Title:  Days of Bile and Roses
Author:  Vickie Moseley
Summary:  Post ep for Tooms.  Mulder is experiencing 
a some residual affects after his run in with Eugene.
Written for After the Fact challenge
Category:  MT
Rating:  PG (but bodily fluids are discussed)
Disclaimer:  I never could have thought Mulder and 
Scully, they are too perfect.  I probably would have 
had a hard time coming up with Eugene Victor Tooms, 
even though we share a name <VEG>  So I can't profit 
off their use, but I can play with them to my hearts 
content.  No copyright infringement intended.
Archives:  ATF first, all other yes.
Comments:  The Official Guide says that Doug 
Hutchinson 'relentlessly lobbys' for a return 
engagement as Eugene Victor Tooms.  Somehow, I don't 
think Chris/Frank/David will bother to bring him back 
for the finale, but wouldn't he make a kick-butt MOTW 
for the movie?  Maybe we should start a letter 
writing campaign now and see what it gets us?

City Center Mall
Baltimore, MD
9:49 pm

Scully, I'm fine.  It's a few scratches," Mulder 
assured his partner as he continued to wipe yellow 
bile off his face and arms.  "This shirt is a total 
loss, though," he added ruefully, shaking his head.

"Even a scratch can get infected, Mulder," Scully 
informed him, weaving her hands around his frantic 
wiping and leaning in to get a good look at the three 
or four gashes on his arm.  "And with what we know of 
Tooms . . ."

"Oh, now you're just trying to scare me, Scully," he 
told her with a frown.  

"Do you know the contents of human bile, Mulder?  The 
chemical make up?  Exactly how the human digestive 
system works so that even the strongest animal muscle 
cells are broken down into useable form and the rest-"

"I can't figure out why they let you go at the 
Academy, Scully.  Your lectures had to keep those 
recruits in stitches," Mulder told her over his 
shoulder as he started to walk away.

"I'm serious, Mulder.  I think you should get a 
tetanus shot at the very least.  And go on 
antibiotics for a week."

"Two words:  Managed Care," he said, passing the 
gurney with Tooms body in a black bag.  He stopped 
for a moment, staring at the still form.  A shiver 
ran down his spine as he remembered the feel of Tooms 
hands on his arm, the long fingers clawing at his 
flesh, trying to pull him back into the tunnels and 
eventually the nest.  

An orderly from the Medical Examiner's office pushed 
the gurney toward the waiting van.  Mulder watched it 
for a second and then headed quickly toward the exit 
and his car.

"Mulder, it would take half an hour at the urgent 
care down the street," Scully was talking to him all 
the way out to the car.  "Please.  For me?" she 
pleaded.

"I'm fine, Scully.  Really.  What I need more than 
anything in the world is a hot shower, a cold beer 
and my couch.  In that order.  Now, if you'd care to 
join me . . ."  His eyebrows danced above his eyes 
and she shot him a well-placed glare.

"Fine.  But I do want to look at those 'scratches' in 
the morning," she shot back, settling into the 
passenger seat of his car.  

"I don't know if Skinner will take kindly to us 
playing 'doctor' in the basement, but I'm game if you 
are," he grinned.  He grinned all the more when she 
pointedly ignored him the whole trip back to her 
apartment.  At least she softened enough to tell him 
goodnight as she got out of the car.

His apartment was lit only by the fish tank lights as 
he came out of the bathroom an hour later.  His gray 
tee shirt and sweats felt wonderful after the 20 
minute hot shower.  All he could think of was getting 
that beer, flipping on the television and seeing if 
there was anything left of the Chicago-Seattle 
basketball game.  Jordan always racked up the points 
in the last quarter so it could still have some life 
left. 

He settled on the couch, Rolling Rock in one hand, 
remote in the other, and let his mind drift to the 
sound of leather ball on wooden court.

A few hours later, he woke up hungry.  Very hungry.  
Rolling over on his side he dragged himself off the 
couch.  He felt more tired than when he fell asleep.  
With dragging steps he walked out into the kitchen.  
It was dark and he didn't bother to turn on the 
lights, just pulling open the refrigerator door for 
illumination.

Mostly empty space stared back at him.  A couple of 
take out containers, one that he recognized from at 
least two weeks previous, so he just grabbed it and 
tossed it in the direction of the garbage can.  With 
sagging hopes he opened the freezer.  If nothing 
showed up soon, he'd be forced to call that 24-hour 
pizza place and then deal with the gas all day.  
Scully would not be pleased.

The door to the freezer was sticking.  He'd have to 
mention that to the super.  Or, worse yet, consider 
defrosting it at some point.  Only his apartment 
complex would think to save money by equipping each 
unit with a non-frost free fridge.  But with a few 
good tugs, the door swung free and revealed the 
contents.

There were plastic bags of something in there.  
Several plastic bags, all stack haphazardly upon one 
another.  They weren't frozen, they looked as if 
they'd just been tossed in the freezer.  He picked 
one up for further inspection and it felt warm to the 
touch.  Bringing it close to his face he started to 
realize what he was holding . . .

His own scream woke him up.  He shot straight up from 
his position on the couch.  Cold sweat ran down his 
face and back, he was shaking and had a hard time 
catching his breath.  He tried to clear his thoughts 
but he couldn't get the dream out of his head.  
Livers!  Raw livers.  And not the kind that his 
mother used to fix with onions and a little sage and 
he'd cut into small pieces so he could feed it to the 
dog when she wasn't looking.  

Human livers.  A freezer full of human livers.

"It's a dream," he said out loud, as much to convince 
himself of the truth of the statement as to convey 
that information to his uninterested fish.

But the shivers persisted and the cold sweat was 
making his tee shirt stick to his back and sides.  

"You won't be able to go back to sleep until you go 
check out that freezer," he said, again out loud.  
Funny how it felt better to talk out loud after a bad 
dream, as if the sound of his voice could scare the 
monsters back under the bed.  He stood up on shaking 
legs and promptly clipped his shin on the coffee 
table.  He felt drunk, but he'd only had the one 
beer.  Evidence of that fact sat on the offending 
piece of furniture.  One beer.  What the hell was the 
matter with him?   

He stumbled most of the way into the kitchen, 
flipping on the light switch this time.  It was not 
the time for macho displays of bravery, he just 
wanted to assure himself that his freezer was empty 
and go back to sleep.  His stomach definitely wasn't 
hungry.  If anything, it felt like it was going to 
rebel at any moment.  

Each step he took toward the refrigerator was harder 
than the last.  His feet felt like they were attached 
with lead weights.  The distance seemed to be 
doubling before his eyes.  Damn, when had his 
apartment gotten so big?  But finally he reached his 
destination.

Slowly Mulder raised his hand to open the top door of 
the fridge.  As his fingers curled around the handle, 
he stared in amazement as they seemed to curl a 
little too much . . .

This time he wasn't screaming when he woke up, he was 
vomiting.  Directly on the coffee table.  Mostly 
liquid, it came hot and fast through his nose, his 
mouth.  The sour taste of beer intermingled with 
whatever else was there and a small, detached part of 
his brain wondered if he'd have to start drinking 
wine coolers now because he'd never be able to look 
at a Rolling Rock again.

When he was finished, he sagged heavily back on the 
couch.  I won't look, I won't look, he told himself, 
too weak to even utter the words aloud.  But after a 
moment he did look.  He dragged his hands up in front 
of his face and cried in relief when they appeared 
perfectly normal, right down to the hangnail on his 
left ring finger.  

Another dream.  But had he awakened the first time or 
not?  They were all running together.  He'd had that 
happen before, one dream flowing into the next with 
not real transition, just like flipping channels on 
the remote.  So it was all a nightmare, the same one 
apparently.  The freezer full of livers, his fingers 
suddenly ten inches long as he reached for the 
refrigerator door.   A dream.  A doozy of a dream, 
but a dream, nonetheless.  Maybe he should have eaten 
something after all.

He glanced out the window, it was still night.  The 
sweat was slowly drying on his skin and his head was 
clearing now, too.  He looked over at the coffee 
table and grimaced.  Bachelorhood had never looked so 
gruesome.  But there was no one around to do it for 
him, so he pulled himself up and gathered rags and 
the mop from the hall closet to clean up the mess in 
the living room.

He was almost finished when there was a knock on the 
door.  A quick look at the clock and he knew it had 
to be Scully.  Only Scully would come by his place at 
3:10 in the morning.  

"Scully, what are you doing up this late?" he asked 
as he opened the door, but it wasn't Scully on the 
other side.  He recognized the detective as the same 
man who had arrested him just a couple of days before 
for assaulting Tooms.  

"Detective Briggs?  Can I do something for you?" he 
asked, not bothering to stand aside.  The asshole 
wasn't coming into his house without a warrant this 
time.

"Agent Mulder, have you been working on a serial 
murder case with a suspect named Eugene Victor 
Tooms?" Briggs asked, apparently unaware that is was 
the middle of the night.

"Yes.  The suspect is currently in the Baltimore city 
morgue, under guard, if I'm not mistaken.  Why, what 
business is that of yours?" Mulder shot back, a 
little offended by this intrusion.  His legs still 
felt weak from his recent dreams and activities and 
he really just wanted to try and get some sleep.

"The bulletin you put out is still in effect.  And 
there's been another murder.  This time in 
Georgetown.  I saw it when it came over the wire and 
remembered your case, since I had somewhat of a 
connection to it.  Thought you might want to check it 
out."

"Georgetown?" Mulder asked, stepping back into his 
apartment to grab his tennis shoes by the door and 
his keys from the desk.  He pulled the shoes on his 
feet as he walked back to the door.  "Do you have an 
address?"

"Yeah," Briggs answered, taking out his notebook and 
flipping to the last page.  "Looks like an apartment 
complex.  It's just off Wisconsin."  He showed the 
address to Mulder who went white and almost 
collapsed.  Briggs caught him under the arm.  "Maybe 
you should stay here."

"No, no, I have to go," Mulder said weakly.  It was 
Scully's apartment complex.  Scully!  He had to find 
out, he had to know.  Forcing himself to stand up 
straight, he looked the Detective in the eye.  "But 
first I need to make a phone call."

"Sure, take your time.  The stiff's not goin' 
anywhere," Briggs said with a shrug.

Mulder's stomach was in knots and the sweat was now 
flowing in rivers down his back.  He reached for the 
phone with fingers so cold the plastic felt warm to 
the touch.  As he hit the pound symbol and the number 
one on the touchpad, he thought he saw something 
brown under the nails on his hand.  Bringing his 
other hand up to his face for further inspection he 
realized it was blood.

Hands were suddenly grabbing him, pulling at him, 
lifting him.  He thought he heard a zipper, a long 
zipper being pulled down and felt his body being 
lowered on plastic that crackled and stuck to his 
skin. Then the zipper was being raised and it covered 
his face and he knew they thought he was dead but he 
wasn't dead hewasn'tdeadhewasn'tdead

"Mulder, stop fighting them, they're just trying to 
help."  Scully's voice, trying for calm, but it 
sounded tense on the edges, like she was frightened.  
He tried to open his eyes, but they were stuck 
together and it took some time.  Even after they were 
open something was obstructing his vision.  He 
couldn't see her clearly.  But even blurry, that was 
her face, her hair, her voice.  She was with him, she 
wasn't dead.  

"I didn't kill you?" he croaked from under the oxygen 
mask.

"Ma'am, we need to get him in if we're going to get 
this fever down," some voice above his head was 
talking, but all he cared about was Scully, that she 
was all right.

"Yes, of course.  I'd like to come with you.  I might 
be able to keep him calm in the ambulance."

Mulder didn't' care what else happened, as long as 
Scully was there.  He all but shut out the EMT's 
answer, just tried to find her hand, but his own arms 
were strapped down and he was having a hard time.  
She noticed and reached down to take his hand in 
hers.

"What happened?" he croaked.  His throat felt rough 
and dry and it was hard to think but he wanted to 
know what was going on, how much was dream and what 
was reality.

"You didn't come to work today.  I figured you were 
sleeping in, after your all night stake out night 
before last.  But when I called you, you didn't pick 
up.  I came by after work and found your apartment 
door wide open, the freezer door to the refrigerator 
open and you lying in a pool of emesis on the floor 
of the living room.  Since you don't own a 
thermometer, I had to guess at your temp, but it was 
well over the 'done to a crisp' level, so I called 
for an ambulance.  See, Mulder, I told you we needed 
to get those gashes checked out!"

"It was all a dream?  I didn't become likw Tooms?" he 
rasped, verifying what he thought she was saying.

"What, like the manitou, Mulder?  He scratched you 
and you become like him?  If that were the case, how 
come I didn't become a liver eating mutant six months 
ago?  Oh, wait.  I remember.  Maybe it's because my 
partner insisted that I receive proper medical 
treatment for *my* scratches, which, interestingly 
enough, were almost as bad as the ones on your arm.  
The ones that are now nice and septic and you'll be 
lucky if they don't go gangrenous," she thundered.  
Then she caught herself, partly because of the looks 
the ambulance attendants were giving her and took in 
a deep breath.

He smiled under the O2 mask.  "Are you finished?  Do 
you feel better?"

"I'll feel better when you're better, Mulder.  And 
you have three days to do that because Skinner's 
called an OPR hearing for Tuesday.  So we need to get 
you to the hospital, get you on IV antibiotics and 
make sure you get some rest.  Is that understood?"

"Yes, ma'am, Agent Scully," he replied sleepily.  His 
eyes drifted shut and he was lulled with the wheels 
of the stretcher as they carried him out of the 
apartment.  One thought came to him just before he 
let himself drift off to sleep.

"Scully, if you get the chance to fill out my menu at 
the hospital, just make sure liver doesn't come near 
my room.  In any form."

That got a smile out of her for the first time since 
he'd come around.  "Not a problem, Mulder."

The end

Thank you, SciFi channel for becoming my favorite 
channel in October.  The search lives on!
vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com