before her. So much so that she missed seeing her partner's first uneven steps as he got out of the jeep. She finally looked up and saw him stagger a bit. He stopped long enough to listen for a second to the words of the security guard and then, with a confused expression, he stumbled to the passenger side of the waiting car. "Get in, Mulder," she ordered, never taking her gun off the men on the other side of the gate. He stood there for a second, as if he didn't hear her. "Get in!" she said louder, then noticed that it wasn't that he didn't hear--he hadn't understood her words. A worry she hadn't felt before shot through her and chilled her to the bone. He got in the car and fumbled with his belt. She put the car in reverse, not even bothering to buckle up, and peeled out down the road toward town. She concentrated on the road for several minutes, checking the rearview mirror every few seconds for any followers that might be back there. Mulder sat next to her in silence. When they were well enough away and there appeared to be no tails, she turned to him at last. "You OK, Mulder?" she asked. In her heart, she knew the answer and it was not affirmative. Even so, he nodded. "I--I think so," he said hesitantly. Gone was the smart ass FBI agent who had once tried to mentally seduce her with the line 'do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrial?' Just his tone of voice that day would have been enough to file harassment charges. But he had intrigued her, with his quick mind and dry wit. The man sitting next to her was a shell, the outer casing of that Mulder. "Scully?" he asked, and she knocked herself out of her own thoughts. "Yeah, Mulder?" she encouraged. "How . . . how did I get here?" he asked, and the expression in his eyes betrayed not just confusion, but fear. Now she was getting seriously concerned. "Mulder, what's the last thing you remember?" she asked softly, realizing that in his current state, he was more fragile than she'd ever seen him. He paused and thought, his brow furrowed in concentration. "I remember going back to the motel. You wanted to pack up and go home. I remember going out the door." He stopped. He chewed his lip. "What did I do next?" She sighed internally. "Mulder, you took the rental and left me at the motel. You didn't take your phone. You left me stranded, ditched me. You didn't come back all night. I got worried and went to call DC, but the phones wouldn't work. That's when the nosy reporter showed up and I noticed that he had a pretty fancy walkie talkie--for a small town paper. And a gun and security badge from the base in his glove box. The kids showed up and said they took you to the break in the fence, that you wanted to go find 'Yellow Base'. They had left you there about early evening. They were sure you'd have come back. That's when I held the reporter at gunpoint and demanded your return." Surprisingly enough, that invoked a smile out of Mulder. "Gunpoint, Scully? A simple 'please' wasn't sufficient?" he asked, but then he winced and rubbed his left temple with his hand. "My head is pounding." "Do you remember any of that? Do you remember finding the base?" she asked, suddenly very interested in the answer. He shook his head and then laid his head back and closed his eyes. He was quiet for several miles. As they approached the town, the pavement changed and Mulder woke up. "Where are we?" he asked rubbing his forehead again. "Idaho," Scully replied and he shot her a frown. "I meant, are we in town," he answered shortly. "I want to stop off at the Budahaus's. I have to ask the Captain something." Scully frowned and her grip on the wheel tightened. He was beginning to sound like the Mulder she knew, annoying to the last. "Mulder, I don't think that's a good idea. You look like something the cat dragged in and Captain Budahaus was not in much better shape the last time we saw him. I think we should just get our things and head for the airport. It's still another two and a half hour drive from here." He shook his head and she knew that had to hurt from the way he winced. "No, Scully. I want to talk to him. I won't bug him, I promise. I have to find out if the memory loss is permanent. It will only take a minute. Come on, we came all this way, we can spare a minute, can't we?" It occurred to her that as her direct superior, he could 'order' her to drive to the Budahaus house. But that didn't appear to be Mulder's style. She still wasn't sure what his style was, aside from early American Bedlam, but he wasn't the type to order her around. She could very easily refuse and he would grumble, but eventually he would accept her decision. Just looking at him, his eyes pleading with her, turned the tide for her. "Just for a minute, Mulder. Not a second longer," she said firmly, and turned at the light to make her way down the residential streets to the Budahaus home. Mrs. Budahaus met them at the door and refused to allow them in. In the background, they could hear the Captain, his voice harsh, angry, demanding to know who was interrupting them now. Scully grabbed Mulder's sleeve before the door slammed in his face and led him down the stairs. "They got to him, Scully. They got to them," he repeated, his eyes still lost and frightened. He was starting to unnerve her with his strange behavior--almost normal one minute, fearful and paranoid the next. "Mulder, we don't know anything. And that is exactly what I plan on putting in my report. Now, let's get the hell out of here, while we still can." She headed off to the car, not bothering to see if he was following. She didn't look over at him as he opened the car door and got in. He was silent again all the way to the motel. She gathered her bags, which she had packed during the night, and waited in the open doorway to his room for him to come out. As he picked up his bag, his face went white and he dropped the bag and ran to the bathroom. She stood in the doorway, hearing him get sick, wondering what to do. Her first instinct was to run to the bathroom and see if he was all right. Of course he's not all right, stupid, she chided herself. He's tossing his guts out. But it seemed inappropriate for her to invade his privacy by following him into the bathroom. She contended herself with leaning against the door, waiting to see if he called out to her. After several minutes, he reappeared, looking haggard. He splashed some water on his face as he passed the sink and dragged his feet across the carpet. He went to reach for his bag, but she beat him to it. "You thinking of a career change?" he asked. "I hear parking attendants make better money than bell boys." Scully successfully didn't smile at his attempt at humor and motioned him toward the car. They didn't get more than five miles out of town when she had to pull over and let him out. Mulder was sick again, this time falling to his knees. To hell with propriety, she told herself, and this time got out to help him. She held his shoulders as he had the dry heaves. She was getting seriously concerned. "Mulder, I think we need to get you to a doctor." "I thought we had to 'get the hell out of here'?" he shot back when he could. "You are in no condition to get on a plane. I want to have you checked out," she repeated firmly. "Are you always this bossy?" he asked weakly as she helped him up and to the car. She smiled and raised her eyebrow in reply. "I thought so. No wonder Blevins sent you down to me." he sighed and leaned the seat back to a reclining position. Mulder required her to make a couple more stops along the way, and each time he had more difficulty getting back on his feet and to the car. When she got him in the car seat, she noticed he was perspiring and even in the light of the dash, he looked too pale. Finally, she saw the familiar blue and white sign directing her to a hospital. "Hang on, Mulder. We're almost there," she encouraged him. He nodded his head weakly, beyond caring where they were going. It was a tiny hospital, with four curtained cubicles in the ER. The doctor on call looked wide eyed at her FBI credentials and hurriedly directed the two nurses on staff to take blood samples and get vitals. Mulder, for his part, seemed momentarily grateful just to be reclining on the gurney, and appeared to doze off. That worried Scully more than if he had spent the time complaining Her thoughts were a jumble as she sat next to him on a pre-formed plastic chair. He had been fine before he had gone missing. Even the little 'roughing up' he'd received at the hands of the unknown agents' hadn't left any lingering after affects. Mulder had suffered quietly through a cursory exam of her own just to ensure that no serious damage had been inflicted. After she listened calmly to a few snide comments on her voyeuristic tendencies, she'd tersely declared him fit. But that didn't rule out the possibility of something happening while he was gone. His memory loss frightened her, though she was trying not to show it. Very early on in their partnership, his remarkable memory had been a source of constant fascination. While she had to read over reports two or three times to catch all the details, Mulder would read them once and have them memorized, verbatim. If his memory now had a hole in it, the size of approximately 20 hours, what else had been done to him? But how in the world could she find out, and how far could she trust the medical staff at this small hospital to listen to her? She sat, quietly dissolving into worry, until the doctor called her over. "Agent Scully, he's dehydrated, running a temp--it's 102.5 right now. We tried to get some water down him, but he's not keeping anything down. I also found needle marks in both arms, recent. Do you have any idea--" Scully choked but recovered quickly. In the excitement of getting him back and away from the base, she hadn't even bothered to take a look at his arms. If he'd been injected with something, that might explain the memory loss and the vomiting. It was now obvious that something had been done to him. But how far did she want to involve this doctor? Not that far. "I'm aware of those. He gave blood before we left DC. He's a hard stick," she lied. At first it looked like Dr. Hanson was going to call her bluff, but then he seemed to come to some conclusion. Probably plans to check for controlled substances, Scully figured, but held her ground. She said nothing more. After a few moments, Hanson shrugged. "Well, I think his symptoms are severe enough to monitor. It's up to him, but I'd feel better getting him on an IV and admitting him, over night at least," he said with a tired sigh. It was obvious that the best place for Mulder was right where he was, she had no idea what would happen if she moved him. Plus, she wanted to see those lab results as soon as possible. But convincing him that he should stay was another matter. Mulder was stubborn, and usually avoided any medical advice when given. "I'll talk to him," Scully said and walked over to the bed. It took a moment for Mulder to come around. Even then, his eyes held a glassy stare and he looked almost like he didn't recognize her at first. "yeah?" he mumbled and tried to sit up. "It's OK, Mulder. Just lie back. Look, you've got something, a bug or something. Could be a virus, could be food poisoning--at this point we'll have to wait a while for the lab results to come back." She didn't feel like going into the needle marks just yet. "Scully, I've been thinking. I think they did this," Mulder interrupted in a hoarse whisper. She sighed in exasperation. Vomiting and paranoia. With attending fever dreams, she had no doubt. The fact that he was just giving voice to her own fears only frustrated her more. "Mulder, I don't think 'they'--whoever 'they' are--had anything thing to do with this. But even if they did, that's beside the point. You are too sick to get on a plane, and if you stay here tonight, both of us will get some sleep. If I have to take you back to a motel, I'll spend the night sitting up with you while you hold your head in the toilet." "Great bedside manner, Scully. Pathology was a good choice for you," he grumbled. Even so, he didn't put up any objections to the plan. "Whatever," she smiled at him. "I'll tell Dr. Hanson you're checking in. Do you want me to call anybody? Your folks?" "No," he said hurriedly and put his hand on her arm. "Please, Scully, don't call anybody. I guess I should have made that clear earlier, but I don't let my Mom know when I'm sick. She's never been good with things like that--not since Sam. And my Dad--he wouldn't know what to do." "Then who do I call? I mean if anything were to happen--" she asked, a little alarmed at the urgency in his voice. "You'll do fine," he said with a faint smile. "Tell 'em your my next of kin. You're a doctor, you should be able to answer all the questions. Just don't call my parents, OK?" "OK, Mulder, I won't. I promise," she said reassuringly as she helped him shift the pillow behind his head. "The nurse will be here to take you up to your room. I've got to do your admitting paperwork, since you just added some new duties to my job description," she teased lightly, hiding her fears almost as well as her partner usually did. The paperwork involved with admitting him overnight was probably more extensive than if he'd been staying for months. Although she knew most of the information necessary, there were a lot of questions concerning his medical history that she couldn't readily answer. If this was going to be a continuing role for her, she determined to find out all she needed to know. Mulder was sleeping when she got up to the room. The night nurse, whose name tag announced her as Pat, had just finished hanging his clothes in the little closet. "The doctor was looking for you, some of the blood tests are back," she smiled at Scully. "I think he's with another patient right now. He promised to stop back in here before he leaves for the night." She raised the side rail on Mulder's bed and straightened the covers, giving him a sympathetic smile. "What a bummer, all the way across country and sick as a dog. And not one for hospitals, either, from the way he was acting." "I wouldn't know," Scully said with a shrug. "This is my first run in with a 'sick Mulder'." Pat gave Scully's shoulder a squeeze. "It's probably just a virus. Once his system gets straightened out, you can hop a plane and head back home. Have you got a place to stay tonight? You know, these chairs fold out into a fairly comfortable bed, if you're not too 'statuesque', that is," she added with a grin. "I might just take you up on that," Scully returned. It occurred to her that if they--that group of mythical men who had taken him to begin with, were to come back, whisking him out of the hospital would probably be a piece of cake for them. Paranoia was one thing, but caution was another. She wasn't going to leave him alone for the night and give them ample opportunity. Still, she was dog tired and a bed, even a narrow one, sounded like heaven. "You're back," she heard a raspy voice say behind her. She turned around from the door and saw her partner, droopy eyed, struggling to get the bed into a reclining position. "Yeah. I'm back. I signed away your life, your apartment, your car and the rights to your first novel," she deadpanned and sat down next to his bed. "Feeling any better?" He leaned back once he was in a position to see her and closed his eyes. "My stomach feels like it's playing 'Twister'. And my head is still killing me. They don't want to give me anything other than ibuprofen until they know if it's a virus." "I think the test results are in, so that might change. I asked them not to give you much until we had a chance to get the blood samples. Just in case--" His eyes opened and there was a twinkle in them, though just a for a moment. "Why, Agent Scully, is that the opening of a closed mind I'm hearing?" She gave him a scathing look. "Mulder, anecdotal data points to a virus and a lot of coincidence. But I would hardly be flying in the face of science if I also considered the additional evidence of memory loss to the equation." She bit her tongue as she watched his eyes darken. "You still can't remember anything?" He shook his head solemnly. "A black hole, Scully. It's only happened one other time in my life. Another twelve hour period that I can't recall, at least not without extensive trance-like states," he added, but didn't even attempt the grin that usually would have covered his own discomfort. It was the opening she was hoping for. "Mulder, you've told me about your sister's 'disappearance'--" "Abduction, Scully. Please, do me the courtesy of at least calling it what it was," he asked, eyes closed once again, head half buried in the pillow. "Sorry," she corrected herself. "You've told me what happened when she was abducted, but only in the most general of terms. You say you didn't remember. What do you remember of that night?" "Nothing of that night. For a long time, I couldn't remember anything from that whole day or the day before. Slowly, I got back most of that. But from about the time my parents walked out of the door that night until I woke up in the hospital--" She sat up straighter in her chair. "You were hospitalized? Why?" He opened his eyes and gave her a weak smirk. "I experienced 'hysterical catatonia' for a period of about a week. When my parents got home that night, they found Sam gone and me catatonic. My dad called the ambulance and I didn't respond to anything for the next 6 days. I woke up in the hospital and I had no idea how I got there. Then I asked where Sam was, if she was OK, and that put Mom over the edge. The doctor had to sedate her. It was the beginning of the worst month of my life. I was in and out of hospitals for the next four weeks. Finally, my Dad brought me home, flushed all the drugs they had been shoveling in me down the toilet and that was the end of it. We never spoke of it again." Scully sat in horrified silence. She had already spent a few sleepless nights considering how awful it had to have been for him, losing his only sibling and no one knowing how it could have happened. But this retelling of events so long ago ripped at her heart. And yet, here he sat, relatively unscathed for all the wounds he'd suffered. Her estimation of his strengths just increased dramatically. For that matter, he seemed to be taking his current situation very calmly. "Do you think this time . . .?" she asked hesitantly. "Might be like last time?" he finished for her. "I can't really say. It doesn't feel the same. I was dissociative for a week back then. This time I'm just sicker than a dog. I don't know. I think it's more like what happened to Budahaus. I think they just went in and erased a page of my memory. I just hope that's all they erased," he added with a scowl. "Now, if you're done interrogating me," he said with a half grin, "I think I'll try to sleep a little. Whatever they gave me, I think I'm not reacting too well to it. I'm so tired right now, Scully. I just want to sleep." "Of course," she said hastily, and got up to turn down the lights and lower the bed back down. "I'm camping out here for the night, so if you need anything, just call me." "If I'd known we were going to have a slumber party, I would have worn my nicer 'pjs'," he said with an extensive yawn and curled over onto his side. "'Night, Scully," he added sleepily. "G'night, Mulder. I hope you're feeling better when you wake up." Scully waited until she was sure he was asleep before quietly going out into the hallway. Dr. Hanson was standing at the nurses station, writing on a chart. He looked up when he heard her footsteps. "Agent Scully, I was just about to come looking for you. The results are back. From what I can see, it must be a virus we're dealing with. White count is up. No signs of food poisoning or other infections. I'm diagnosing gastrointestinitis and prescribing reglan for the stomach cramping and vomiting, codeine for the headache. If he's progressing by tomorrow at lunch time, he can go home with you." He gave her a reassuring smile. For all intents and purposes, his questions were answered. Scully bit her lip. "May I see the results?" Hanson frowned and she quickly smiled. "I'm a pathologist. Just curious, that's all." He grinned back and nodded then handed her the chart. "He was a little anemic, too. Must have been from the blood drive," Hanson said lightly before turning back to the desk to make more notations on another patient's chart. Or they took some blood for their own tests, Scully mused silently. She looked closely--there was nothing. No sign of a sedative, no traces of any drugs that might lead to memory loss, temporary or permanent. There was nothing. She felt like the floor had just dropped out from under her. She felt Hanson's eyes on her. "Is something wrong, Agent Scully?" he asked. She looked up and into the doctor's eyes. Suddenly, she felt very threatened--she didn't trust this man any further than she could throw him. "No," she covered quickly. "Nothing. It's just so, well, we've been partnered a short time and he's never been sick. Leave it to Mulder to get the flu when we're this far from home." Hanson's face relaxed into an easy smile. "Some partners are more trouble than they're worth, Agent Scully." His smile was all white teeth. Scully nodded silently and hurried back to Mulder's room. Mulder was throwing up again when she got back into the room. She made it over to the bed in two steps, holding the small curved bowl for him with one hand and supporting his head with the other. "Mulder, why didn't you call the nurse?" she sighed. "No time," he gasped. For a moment it looked like he might continue retching, but he swallowed hard and shook his head to clear it. "I'm OK," he sighed and she helped him lean back. "This is for shit, Scully. Where did you go?" "I was talking to Dr. Hanson. I'm sorry I wasn't here." she said sincerely. ""S'ok. All evidence to the contrary notwithstanding, I am a big boy," he said with a tired grin. His face twisted as another cramp hit but he didn't reach for the bowl. "What did the doctor say?" "Stomach flu," she answered. "Mulder, there are tracks on your arms. Needle marks. They weren't there when I checked you over for bruises the other day." "They gave me something. Injection?" he asked, sitting up and then thinking better of it. She'd definitely gotten his attention. Scully shrugged. "The evidence seems to indicate you were injected. Or that possibly blood was taken. The lab results show no traces of any chemical in your blood." "Fast acting. Probably hard to trace. You'd need to look pretty close for it, they wouldn't want it to be found," he sighed. "Mulder, I'm not saying anything. But the doctor also said you were anemic" "That wouldn't make me this sick, Scully. I know. I've been anemic before and all it does is make you tired. Something else is making me sick." "The stomach flu, Mulder. A virus in your gut," she intoned. She could hear him grind his teeth at that answer. "Look, it doesn't matter right now. Since we aren't positive, we need to treat the symptoms. The nurse is going to give you something to stop the cramping and headache. You'll sleep tonight. In the morning, if the vomiting has stopped, we can get the first flight home." "You refuse to see it, don't you, Scully?" he whispered, shaking his head. She just looked at him, pleading with him to understand. "Fine. Bring on the drugs. Tonight couldn't get any worse anyway," he sneered. His words hurt, but there was nothing she could do to respond to them. It wasn't in her to blindly accept. But what she had seen had begun to fan the flames of her own suspicions. Pat came in with the medications. Mulder didn't say a word as the two syringes were injected in the IV port. He turned his head away from her and seemed to be considering the wall paper. Scully pulled the chair out, not bothering with the sheets and blankets Pat had brought for her. She didn't plan on sleeping anymore. She refused to leave Mulder unprotected. Pat turned the lights out as she left, plunging them in relative darkness. Scully tried to get comfortable, but kept her hand on her holster, which she had now clipped on her belt at her hip. She heard the sheets rustle on the bed next to her. "You all right, Mulder," she whispered, not wanting to wake him if he'd fallen asleep. "Yeah," he whispered in return. The room fell into silence again. "Scully?" "I'm right here, Mulder," she answered. "Thanks for saving my butt back there," he said softly. In the darkness, she smiled brightly. "No problem, Mulder. Anytime." His words echoed in her head for several minutes, leaving her with a warm feeling that was softer than any blanket and stayed with her until the morning came. the end.