Title:  Buffaloed
Author:  Vickie Moseley  
Summary:  Mulder and Scully are on the outs, but 
still together on the things that truly matter.
Category:  SA, MT
Disclaimer:  C'mon Carter -- it's been 9 years since 
the show's been on.  I've been writing these things 
for 16 years.  Intellectual Property - schmoperty.  
We both know fan fic is all that is keeping these 
characters alive.   Get over it.  But if it pleases the 
court, no money has been made off this work of 
fiction.
Written for and dedicated to the 10th Annual 
Crystalcon Gathering in Chicago.  Ten years, ladies.  
Who'da thunk, huh?

Stop-N-Save
outside Buffalo, NY
January 19, 1999
5:15 pm

Scully opened her suitcase and set about putting 
clothes in drawers with less than her usual care.  
Buffalo.  In January.  If Kersh thought he was funny 
when he exiled them to upstate New York following 
Mulder's little tangle with a demon who wanted a 
'normal life', Scully was having a hard time finding 
the humor in the situation.  

All Scully knew about Buffalo previous to their 
current assignment was that it was the American 
Gateway to the beautiful Niagara Falls.  Falls that 
were presently frozen and looked like Dante's 
lowest circle of hell.  The fact that the area was also 
known for its burgeoning organic farming 
movement -- including apple orchards which used 
considerable amounts of manure, had been 
overlooked during her geography lessons in grade 
school.  Now, she knew way too much about 
organic farming, manure and she honestly doubted 
she could ever look an apple in the eye again.  She 
was starting to turn on fresh fruits and vegetables in 
general.  Such was her life in the FBI's domestic 
terrorism section.

She threw her chunky high-heeled shoes into the 
tiny closet with uncalled for force.  Mulder had 
been in another shitty mood all day.  Kersh had 
given them five farms to visit and Mulder insisted 
that they didn't need to 'mapquest' any of them -- a 
huge mistake when they got horribly lost going to 
the first farm.  The weather had been cold -- totally 
expected in January in those parts, but surprisingly 
dry so they had stopped once and asked directions.  
Two hours later, they finally found their 'person of 
interest' -- an 83 year old man with a bad battery in 
his hearing aid.  After reviewing his meticulously-
kept manure records, Scully had thanked him -- 
loudly -- and they were on their way again.  By that 
time, it was getting late and Mulder drove them 
straight to the nearest beacon of civilization and 
checked them into one of his famous flea-bag 
motels.

Her suggestion of a pizza when they parked at their 
rooms had been met with stony silence, so she 
shrugged it off and said good night.  She still had a 
bag of microwave popcorn stowed in her suitcase 
and as long as the soda machine down the hall took 
her two ragged dollars, she had enough dinner to 
suffice.  Mulder could just jolly well fend for 
himself.

The little microwave took its own sweet time 
popping her dinner, so she had plenty of time to 
look out the window and see the driving snow.  The 
popcorn dinged and she settled in to find the 
Weather Channel -- her 'go-to' network when on the 
road.  Just as she suspected -- they were on the edge 
of a fast tracking cold front that was predicted to 
dump at least two feet of snow before it moved on 
to the coast.  What could possibly be better?

She had just finished the bag of popcorn and had 
settled back on the bed when the knock on the door 
came.  She didn't bother with the keyhole, she could 
see Mulder's shivering form through the gap in the 
heavy plastic-lined drapes.  He was standing at her 
door in his shirtsleeves and when she opened it up 
to let him in, she noticed he was barefoot.

"Mulder, are you out of your mind?  It's 20 degrees 
out there and snowing!" she berated him as he 
shuffled into the room and headed straight for the 
queen-sized bed.  He was lying on his side, facing 
away from her by the time she got the chain back on 
the door.  "What the he -- "

"S-s-s-sorry, S-s-scully," he stammered through his 
tremors.  "S-s-s-sorry."

"Mulder, is something wrong?" she asked, picking 
up on his markedly different demeanor from earlier 
in the evening.

"D-d-d-don't-t-t-t feel g-g-g-good," he mumbled 
into the pillow and then curled in on himself with a 
groan so that his knees were almost touching his 
chin.

She took in his color -- pale, but that could have 
been from the temperature outside and his posture -- 
rigid.  Sitting on the edge of the mattress, she put 
her hand up to his forehead.  "Specifics, Mulder.  
What's wrong?"

"Head ache," he muttered.  "Stomach hurts -- bad."

"Did you eat anything since we got back?" she 
asked, checking his pulse at his neck.  He seemed 
warm, warmer than she would have expected from a 
run in sub-freezing temps, but not terribly feverish.

"Don't talk about food!" he groaned.  

"Ok, so you didn't eat.  Mulder, I'm going to be 
painfully blunt -- could this be constip -- "

"No!" he shouted before she could finish.  "No," he 
answered again.  "Plumbing was fine this morning, 
Scully -- next topic," he growled.

She thought back for a few moments, going over 
their day.  When they'd stopped for directions at the 
tiny gas station/mini-mart, Mulder had insisted on 
buying two of the shriveled hot dogs and a 'big gulp' 
of soda.  'Only a buck fifty, Scully -- you can't beat 
that' he had crowed at his find.  Scully had picked 
up a package of cheese crackers with peanut butter 
and a small container of yogurt after ensuring that it 
wasn't past the 'sell by' date.

Another groan brought her back to the present and 
the man curled up on her bed.  "I warned you about 
gas station cuisine, Mulder," she chided.  

His response was to turn positively green and gasp 
"I'm gonna be sick!"  Faster than she could move, 
he was off the bed and in the miniscule bathroom, 
vomiting every bite of hotdog into the toilet.  Scully 
bit her lip and walked over to the sink just outside 
the bathroom.  She wet a washcloth, wrung it out 
and folded it in an oblong.  When Mulder laid his 
head on his arms, Scully placed the washcloth on 
the back of his neck.  He sighed.  "Thanks, Scully," 
he said in a shaking voice.  He struggled to get up 
and she helped him to his feet.

"Any better?' she asked.  

He thought about it for a moment before he nodded.  
"I still feel like shit, though," he assured her.

"Why don't you lie down again," she told him, 
helping him over to the bed.

"I really am sorry about this," he said, rolling over 
on his side once more.  "Just give me a minute and 
I'll go back to my room and let you get some rest."

"Don't be silly, Mulder.  My wrinkled, lumpy, too 
thin mattress is your wrinkled, lumpy, too thin 
mattress," she teased.  "Besides, if this is food 
poisoning, I doubt it's over yet.  And I'd feel better 
if I could keep an eye on you."

"What can you do for food poisoning?  
Antibiotics?" he asked, trying to get comfortable.  
"Is that the Weather Channel?"

Her head was spinning from the rapid change in 
topics.  "What can we do -- nothing, basically, 
except keep you hydrated.  I'll run out to the 
Walgreens down the road and pick up some 
Pedialyte.  You don't need antibiotics -- it's not an 
infection, it's a reaction to a toxin.  And yes, that's 
the Weather Channel."

"Then we're in deep shit," he sighed.

She turned back to the television and saw what he 
was seeing.  The map of upstate New York was 
covered by a giant white blob, a thin strip of pink 
leading the charge.  Reaching over to the 
nightstand, she grabbed the remote and turned up 
the volume.

" . . . 14 to 18 inches of snow, winds of 25 miles an 
hour with gusts up to 45 miles per hour.  If you're in 
the Buffalo area, don your footie jammies and bar 
the door -- it's not a night out for man or beast."

"Well, there goes the quick run down to the 
Walgreens.  Looks like it's water."

"How about 7-up," he countered.  "My mom always 
used ginger ale but 7-up -- "

"No soda, I'm afraid.  7-up has corn syrup, you will 
not want anything like that when the next phase 
starts."

"I take it 'constipation' will not be a problem," he 
grimaced.

"'Fraid not," she replied with sympathy.  She patted 
his leg and he shivered.  "Mulder, if you're cold, get 
under the covers."

"I'm messing up your bed, Scully," he objected but 
did nothing to stop her as she tugged at the 
comforter and sheets until she could cover him with 
them.  "I'll give you my key -- you can sleep in my 
room."

"Mulder, I'm not going outside in a blizzard.  The 
bed's big enough for both of us and fortunately, 
food poisoning is not generally contagious."

"Well, that's no fun," he quipped and tucked the 
comforter under his chin.  "Seriously, Scully -- the 
Weather Channel?"

"I happen to enjoy 'Storm Chasers'," she replied 
haughtily.  "But since you're here, and you need 
something to take your mind off your -- troubles, 
here.  You get to pick."

"Is food poisoning fatal?  Because that's the only 
reason I can think of why you'd let me have full 
control of the remote," he said with a brief gleam in 
his eye.  He wiggled around until he could lie on his 
side and still see the TV.  She pulled the desk chair 
over so she could put her stocking feet on the bed 
and settled in.

He found a Farscape marathon on Sci Fi after 
flipping through the offerings more than once.  
Before the start of the second episode, however, 
Mulder was back in the bathroom, once more 
paying for those hotdogs.  He made two more return 
trips during the third episode.  Scully rinsed out the 
compress and again pressed it against his neck.

Her popcorn long forgotten, Scully was startled 
when her stomach growled, loudly.  Mulder was 
back on the bed, exhausted by his latest bout of 
vomiting.  His stomach was constantly aching and 
he could no longer straighten out on the bed.  When 
he heard the internal rumblings from his partner, he 
smiled wanly at her.  

"Scully, you need to feed that thing before it 
attacks," he teased.

"I had popcorn just before you knocked."

He shook his head and closed his eyes.  "How about 
your diet Coke?" he asked.

"Oh, I'll just have some water," she said casually.  

Mulder wasn't buying it.  He knew his partner's 
addictions almost better than she did.  "Scully, the 
soda machine is just down the way.  They might 
have something else to eat.  If you need change -- "

"No, I have change.  If you're sure?" she 
interrupted.

"Go.  I'll hold down the fort," he assured her.  

Not bothering to argue, Scully grabbed her change 
purse, slipped on her shoes and jacket and headed 
out the door.  It was a little difficult going because 
the wind had blown drifts along the building and 
there was a thin layer of ice underneath.  When she 
looked out onto the parking lot, she could barely 
make out their car from the drifts of blowing snow.  
She was glad they were safe in the motel, she had 
no doubt the roads were hazardous, if not outright 
closed.

Mulder had been correct, there was a vending 
machine for snack food sitting between the soda 
machine and the ice machine.  Scully looked over 
the offerings and got a bag of trail mix and some 
mini pretzels.  With her diet Coke in hand, she 
made her way back to the room.  

She opened the door, juggling her bounty.  She 
looked over at the bed, half expecting Mulder to be 
sleeping, but the bed was empty.  She found him on 
the floor of the bathroom.  He'd been sick again and 
had simply lowered himself to the floor, clutching 
his stomach.

"Oh, Mulder," she sighed.  "C'mon.  Let's get you 
on the bed."  She grabbed his arm and started to 
help him up but he doubled over again.  

"Scully, no, please," he pleaded.  "I can't.  Please."

"You have to get back in bed, Mulder.  I don't want 
to think about the germs on that floor."

"OK, ok, just give me a minute."  He grabbed the 
doorframe and with her help he was finally on his 
feet but still crouched over.

"Can you stand up?" she asked.

"No.  And I'm not going to try just to show you," he 
growled.  "Please, Scully, just get me back to the 
bed."

Once she had him settled again, he curled in on 
himself forming a man sized ball.  "It's getting 
colder in here," he muttered.

She held the back of her hand to his forehead.  "No, 
you're getting warmer.  You have a fever."

"Is that common in food poisoning?" he asked 
weakly.

She frowned and shook her head.  "No, it's not.  Let 
me check something."  She moved to the tiny closet 
and started rummaging around until she held up a 
black make-up bag.  

"Just don't use the blue mascara, it clashes with my 
eyes," he joked but his voice held a tremor and his 
face showed nothing but pain.

"Very funny," she shot back.  She cleared a spot on 
the nightstand and started removing items.  
Surprisingly enough, a thermometer, stethoscope, 
some tongue depressors, a plastic wrapped kit with 
sharp objects including needles, gauze, sterile pads 
and a variety of pill bottles were exposed.

"So that's your first aid kit?  You could do surgery 
with all that stuff, Scully," he remarked.

"Don't give me ideas, Mulder," she replied with an 
evil grin.  "Open up."  She plunked the thermometer 
under his tongue and grabbed his wrist while staring 
at her watch.

"Why do you do that," he mumbled around the glass 
tube.  He nodded toward her hand on his wrist.

"Time management.  You're quiet -- or you're 
supposed to be quiet -- for four minutes and I can 
take your pulse at the same time.  Now, be still and 
let me count."

Another spasm hit his stomach and it was 
everything he could do not to snap the thermometer 
in half.  Finally, Scully took the offending glass 
tube from his mouth and he groaned out loud.

Scully held the thermometer to the light and 
frowned.  "Mulder, where does your stomach hurt?" 
she asked, trying to mask her worry with a 
professional tone.

He didn't bother to look at her, he had his face 
buried in the pillows.  "don't know -- everywhere," 
he mumbled.  "All over, I guess."

She licked her lips and put the thermometer in its 
case, considering her options.  "Mulder, I think I 
need to examine you.  I'll warn you, it might hurt."

"I draw the line at dropping trou and coughing, 
Scully," he retorted.  "But yeah, sure, go ahead."

"I need you to lie on your back, legs straight."

Mulder started to comply, but immediately thought 
better of it when a slicing pain hit.  "Nope, sorry, no 
can do," he informed her through gritted teeth.

"Sorry, partner, no take backs.  I have to do this and 
I promise to be as quick as I can."  Scully's touch on 
his arm and the look in her eyes gave him all the 
sympathy she could.  "Please."

He finally nodded and rolled on his back, slowly 
extending his legs.  She could see how much it cost 
him not to cry out.  Quickly, she found the spot on 
his lower right quadrant, just below the naval and 
pressed.  His reaction was a grimace, but when she 
stopped pressing he let out a full-throated yell.  "Oh 
shit!"  He rolled on his side, clutching his stomach 
and curling back in a ball.

She let him be for a few moments.  When he could 
focus on her words and not just the pain in his gut, 
she spoke.

"Mulder, this isn't food poisoning.  From what I 
could tell you have rigidity in your right lower 
quadrant and strong rebound pain.  You can't 
straighten out, you've been vomiting for about three 
hours now and you have a fever of 101.2.  All signs 
point to appendicitis.  We need to get you to a 
hospital as soon as possible."

"Won't it go away on its own?" he begged.  "Scully, 
I hurt -- bad -- but I really -- "  His objection was 
cut short by another spasm of pain that left him 
breathless.  "OK, you win.  Hospital it is," he agreed 
half-heartedly.

She smiled sadly at him and brushed her hand 
across his forehead.  "Let me call down to the desk 
clerk and find the closest hospital.  If it's not far -- "  
Then it hit her.  There was a blizzard outside.  Their 
car was buried and even if she did manage to dig it 
out, they could easily slide off the road and end up 
in a ditch for the night -- not a good prospect.  "On 
second thought, we need an ambulance."

"Scully -- "

"The storm, Mulder.  I'm going to call for an 
ambulance.  I can't -- no I won't trust my driving in 
this blizzard.  Not when it means your life, Mulder."

"It's that bad?" he asked, worry plain on his face.

"Mulder, if we can get you to a hospital where they 
can properly diagnose and treat you, you'll be fine.  
But we can't ignore this and hope it will be better in 
the morning.  The appendix is a very tricky organ 
and this could get real dicey real fast.  I know how 
much you love ambulance rides, but think of it this 
way -- they have a siren and can drive faster than I 
can."

His answer was a slight nod of his head.  She picked 
up the phone and started to dial, only to stop and 
gently place the receiver back in its cradle.  "No dial 
tone.  Just a fast busy," she said aloud.

"Lines are down," he replied.  "Try your cell.  
Maybe there's still cell tower reception."

"Good thinking," she told him and dug in her pocket 
for her cell phone.

After several rings, the phone was finally answered 
on the other line.  "911, what's your emergency?"

"This is Special Agent Dana Scully of the FBI, 
badge number JTT0331613.  My partner is 
suffering from apparent appendicitis and we need 
an ambulance sent to the Stop-N-Save motel on 
Interstate 190, just northwest of the I-290 
interchange."

"Copy that, Agent Scully.  But in case you haven't 
noticed, there is a blizzard going on right now.  
Both I-190 and I-290 are closed.  Most, if not all 
side streets in your locale are impassable.  State 
road crews are working on the problem, but the 
wind is blowing the snow right back as soon as the 
plows clear the street.  Can you hold while I find 
out how long it will take to get to you -- if at all?"

"Yes, please, but please advise that I'm a medical 
doctor and this is a definite medical emergency," 
she insisted, wanting to make sure the dispatcher 
didn't think this was just a sour stomach.  Maybe 
she should have lied and said it was a gunshot 
wound, but she dismissed that thought right after it 
crossed her mind.

Some time passed and Mulder looked at her, teeth 
chattering, while she paced.  Finally, the dispatcher 
came back.

"Agent Scully, it appears that the soonest we can 
get an ambulance to you is three hours -- four at the 
outside.  We've alerted state and local road crews to 
the emergency and have all available equipment 
headed in your direction until they can reach you.  
But in the meantime, I'm patching you through to 
the nearest trauma center for further instructions."

Scully's stomach dropped at the thought of three 
more hours of pain for her partner, but was relieved 
to be able to talk to another doctor about his case.  
"Yes, please, put me through."  She held the phone 
away from her mouth to tell Mulder the news.  "It's 
going to be a while but I'm talking to the hospital 
right now."  

"Hello, Agent Scully," the dispatcher's voice called 
to her.  "I have Dr. Amos on the line.  I'll stay on 
the line as well so I can update you on the progress 
of the road crews.  Dr. Amos, Agent Scully is on the 
line now.  Go ahead."

"Agent Scully, I'm Patrick Amos, chief ED resident 
of Niagara Medical Center.  I understand you have a 
hot appendix on your hands."  The voice sounded 
confident and steady -- just what Scully needed.

"Yes, Dr. Amos.  Before we go any further I'm a 
medical doctor but my field is forensic pathology.  I 
don't know if the dispatcher mentioned that."

"She did indeed, um, Dr. Scully -- Agent Scully -- 
do you have a preference there?"

"Right now, I'd prefer Agent Scully.  Thank you."

"So I understand your partner is experiencing some 
pretty bad stomach pain.  Can you run down his 
symptoms for me?"

"He came to my room about 4 hours ago 
complaining of stomach pains.  Vomiting followed 
and has continued through the evening.  His temp 
was low at first but now is at 101.2 and he's 
complaining of the chills.  I found rigidity in the 
lower right quadrant and rebound pain upon 
examination," Scully ran down the list.  "Pulse and 
respirations are within normal range.  But the pain 
appears to be getting worse."  Sparing a quick look 
to her partner, she stepped as far away from the bed 
-- and earshot -- as she could.  "I'm worried that the 
pain is indicative of an impending rupture.  I'm also 
very concerned that it's going to take a minimum of 
3 hours for the ambulance to arrive.  As it now 
stands, he can't keep water down and he's at risk for 
dehydration."

"Is there a residence for the manager at the motel?" 
Amos asked.  

"I'm not sure.  I can try to get down to the office -- 
why, what do you have in mind?"

"If you can find some baking soda, some salt, some 
salt substitute, like lite salt -- anything with 
potassium -- and some sugar.  I can give you the 
exact measurements -- "

Scully smiled.  "Actually, I should have thought of 
that.  I remember that recipe, but it's been a while 
since I made any up.  I'll go down and see if I can 
find all the ingredients."

"Do you think I could speak with the patient while 
you're doing that?" Amos asked.  It seemed like the 
best idea, in light of the fact that Scully would have 
to leave Mulder alone for the time it took to go ask 
the manager.

"OK, I'll take his cell phone with me -- if you need 
me to get back to the room quickly, you can call 
me.  Here's his number," she said, rattling off 
Mulder's cell number.  She walked over to her 
partner and put her hand on his shoulder.  "Mulder, 
the doctor at the ER wants to talk to you.  I'm 
running to the office to see if I can find something 
that will stay down.  Can you give me your phone 
so if you need me back, the doctor can call me?"

Mulder looked up at her blearily.  "Phone?"

"Your cell phone."

"Oh, yeah, sure.  Here."  He shifted until he could 
dig his phone out of his front jeans pocket.

"I'll be right back.  Talk to the doctor.  His name is 
Dr. Amos."  She brushed a quick hand across his 
forehead again and was out the door.

Her room was in the middle of the long side of the 
motel, with the office at the shorter end.  The wind 
had shifted slightly and the sidewalk to the office 
was mostly clear with only the occasional slick 
spot.  The parking lot, however, looked like it had at 
least 2 foot of snow, drifted to 3 or more in places.  
She couldn't distinguish any of the cars parked there 
-- they were lumps in a giant pile of whipped cream.  
She wondered how in the world an ambulance was 
going to make it down to her room.  

The light was on in the office, but no one was at the 
desk.  She called out a greeting and waited.  Finally, 
the same clerk who had checked them in at 4 came 
around the corner, his hair flattened out and 
standing up as if he'd been asleep.

"I'm sorry, I hope I didn't wake you.  I have a bit of 
an emergency.  My partner, the man who was with 
me when I checked in, is sick.  I'm trying to get an 
ambulance, but it might be a while."

"He's sick -- what's the matter?" the young man 
asked anxiously.  Scully could almost see the words 
'law suit' forming in his eyes.  

"Appendicitis is our best guess.  Anyway, I'm trying 
to get him something to drink that will help replace 
the electrolytes."

"Like Gatorade?" he asked.

Her eyes lit up.  "Do you have any?"

He bit his lower lip.  "Oh, no, sorry.  But I'm trying 
to talk the owner into stocking it in the soda 
machine."

She sighed.  Spying a piece of paper and a pen on 
the counter, she hurriedly jotted down her list.  "Do 
you have these items -- maybe in the residence?"

"Oh we don't have a residence -- just a break room 
with a cot if we have to stay the night."  He stared at 
the list.  "I think I've seen most of this stuff -- you 
want to come back and take a look yourself?"

"Yes, that would be wonderful," she said.  "Thank 
you."  

"Just go around the corner and come through the 
door marked 'employees only'.  I'll meet you there," 
he told her.  "Oh, my name's Mark, by the way."

"Hello Mark.  I'm Dana."  Mark smiled and Scully 
hurried around the corner to the marked door.  She 
followed him into a room that looked like a small 
kitchen with a futon and television tucked in a 
corner where a table would be.  

"Make yourself at home," Mark said.  "I think the 
baking soda and salt is in that cabinet."

Scully found the baking soda, salt and even the 
sugar, but couldn't find any lite salt.  When she 
opened the refrigerator, she did find a small 
unopened can of coconut milk.  She knew coconut 
milk had potassium.  She might be able to make 
due.  "Mark, do you have a bag or a box that I can 
put this stuff in to take back to the room.  Oh and a 
punch style can opener for the can?"

"Sure.  Uh, you making pina coladas?" he asked, 
digging through a drawer and coming up with a 
lunch bag.

"No, homemade Gatorade.  What do I owe you?" 
she asked, pulling out her change purse.

"Oh no, I can't take your money," Mark said 
shaking his head.  

"But the coconut milk?"

"No, really, I'm not even sure what it's doing there.  
The lady who works weekends makes cakes and 
stuff back here so maybe she left it.  It's yours.  If 
she asks about it, I'll say I don't remember seeing it 
in there."

Scully looked dubiously at the can.  The expiration 
date said 091999 so she felt vaguely assured that 
she wasn't going to poison her partner for real if she 
gave it to him.  "Well, thank you, Mark."

"When the ambulance gets here, it would probably 
be easier for them to park under the overhang," 
Mark said as she was walking toward the door.  
"Might be a bit chillier taking him down the 
sidewalk, but there's no way they could carve out a 
path through the side parking lot.  I'll keep watch 
and wave them down.  You're in 108, right?"

"Yes, thank you.  Thanks for your help, Mark."

"Hey, anytime.  Hope he feels better!"

She hurried down the sidewalk, slipping once and 
almost landing on her knee.  It forced her to slow 
down, which only frustrated her.  She pulled out 
Mulder's phone and looked at it.  No missed calls, 
she prayed that meant they hadn't tried to get her 
and not that the reception had been spotty and 
prevented the call going through.  Finally she was at 
the door.

"She just walked in," Mulder said tiredly.  "Here, he 
wants to talk to you," he added, holding the phone 
up toward her.

"Dr. Amos, sorry that took so long.  I couldn't find 
the potassium chloride but I found coconut milk," 
she said quickly into the phone.

"Ah, Agent Scully.  Well necessity is the mother 
and all that.  It might make for a more flavorful 
drink -- if Mr. Mulder isn't allergic to coconut."

"He's not.  I'm positive on that."  She had found out 
the hard way when Mulder discovered her secret 
stash of snack sized Mounds bars in the bottom 
drawer of her desk a few weeks before.  The 
bullpen atmosphere had them both resorting to 
medicinal chocolate.

"Good, good.  Do you remember the proportions?"

"Yes and I have a medicine spoon.  I remember that 
you have to be exact."

"Since the potassium in the coconut milk is diluted 
more than the lite salt, you can be generous with 
that.  But don't go over board on the baking soda," 
Amos directed her.  "Agent Scully, Mr. Mulder 
apprised me of the medicines you have there.  I 
know it's not standard procedure, but you could give 
him a half tablet of Lorcet now while you wait.  It 
might make him a little more comfortable."

Scully swallowed.  She'd almost forgotten about the 
narcotic in her 'little black bag'.  "Are you sure?  I 
don't want to mask any symptoms."

"The ambulance is still at least 3 hours out," the 
dispatchers voice cut in.  

"If this isn't appendicitis, it's a blockage and I'm 
pretty sure we're heading to surgery either way.  
Make him comfortable.  High pain can be as 
dangerous as a high fever, Agent Scully," Amos 
reminded her.  "Now, why don't you put the phone 
down so you can whip up the coconut delight?"

"Good idea," she said with a faint smile.  She used 
the empty carafe from the in room coffee service to 
measure the water and the coconut milk, added the 
baking soda and salt, leaving out the sugar until she 
tasted a spoonful.  Deciding it was Mulder and he 
wasn't that finicky, she stirred the concoction and 
poured some into a glass to take to her partner.

"Mulder, can you drink a little of this.  Slowly, 
OK?"

He nodded and she helped him lift his head so he 
could sip from the styrofoam cup.  After a few sips, 
he looked up at her.  "Add a little rum, some 
flavored vodka, you might have something there, 
Scully," he quipped before shaking his head against 
any more.

"We'll have to keep getting it down you, Mulder.  
You're showing signs of dehydration," she chided.  
"And next time, I'll remember to bring the rum."

"Good thinking," he sighed.  He'd just closed his 
eyes when his face contorted as a spasm of pain 
washed through him.  "Oh god, Scully, please -- 
make it stop!" he pleaded, rocking in his anguish.

"Shh, Mulder.  I will.  I will.  I'm so sorry you're in 
so much pain.  Hang on for me, please."  She 
hurried back to the sink and retrieved her phone.  
"Dr. Amos, I'm giving him a tablet of Lorcet.  I just 
hope he'll be able to keep it down."

"It's pretty fast acting, Agent Scully.  It should take 
the edge off the pain."

Scully shook the tablet into her hand and held it out 
to Mulder.  He took a sip of the coconut water and 
used it to swallow the pill.  

"You didn't palm that, did you, Mulder?" she 
teased, taking a page from his book and masking 
her anxiety with humor.

"Not a chance.  I'll arm wrestle you for the rest of 
the bottle," he replied, closing his eyes in 
exhaustion.  

"Try some more of the water.  It seems to be staying 
put."

He nodded and let her give him another sip.  "I 
think the taste is growing on me, Scully.  You might 
have the formula for a new sports drink on your 
hands."

"Yeah, well, I'm not giving up my day job just yet.  
But if Kersh sends us to Butte, Montana next week, 
I might reconsider." 

"Agent Scully, how's the -- "  Silence followed.  
Scully quickly looked at the phone.  The little bars 
indicating battery life were showing empty.  Her 
phone was dead.  

Before she had time to let it sink in, Mulder's phone 
in her pocket rang.  She pulled it out and hit send.  

"Agent Scully?  Good thing I had this number," 
sighed Dr. Amos.

"Thank God," Scully agreed in relief.  "You were 
about to ask me something."

"Yes.  It's probably time to check his fever.  After 
that last spasm, we want to keep a close watch.  
Intense pain is a sign of perforation.  If that 
happened, his fever will spike shortly after."

Scully's mouth went dry.  "OK. I'll do that now."  
She turned back to her partner.  "Mulder, I need to 
take your temp again."  Dutifully he opened his 
mouth.  "No, this time I think I need to take it under 
your arm.  You've been drinking the water and it 
might affect the temp."  She unbuttoned his white 
shirt and pulled at the undershirt until she could get 
the thermometer in place.

"No wrist this time?" he asked drowsily.

She grinned and took his hand.  "How about this 
instead?"  She rubbed the back of his hand, 
massaging between the bones up to his fingers.

"Nice," he sighed.  "I like this way better." 

She smiled at him.  "How's the pain?  Any 
improvement?"

"A little.  I'm so sleepy, Scully."

"I know," she answered.  "If you can fall asleep, 
why don't you?  I'll be right here."

She gently pulled the thermometer out and read it 
by the bedside lamp.  It was 100.5, but she knew 
that temps under the arm were lower so she added 
one degree.  She turned off the bedside lamp and 
walked into the bathroom to speak with Dr. Amos.

"100.5 under the arm.  That would be 101.5 -- up a 
little from last time but not a significant spike," she 
told the doctor.

"Still, we should keep track of it.  How's he doing -- 
did the Lorcet help?"

"Yes, it did.  He's sleeping right now.  Maybe the 
worst is over," she sighed.  As the words left her 
mouth three things happened simultaneously:  there 
was a brilliant flash of light and a loud crack of 
thunder that shook the building, the lights and 
television popped all at once and went out and 
Mulder screamed, followed by a thud that could 
only be a body falling out of bed.  

It was pitch black, not even the light from the 
parking lot seeping around the drapes to guide her.  
Feeling her way with her feet, Scully soon hit 
something soft that moaned.  "Mulder," she 
breathed, dropping to her knees beside her partner 
on the floor.  "Mulder can you hear me?"  No 
response came from that man on the floor, but 
someone was calling her name.  She remembered 
the cell phone in her hand.

"Dr. Amos, we just lost power and . . . something 
happened.  Mulder cried out and fell out of bed -- 
he's not responding."

"How's his pulse, respirations?" Amos asked 
anxiously.

Scully felt around until she found Mulder's neck.  
"Pulse is racing -- respirations are shallow and fast," 
she reported.

"Not good.  He could very possibly have perforated.  
911, are you still there?" Amos asked.

"I'm still here.  I was just checking in with the road 
crew and ambulance.  Still another hour, hour and a 
half before we can get to your location, Agent 
Scully.  I'm sorry."

"Agent Scully, I know you probably can't get a 
temp, but how does he feel.  Is his fever getting 
higher?" Amos cut in.

Scully felt around until her hand rested on Mulder's 
forehead.  She didn't like the heat radiating there.  
"Yes.  I would say it's definitely higher than a few 
minutes ago."

"OK, well, it might be a race now, but let's hope the 
snow plows win," Amos said kindly.  

"I have my toes crossed," the dispatcher interjected 
and her kindness made Scully smile, if just for a 
moment.  

"Thank you, thank you both."

The man beside her groaned and her attention 
turned to him.  "scully," he rasped out.  ". . . s' dark . 
. ."

"Power's out, Mulder.  Would be a pretty lame 
blizzard if the lights stayed on, now wouldn't it?" 
she murmured, wiping tears from her cheeks.  Her 
only comfort was that it was too dark and her 
partner was too out of it for him to see she was 
crying.  "How's the tummy?"

He was quiet for so long that she thought he might 
have fallen asleep or passed out again.  " . . . 
better?" he said, his voice sounding like a question.

"Lot's better or better than before?" she pressed.

"Better than a while ago.  Still feel sick.  Cold.  
Really cold."  He shivered, but her hand on his 
cheek could still feel the heat coming off him.

"Do you want to try and get back on the bed?  The 
EMTs are still a ways away.  Might as well get 
comfortable," she suggested.

"All the same to you, I don't want to move," he 
answered.  "But a pillow would be nice.  And a 
blanket."

"The pillow I can do," she told him, moving 
carefully in the darkness so she didn't accidentally 
kick or step on him.  She pulled both pillows from 
the bed and gently raised his head, preparing to put 
them both under him.

"Just one," he told her.  "You can keep the other 
one."  She smiled at that and complied.  

"Better?" she asked again.

"Blanket?" he reminded her.

"Mulder, you have a fever and it seems to be rising.  
We're going to need to cool you off.  Can you make 
it without the blanket for now?"

His answering whimper almost did her in, but 
finally he sighed.  "For you, Scully.  Only for you."

She had to swallow past her tight throat before she 
could speak again.  "It's going to be OK, Mulder.  
You just rest."

They were quiet for several minutes.  Scully could 
hear Dr. Amos talking with the dispatcher who was 
also speaking with the road crews.  Not knowing the 
area, Scully couldn't tell if the plows were getting 
close or not.  

"Scully?"

She reached over and took Mulder's hand.  "Right 
here, partner."

"Why do you have that pain killer in your little 
black bag?"

Scully bit her lip.  It wasn't an accusation -- just a 
question.  But it was one that would dreg up a lot of 
mixed emotions.  "I had them from last year."

"The cancer?" he asked.

"Yes.  My oncologist prescribed them."

"They're pretty strong, aren't they?" he pushed.

"Yes, yes they are.  They're a narcotic with 
acetaminophen."

"The headaches were that bad?"

"Mulder . . . " she warned.  Her cancer -- their 
private third rail -- to broach the subject was strictly 
forbidden.

"I'm just asking, Scully," he countered.

She wanted to tell him the subject was closed, as 
she had each and every time he'd tried to bring up 
her illness.  But in his current condition, she felt she 
owed him more than that.  "Sometimes, yes.  The 
headaches were that bad.  But I only used the Lorcet 
twice.  Right now there are 27 pills in that bottle."

"Hope we don't need them all before that ambulance 
gets here," he joked.

"Me too," she said with a sigh.  "Me too."  

She thought about her illness, how she had to hide 
so much of her pain from her partner.  She couldn't 
let him think she wasn't up to the work, yes, there 
was that, but it was more just to spare him the pain 
of living it with her, through her.  Now that their 
roles were reversed, she understood what exactly 
she had denied him -- the opportunity to give her his 
strength, and maybe gain some strength through the 
act of helping her.

"Mulder, thank you for coming down here when 
you felt bad," she murmured, more to herself than to 
her partner whom she thought was asleep again.

"What good is having a doctor around if you don't 
use 'em?" he muttered back.

She had to hold back a bark of laughter at that.  
"Well, thank you anyway.  Thank you for letting me 
help."

This time she felt his hand search out hers and he 
squeezed it.  "You always help, Scully.  Even when 
I don't think it's helping at the time, you're always 
there for me.  I should be thanking you."

"You're welcome," she said.  "Hey, let's see where 
those road crews are."  She felt around on the floor 
for Mulder's phone where she'd laid it while getting 
the pillows.  As she lifted it she realized the screen 
was dark.  She hit a button, then another.  She held 
the phone to ear and heard nothing.  "Your battery 
just died," she informed him.

" . . . been meaning to get -- "  His grip on her hand 
tightened and his body stiffened next to her before 
he started twitching and jerking.

"Mulder!" she called out, moving to her knees.  She 
moved his head and shoulders onto her lap, holding 
his jaw closed so he couldn't bite or swallow his 
tongue.  "Oh, Mulder," she cried as the jerking 
slowed and stopped.  She laid him back down on 
the pillow.  Her tears were falling freely now.  
"Mulder, please.  Just hold on, please."

She ran her fingers through his hair.  "You know, 
Mulder, I should be mad at you.  If you'd had this 
attack yesterday, we'd be nice and warm and tucked 
in at Northeast Georgetown.  You would have had 
your favorite room on the Surgical Ward -- the one 
with the view of the parking garage and the 'honkin' 
big halogen light' that shines through the slats of the 
miniblinds -- you love that room.  And I could have 
sat down in the nurses' lounge and drank bad coffee 
with Laura and Kara and Sheila and Marybeth and 
anyone else we might know.  They might have even 
started up a game of 'how long between 'Mulder-
calls'.  I won $4 the last time you were in the 
hospital.  I said 17 minutes and I was dead on the 
money."

Checking his forehead again, holding her fingers to 
his pulsepoint to assure he was still with her, she 
sniffed and fought back her fears.  "I'm going to go 
look out the window, OK?  Maybe I can see some 
lights on the highway or something."

The room was already getting colder without the 
space heater running.  She shivered and pulled her 
jacket off the chair near the window and wrapped it 
around her shoulders.  After sitting in the dark, her 
eyes had finally adjusted to the lack of light.  When 
she pulled back the drapes to look out, she was 
surprised at how light it was outside.  Even without 
manmade lights, the snow gave the parking lot an 
eerie illumination.  She could see the wind swirling 
the flakes in the gusts.  

Then, off in the distance, she thought she saw a 
light.  It flashed for just a second and she was afraid 
it was only lightning again but it stayed steady.  
Eventually, it grew bigger and brighter.

"They're here, Mulder.  Oh, thank God, they're 
here!"

Niagara Medical Center
January 21, 1999
9:03 am

Scully sipped her coffee with a hearty sigh.  It was 
nice to find an elevator to herself after the 
madhouse of the hospital cafeteria.  But with a full 
stomach and a refilled cup of coffee -- better than 
she expected -- she was eager to get back to 
Mulder's room and see if he'd finally decided to 
wake up.

It had been touch and go over the last 48 hours.  By 
the time the ambulance had made it through the 
snowstorm, escorted by no less than two State of 
New York snowplows, Mulder's appendix had 
indeed ruptured.  His fever spiked and he 
experienced another febrile seizure on the way to 
the hospital and yet another upon arrival in the 
Emergency Department of Niagara Medical Center.  
Dr. Amos had met the entourage of Mulder, Scully 
and the EMTs at the doors to the ED and oversaw 
Mulder's care from that point on.

Three hours in surgery resulted in removing the 
remaining parts of the offending organ and drained 
the infection that had just started to settle in.  
Massive amounts of antibiotics followed and 
Mulder's system was so overtaxed that it simply 
shut him down.  Not technically in a coma, he had 
been deeply asleep for the move to ICU and the 
duration of his stay.

Scully had found the staff of NMC to be a very 
caring crew, in spite of the fact that they were short-
handed due to the major storm that had dumped just 
over 18 inches of snow on the area.  True to form, 
the Buffalo area residents braved the roads as soon 
as they were cleared, resulting in more than the 
usual fender benders and more serious accidents.  
But through it all, Mulder received exemplary care 
and for that, she was more than grateful.

She smiled and raised her cup in salute to Amy at 
the desk as she made her way to Mulder's room.  
Karen was just clearing away the basin and shaving 
supplies.

"He was mumbling a minute ago," she told Scully 
as she dumped the soapy water into the sink.  
"Something about . . . I think he said 'mothmen'?"

Scully smiled.  "An old case.  He might just wake 
up after all."

"Well, it's a beautiful day.  Just look at the 
sunshine."  Karen nodded toward the window which 
displayed a picture perfect blue sky and a bright sun 
that caused the snow to sparkle like diamonds.  "Be 
a shame for him to miss it."

"Miss what?"  He hadn't bothered to open his eyes, 
but Mulder was licking his lips and turned his head 
toward the two women's voices.  "Scully?"

Karen took that as her cue to depart.  "I'm right 
here, Mulder.  C'mon, open those eyes.  It's a 
gorgeous day."

It took him a few tries, but finally his eyelids 
cooperated and stayed in the upright and locked 
position.  "Hey there," he smiled doopily.

"Hey back," she replied, refusing to give in and 
laugh at him.  "So, how are you feeling?"

He closed his eyes for a minute, then opened them 
slowly and gave her a smoldering glance.  "Like I 
finished off that bottle of pills you had -- all by 
myself."

She snickered.  "Well, close.  Maybe not the whole 
bottle, but your IV is probably illegal without a 
doctor's prescription."

"Good 'nuff," he said and his eyes drooped again 
but after a moment he forced them open.  "I take it 
I'm gonna live."

"Oh, most definitely.  And for the record, Kersh 
didn't believe you were actually seriously ill until I 
had your surgeon give him a call.  Needless to say, 
he became a believer."

Mulder sneered.  "At least this once."

"Anyway, your blood tests came back this morning 
and your white count is dropping, a sign that the 
infection is on the run.  If you continue to improve, 
we might be headed back home in a few days.  
You'll be on leave for a couple of weeks, of course 
and they will have to check you in case you develop 
an abscess, but all in all, not bad, considering.  Even 
for you, Mulder."

"Hey, all in a day's work, right?" he said, wiggling 
his brows at her.

"Mulder, I hardly consider -- "

"Scully, as I believe I mentioned back at the motel -
- what good is having a doctor around if you don't 
use them once in a while?"  Before she had a chance 
to state her objection, he had fallen fast asleep 
again.

She shook her head.  Taking a moment to straighten 
his blankets and tuck them in securely, she brushed 
her hand down his cheek.  "And what good is being 
a doctor if you don't have a patient once in a while, 
huh, partner?"

the end