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