Title:  In the Blood

Author:  Vickie Moseley
vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com 

Summary:  What exactly is the effect of exposure to LSDM?  A post ep for 
the second season episode 'Blood'.

Category:  UST, MT, A

Rating:  PG

Disclaimer:  Look, if I wasn't doing this, I'd be writing nasty letters 
to the sponsors of 'The neXt-Files' and FOX in protest of what is 
happening this season.  Might I suggest this is a more productive use of 
my time and the Powers That Be can bite me if they don't agree :)

Archive:  yes, just let me know where

Comments:  You gotta love the second season.  Mulder, Scully, dialogue 
that could be followed, scripts that made sense, it seems like just 
yesterday.  Sigh.  But it's not over.  Not as long as we keep writing the 
characters as we know them and love them.  Ignore the stupidity that is 
going on right now.  In the long run, we will survive long after season 8 
is a bad memory.

Dedicated to the first seven seasons of a very good show.  They can't 
take that away from us.

  

In the Blood
By Vickie Moseley

Mulder stared blankly at the display screen on his cell phone.  He had 
seen letters.  Words.  'All Done' and 'Bye Bye' had mocked him from the 
tiny gray-green rectangle.  From a distance, it sounded like a voice was 
calling to him, calling his name.  

And then he breathed and the world zeroed in around him.  Scully, it was 
Scully's voice calling to him.  He looked down at the cell phone again, 
almost afraid of what it might show, but saw only the little receiver 
indicating that a call was in progress.  Hesitantly, he put the phone up 
to his ear, and winced at the pain shooting up his forearm.

"I'm here, Scully," he said.  His voice sounded far away, even to his own 
ears.  As he let his gaze fall on the tableau before him, the colors 
looked too bright.  The ambulance lights flared in blues, ending in 
rainbow colors.  The flag on the flagpole next to the tower snapped and 
waved and seemed to be growing larger, then shrank to normal proportions 
right there in plain sight.  He licked his lips and tried to concentrate 
on his partner's words.

"I said did you find him, Mulder?  We heard the call about shots fired.  
Are you all right?"  Scully's voice sounded suspicious and worried all at 
the same time.

"We found him," Mulder breathed into the phone.  Why was talking so 
damned hard all of a sudden, he wondered?  It had seemed like years since 
he allowed himself time to close his eyes.

" . . . the sheriff?  Is he there, Mulder?  Mulder, if you can, put the 
sheriff on the phone, please.  Can you do that?  Put the sheriff on the 
phone."  Scully was speaking to him as if he were a four-year-old.  If 
he'd had more presence of mind he might have been offended.  As it was, 
he looked up from his blank stare of the cement below his feet and let 
his eyes drift.  A voice next to him and a touch on his left arm caused 
him to gasp.

"Agent Mulder?  Are you all right?  Oh, man, you're bleeding!  Let me 
call the paramedics, hold on."  Sheriff Spencer started to trot away, but 
Mulder grabbed his shirt before he got very far and shoved the phone into 
his hands.

"My partner."  It was all he could manage to get out of his mouth before 
he slumped down and almost careened off the stone bench he'd perched on.

Spencer put the phone up to his ear and took hold of Mulder's right 
shoulder to steady him in one smooth motion.  "Agent Scully, I can't 
really talk right now.  Your partner's bleeding and he don't look right.  
I'm calling the paramedics over here to look at him."

"Yes!  Thank you!  That's what I wanted.  I think he's in shock.  Does he 
look pale?" Scully asked anxiously.

"Oh yeah.  Right now he's about the same color as his shirt.  And there's 
sweat on his face, but his hands feel cold."

"OK, call the EMTs over there.  And Sheriff, if he tries to fight them, 
handcuff him to that stretcher, you got that?  I'm in a squad car on my 
way over to the college right now.  We should be there in a couple of 
minutes."

While Scully was talking, Spencer had managed to flag down one of the 
several ambulance crews on the scene and wave them over.  Two burly men 
in light blue uniforms took Mulder off his hands and were placing the 
agent on a gurney when he seemed to come back to himself.

"Wait, I'm fine!" Mulder protested, but it took next to nothing to hold 
him flat against the thin mattress.

"I just talked to your partner, Agent Mulder.  She thinks you need to be 
looked at, and I think these fellas agree with her.  Now, be a nice guy 
and let them do their job.  She told me I had her permission to 'cuff you 
if you didn't cooperate."

"Sure, she'll let other people 'cuff me," Mulder muttered under his 
breath, but the joke was lost on those around him.  His jacket was being 
removed as well as his dress shirt, which was soaked in blood all the way 
up his left sleeve.

"Hand me those scissors, Jeff," directed one of the paramedics while the 
other man was slipping a blood pressure cuff around Mulder's upper right 
arm.  Soon, the previously white bandage that hid the row of 18 stitches 
on his forearm was a red-brown wet pile on the gurney next to him.

"Holy shit," sighed the paramedic.  "Jeff, tell base he's gonna need some 
stitches.  He's got an armful of 'em now and about half of them are 
popped.  From the way this baby's bleeding, he might have done more 
damage."

Jeff nodded and radioed the hospital, reporting also that Mulder's blood 
pressure was 95 over 70, his temperature was normal and his heart rate 
was 'tachy'.  Mulder tried to take an interest, but his arm hurt too much 
and his head was throbbing and his stomach was getting queasy.  

In defense against all the attention, he closed his eyes, but the images 
there were almost worse than what was transpiring around him.  Ed's eyes, 
staring at him, begging for his understanding.  Just a poor guy who 
didn't like the sight of blood, suddenly reduced to a madman.  Not a 
loser, not a bad guy.  Just an every day guy trying to get by and now...

Mulder tried to think, but it was getting harder and harder.  What the 
hell was wrong with him, he wondered, not for the first time that 
afternoon.  The sun was beating down on him, but he still felt cold.  A 
chill ran down his back and he shivered.  The queasy feeling was starting 
to overwhelm him and he swallowed thickly against it.  There was no way 
he was going to throw up.  It was bad enough he was now strapped to the 
gurney and Jeff's buddy had a tourniquet on his arm and was slapping the 
inside of his elbow for a vein to stick an IV.  There was absolutely no 
way he was going to increase his humiliation by throwing up.

But his body had other priorities.

He vaguely heard a voice calling 'roll him' and felt his body tilt, but 
it was all background noise to the sounds of his own retching and the 
feeling that his stomach was suddenly going to appear in a bloody pile on 
the asphalt pavement below him.  He could no more stop his stomach's 
actions than he could fly.  But flying sounded like such a nice idea.  
Flying somewhere far away from Pennsylvania and cherry groves and toxic 
chemicals that continued to burn his throat and displays that told him to 
'Do It'.  Mulder desperately wanted it all to go away, immediately.

Instead, someone arrived.  He heard her before he could see her.  Just as 
his stomach decided it had provided enough entertainment, he heard the 
click of her heels on the pavement.  Jeff and his buddy rolled Mulder 
back onto his back on the gurney, wiping his face with a cloth and 
talking to him in a language that bore no resemblance to English.  It 
probably was English, Mulder figured, but he was just too tired to 
concentrate on the words right then.  Until he felt her small warm hand 
on his forehead.

"Oh, Mulder," he heard her sigh and he pried his eyes open enough to see 
her standing just above him, a worried look taking up residence on her 
lovely face.

"Hey, Scully," he rasped and swallowed against the burning sensation in 
his throat.  Now, in addition to his arm and his head, his throat was 
killing him.  The day just kept getting better and better.

"How's he doing?" she asked, directing her question to Jeff and his 
friend and not to Mulder.  Under other circumstances, he would have 
called her on that, treating him like he wasn't there, but right then, he 
would just as soon he hadn't been around.  He couldn't answer her 
question anyway, he had no idea how he was but he knew things weren't 
right.

"And you are?" asked Jeff, looking up from his crouch next to Mulder 
where he fiddled with the IV line.

"A medical doctor and I have his medical power of attorney.  I am also an 
FBI agent, and I'm armed.  Now, I repeat:  How is he?" Scully asked, not 
quite as politely as the first time.

"Vitals aren't too bad," Jeff's friend stepped in so that further 
bloodshed was avoided.  "He ripped about half the stitches so his arm is 
bleeding pretty bad.  His BPs low and he's a little tachy.  Base wants us 
to start normal saline and transport.  Can you give me a quick history 
before we shove off?"

"He's not allergic to anything, nor is he taking any prescription meds 
but he was checked last night for exposure to LSDM," she told him as the 
two men lifted the gurney and started for the waiting ambulance.  "Are 
you going to Franklin County General?"

"Yeah, why don't you meet us there?" suggested Jeff.

She started to walk back to the squad car when she heard Mulder calling 
her name.  She trotted back to lean into the door of the ambulance.  "I'm 
here, Mulder."

"Scully, I don't feel right," he complained.  It took her a moment to 
figure out what he was saying.  Of course he wasn't feeling right, but 
that wasn't news.  He was in the back of an ambulance for a reason, for 
cripes sakes.  But it dawned on her that he meant more than just the 
physical discomfort.  

"Mulder, it's all right.  These men are taking you to the hospital.  
You'll be fine.  I'll meet you there.  I promise."

She watching him process that information for a few minutes.  He didn't 
look completely convinced.  In fact, he was looking a little too wild 
eyed for her liking.  She looked over at Jeff, as the other attendant was 
up front with the driver.

"LSDM invokes a fear response in insects, prolonged exposure could 
increase adrenaline in the bloodstream.  He wasn't around it long, but he 
got a pretty good shot of it last night.  I suggest you let base know 
immediately.  They might want to order a mild sedative."

"You're the doc," said Jeff and radioed the message while shutting the 
doors.  Scully stared after the departing ambulance, wondering if she'd 
just done the right thing by not demanding to ride with them.

Mulder's queasiness was fading, but was being replaced by tightness in 
his chest he usually associated with abject fear.  Not one to show panic 
on his facial features, Mulder could still detect panic's presence in his 
arms, his chest, most importantly, his heart.  It felt like his heart was 
in a vice and someone was slowly twisting it tighter.  

He searched around the small ambulance for anything he could focus on 
that would alleviate the mounting fear he was experiencing.  His eyes lit 
finally on a small display of a portable heart monitor.  Somewhere along 
the line, its sticky pads had been affixed to his upper arms and along 
his torso.  The display read back to him exactly what he was feeling-
spiky jumps, fast paced and close together.  Then, while he was still 
staring at it, the display changed.  GET OUT.  He blinked and looked 
again.  GET OUT NOW!

That was all he needed.  The panic that he'd managed to hold somewhat at 
bay was suddenly a living thing in his chest demanding release.  He 
jerked against the restraints holding him to the gurney in case of a 
swerve in the vehicle.  It didn't take much force for him to strain them 
to the point where Jeff noticed.

"Hey, this bus don't make stops!  Settle down or I'll have to ask for 
that sedative like your friend suggested," Jeff warned, but it fell on 
deaf ears.  Mulder's struggles increased to a panicked frenzy.

Jeff found himself leaning against the agent just to keep him from 
hurting himself against the restraints.  "Bob!  Radio that this guy's 
freaking out on me!" he shouted to the cab.  "Heart rate is 115, no wait, 
120, and still going up.  I can't get a cuff on him to check BP."  It was 
everything the EMT could do to keep Mulder from tearing the tender flesh 
on his left forearm.

"Base orders 5 mg Valium," Bob answered back.  Jeff let go of Mulder's 
arms long enough to find the necessary preloaded syringe and empty it 
into the IV line.  He looked toward the cab to gauge how long it would 
take them to arrive at the ER.

"I don't know that this is gonna hold him," Jeff muttered, watching 
Mulder fight against the restraints with adrenaline-surged strength.  
Even so, the web belts held tight.  All the agent got for his effort 
would be some nasty cuts and bruises, plus a few more ripped stitches in 
his arm.  He was still putting up a fight, not really slacking off at 
all, when the ambulance arrived at the hospital.

Dana Scully was tapping her foot and waiting in line at the admissions 
desk.  It seemed that only one person was on duty and there were two 
other people ahead of her.  She was one step from pulling her gun when 
she heard the ruckus from beyond the double doors that separated the 
actual emergency room from the offices and waiting room.  A harried nurse 
came through those doors and searched the waiting room with her eyes.  
"Is there a 'Scully' in here anywhere?" she asked impatiently.

"I'm Dana Scully," she said, stepping out of line.  "Is there a problem?"

The nurse regarded her with a jaundiced eye.  "The doctor wants to see 
you.  Back here."  She jerked her salt and pepper pony tailed head toward 
the ER.

Scully looked sheepishly around the room, feeling the stares of the other 
people follow her as she joined the nurse.  When the double doors opened, 
she could hear yelling.  Loud yelling.  Loud, frightened yelling.  From 
her partner.

"Get away from me!  Goddamn it, get the hell away from me!  Let me out of 
here!  NOW!"

Much of the rest of Mulder's tirade was lost as four huge orderlies held 
his arms and legs firm against the mattress and a nurse grabbed at the 
swinging IV line and injected a large syringe into it.

Whatever it was, it hit with the speed and intensity of a commuter train 
late for connections.  Mulder jerked and then went slack against the 
gurney, head lolling to the right, eyes locking on Scully before drooping 
to half-mast.

An older man in worn blue scrubs checked Mulder's chest with a 
stethoscope, adjusted a setting on the heart monitor next to the agent's 
head and finally turned toward Scully.

"Are you the doctor who was at the site?" he asked, taking a clipboard 
from a nurse and scribbling on it before handing it back.

"Yes, I'm Dr. Scully.  What seems to be the problem?" she asked, looking 
at her partner with obvious concern.

"Jerry Midlin, nice to meet you," the doctor said, shaking her hand.  "I 
need to know more about this LSMD or whatever you said he was exposed 
to." 

"It's a chemical used to repel insects from plants," she said, glancing 
around the room.  She remembered all too well the promise she and her 
partner had made to the Sheriff and the Head of the County Board.  
Revealing too much about the spraying would only buy her trouble in the 
long run.  But not giving the full story to the doctor treating Mulder 
could jeopardize her partner's health.  There had to be some middle 
ground somewhere.  She looked over at the doctor again.  "I can't go into 
details, it's classified."  It was a lie, but not by that much and it 
seemed to do the trick.

"Well, I haven't got a clue what to do for him.  He seemed fine when he 
first got here, they had some trouble in the ambulance apparently, but 
he'd settled with some Valium.  All of a sudden, he just took off on us."

Scully shook her head and then let her eyes fall on the heart monitor not 
two feet from Mulder's face.  Surely not, she debated with herself.  
Surely the display on the monitor couldn't be . . .

She didn't have time to finish the thought when Mulder started heaving.  
There was nothing to come up, but his stomach didn't seem to care.  It 
looked painful from where she was standing, but he was still so zoned out 
that he didn't really take notice.  When it was over, he collapsed 
against the mattress and closed his eyes, falling fast asleep.

Midlin stood there, forehead in a worried crease.  "Well, that was 
interesting," he said dryly.  "But it still doesn't give me a clue."

"Can you use lidocaine to stitch up his arm?" Scully asked.  

The doctor shrugged.  "Guess I'll have to.  It wouldn't affect what's 
already in his bloodstream.  He's had two shots of Valium now, I don't 
want to overdose him.  But I think I better hurry, in case he wakes up."

Scully nodded.  "I'd like to stay, if I could."

"The more the merrier," Midlin said with a heavy sigh.  "Besides, we may 
need you to scrape him off the ceiling if he wakes up again."

Thankfully, that wasn't necessary.  Mulder slept through the suturing of 
his forearm, and continued to sleep for another couple of hours 
afterward.  In that time, the lab results came back from the blood work 
Midlin had ordered upon his patient's arrival at the ER.  Scully was just 
finishing up a two-year-old copy of 'Emergency Medicine' when the doctor 
returned with the results.

"You said there was an increase in adrenaline with prolonged exposure?  
Exactly how long was Agent Mulder exposed?" Midlin asked sternly, 
regarding her with a suspicious glare.

Scully shrugged and shook her head.  "He was exposed to the chemical for 
an hour or so.  But I checked him out completely about four hours after 
exposure and his blood work came out clean.  Why?"

"Take a look," Midlin said, handing a clipboard over to Scully.  

She glanced at the data and her eyes went wide at the amount of 
adrenaline in Mulder's system.  "My god!"

"It's no wonder the guy's jumpin' out of his skin," Midlin concurred.

"I don't understand it, this level is way too high.  It was normal when I 
ran the tests early this morning.  He had his other tests here, at this 
hospital.  You can check the results," Scully insisted.

"Oh, I did already.  And what you told me was true, none of what we're 
seeing now shows up in those results.  So how do you explain this 
increase in adrenaline almost 18 hours after exposure?"  Midlin took the 
chart back and stepped over to the gurney, watching Mulder sleep.  Even 
at rest, the Agent seemed agitated--his breathing was in short, rapid 
whiffs and the heart monitor showed in the low 90s.  "Did he run into 
this LSDM again somewhere today?  At the college, maybe?  Is this a 
public health question we're dealing with?" he accused, turning to look 
her square in the eye.

Scully was cornered.  She had no idea what had transpired in the tower 
with the shooter, only Mulder did.  Could he have been exposed again at 
that time?  Or more likely, did his reaction have something to do with a 
trigger, as he had suggested?  She looked again at the heart monitor 
display.  No, that was crazy, her scientific half argued.  

How would a message be transmitted to such a common appliance as a heart 
monitor?  There were probably a hundred or more of the machines in the 
hospital and all of them were separate and distinct, their only link the 
utility lines that carried the electricity.  But, if what Mulder said was 
true, the digital display on the car dashboard of the woman who attacked 
him wouldn't have been connected to an outlet and therefore had no common 
means of transmission.  What the hell was going on?  She was pretty sure 
only Mulder would be able to answer that question, but when he'd be able 
to tell her the answer was another matter.

"I don't know what's happening.  I don't think he was re-exposed, but the 
only one who can answer that is Agent Mulder.  I do know that I think his 
condition should be monitored, at least for tonight," Scully offered, 
trying hard to sound apologetic.

"Oh, don't worry about that," Midlin huffed.  "I've already admitted him.  
They're getting him a room upstairs on one of the secure wards."  At 
Scully's move to object, he held up his hand.  "Not the psychiatric ward, 
Agent Scully.  It's a step down unit, but they can handle his outbursts 
better than a general ward.  I'm not putting anything in his medical file 
that could come back and cause trouble, but I think it's necessary to 
take every precaution."

Scully was not happy at the doctor's assurances, but there was little she 
could do about it.  She had a more important assignment.  She had to find 
out why her partner was still being affected by the chemical LSDM, and 
how to cure him.

Franklin County Medical Center
10:15 pm

Mulder woke up feeling more than a little fuzzy.  The last time he'd felt 
as bad he'd been in five-point restraints in a hospital in Baltimore, but 
that had been over three years ago.  His mouth was dry as sandpaper, his 
throat raw and his head was pounding.  He struggled to sit up and soon 
discovered very lightweight web and velco straps held his arms to the bed 
rails.  What the hell?

"Good morning, sleepy head, or rather Good night," Scully said 
cheerfully, as if she didn't notice that he was currently tied down in 
bed.  "How are you feeling?"

He held up one hand as far as the strap would allow.  "A little 
restrained at the moment," he said with mild animosity.  "Mind telling me 
what the hell is going on?"

Scully had the good grace to look embarrassed.  "Sorry, Mulder," she 
apologized and stepped forward to undo the straps.  
 
As soon as the webbing fell away, he rubbed at each wrist, even though 
the straps had left no marks on his skin.  "I admit, it's in at least one 
of my fantasies, Scully, but I never included a hospital bed into the 
mix," he continued.

"Do you remember how you got here?" she asked quietly, as if the topic 
were one she really didn't want to approach, but knew it was necessary.

Her subdued attitude gave him pause.  He searched his mind for a moment.  
How did he get there?  He was obviously in the hospital.  Although his 
head hurt the only other source of pain was his left forearm.  He glanced 
down to see a new bandage on his arm.  Slowly, memories started falling 
into place like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, but not all the pieces were 
present.  "I hurt my arm running up the stairs.  I tripped on one of 
those 'safety strips'.  There was blood," he said, his voice growing 
distant as he remembered reaching out to take Ed's rifle out of the 
madman's hands.  At least it all ended for the best.  But it could have 
been a costly error.  He blinked and came back to himself.  "Sorry, 
Scully.  It's been a long day," he said with a heavy sigh.

"That it has," she agreed.  "But do you remember what happened after Mr. 
Funsch was subdued and taken to the hospital.  That was fantastic work, 
by the way, Mulder.  Aside from Mr. Funsch, you are the only other 
causality.  With all the shots fired, it could have been much worse."

Mulder ignored the praise and focused on what happened after he'd 
wrestled Ed to the ground and kicked the rifle over the side rail of the 
staircase.  Nothing.  He couldn't remember.  His next memory was a brief 
flash of holding his cell phone, but after that, more darkness.  He 
looked up at his partner with panic in his eyes.

"How did I get here, Scully?" he asked anxiously.  "And while you're 
telling me that, please tell me that the restraints were just a little 
trick of some sex-crazed nurse," he added, but she wasn't fooled.  He 
might have been trying for a joke, but it was meant to hide the terror he 
was feeling.

Scully sat down on the edge of the bed and took his hand in hers.  She 
briefly outlined her conversation with him and then with Sheriff Spencer.  
"By the time I got there, you were ready for transport, but you were 
still in shock and then you started vomiting.  You told me you didn't 
feel right.  I told you I'd meet you at the hospital."

"I don't remember any of this," Mulder said in a trembling voice.  "It's 
like you're telling me about somebody else."

Scully drew in a deep breath.  "It gets worse.  In the ambulance, you 
panicked.  You were shouting that you had to get out, now, and the EMT 
called in to ask for orders for a sedative.  They gave you 5 mg. of 
Valium.  You settled somewhat, but then in the ER, you panicked again.  
This time the doctor ordered a heavier dose of Valium and it hit you like 
a truck.  He stitched up your arm and admitted you up here.  Mulder, your 
blood is loaded with adrenaline.  Almost fifteen times as much as you had 
when I tested you this morning."

Mulder bit down on his lip.  "I don't remember any of that."  He looked 
around the room, noting the heart monitor and IV drip.  "How am I doing 
now?"

Scully got up and walked to the foot of the bed, picking up the chart 
from the basket.  "Your levels are looking better, the last tests show 
adrenaline levels just a touch above normal.  Your heart rate has slowed 
considerably and your blood pressure is back up.  But Mulder, I still 
don't know what happened.  I'm hesitant to say it's over."

He nodded, but it was fairly obvious he wasn't really convinced.  "Still, 
if things are back to normal, they should release me soon, right?"

The expression on her face made it clear that was not her first priority.  
"I really think releasing you would be a mistake, Mulder.  We don't know 
. . ."

"Scully, you were the one trying to tell me that nothing in the lab 
results pointed to me becoming the next Charles Manson.  If it's all back 
to normal, I don't want to stick around here.  What if it never goes back 
up?  I could stay here for weeks waiting for some dire consequence that 
is never going to happen," he added, reaching for a reasonable voice to 
counter his desperate words.  

Scully looked down at the foot of the bed to avoid his eyes.  "Mulder, 
I'm just worried . . ."

"I won't hurt you, Scully.  Nothing could make me do that," he said, 
hoping he sounded more confident to her than he felt in his heart.

She looked up at him, hurt in her eyes.  "Mulder, I'm not afraid of you 
or what you'd do to me.  I'm afraid for you.  Your heartbeat is too fast 
and irregular during these episodes.  It takes more and more sedative to 
make you relax.  And now there's no sign, but there was no sign earlier 
and then you had the episode.  I just think staying here over night isn't 
such a bad idea.  Besides," she added with a totally deadpan expression, 
"I hear they have ESPN and Comedy Central."

He slumped back against the pillows.  "What would happen if I tried to 
check out?"

"You wouldn't do that.  I know you, Mulder.  I know you're worried.  But 
we'll figure this out, I promise."

He blew a lungful of air out his pursed lips in frustration.  "I suppose 
asking for Chinese take out is out of the question," he grumbled.

She grinned as she checked her watch.  "All night Chinese might be a tall 
order, Mulder.  But I think I could be persuaded to run out for something 
your taste buds would tolerate.  If you agree not to give the nurses any 
trouble while I'm gone."

He dutiful held up his hand.  "I so swear," he intoned.  She rolled her 
eyes, which was exactly what he hoped she'd do.

"While I'm gone, try to get some sleep.  These episodes are taking a toll 
on your body.  You need to rest as much as possible.  Okay?"

He nodded and fiddled with the bed till he was slightly reclined.  Then 
he made a great show of punching up the pillow and finding a comfortable 
position.  "Hit the lights on your way out, huh Scully?"  He was clicking 
on the television as she smiled and pulled the door shut behind her.

The only fast food restaurant open at that hour was Wendy's, so it was a 
double bacon cheeseburger with fries and a large Frosty in her bag when 
she returned.  She almost thought she had the wrong room when she saw the 
nursing staff and two previously unknown doctors scurrying out of the 
door she thought was Mulder's.  She checked the name in tape on the door 
and blanched.  It was Mulder's room.  She pushed open the door and went 
in.

A red crash cart stood on the far side of the bed, it had recently been 
put to use by the haphazard way the paddles rested on top.  After a nurse 
moved, Scully could see her partner now had a full oxygen mask over his 
mouth and nose and his eyes were shut and sunken in his face.  His gown 
had been pulled down to just below his ribcage and she could still see 
the telltale pads in place on his chest to provide a more conductive area 
for the defibrillator.  

"What happened?" she demanded, her voice rising above the murmur of the 
staff.

"I'm sorry, if you go outside someone will be out there shortly . . ."

"I'm not leaving.  I'm a medical doctor.  Now what the hell happened 
here?"

"He went arrhythmic about 15 minutes ago.  It was completely out of the 
blue.  One minute he was fine, the next minute the monitor was going 
haywire.  We defibbed.  He's doing better now."

Scully's stomach dropped to the floor.  Whatever LSDM was, it was 
affecting her partner in dangerous ways.  She looked down at the nurse 
who had just drawn two vials of blood.  "Check for adrenaline," she 
muttered and went over to stand by Mulder's side as the nurses finished 
cleaning up from the code.

They were done in short order.  One of them gave her shoulder a light 
squeeze as they past her.  She held herself perfectly still, afraid of 
what would happen if she even attempted to acknowledge this small act of 
kindness.  She knew she would fall apart at the seams.

She waited by his side until one of the doctors tapped on the partially 
opened door.  "Did I hear you right?  Did you say you were a doctor?" he 
asked, stepping in the room.

Scully switched on the small light bar above Mulder's bed so she could 
see the man better.  "Yes, I am.  I'm Dr. Dana Scully.  I'm Agent 
Mulder's partner at the FBI."

"Steve Barrenger," the doctor said, extending his hand.  "I have the lab 
results.  They're . . . well, weird."

"Adrenaline off the chart?" Scully offered.

Barrenger nodded and gave her the papers.  "It would explain what 
happened.  But how did he ingest that much adrenaline?  Is he asthmatic?"

"No, not at all.  He was exposed to LSDM, lysergic dimethrin.  It's a 
pesticide.  It was reported as safe, but Mulder was in the direct path of 
the chemical.  He was covered in it, I'm sure he absorbed it through his 
skin as well as in his lungs."

"When did this happen?" Barrenger asked.

Scully glanced at her watch.  "About 22 hours ago."

"I haven't had time to read his full file, but I take it this is not the 
first episode he's had?" Barrenger continued.

"No, it's not.  But the other two weren't . . . weren't quite as serious.  
He was agitated, but his heart wasn't adversely affected.  Do you think 
there's going to be permanent damage to the heart muscle?" Scully asked, 
trying to sound detached but knowing how badly she failed.

Barrerger chewed on his lip.  "Not from this last one, no.  But if he has 
another one, especially if we can't stop it in time, then there might be 
problems.  I'm going to start him on encainide for now.  Just as a 
preventative measure." 

Scully nodded.  She'd seen the drug listed as treatment for life 
threatening arrhythmias.  It was very effective, but would it work 
against a drug that seemed to be increasing in intensity even as it 
should be leaving her partner's bloodstream?

As the doctor left to place the order for the new medication, Scully 
looked up at the television screen.  Mulder had been turning it on when 
she left.  He wasn't one to turn the TV off, she'd heard it blaring 
through the night from the other side of paper thin motel room walls all 
across the country.  She doubted if the nurses would have turned it off 
in the middle of a code.  She walked out into the hall and down to the 
nurses' station.

"Excuse me, but who answered the code in Agent Mulder's room?" she asked 
when she finally had someone's attention.

"I did," came the reply from a curly haired red head, about Scully's 
height with bright green eyes.  "I'm Linda.  I have Mr. Mulder on rounds 
tonight," she added.

"I know this is going to sound odd, but was the TV on in his room when 
the monitors went off?"

Linda looked confused, then pulled at her lip.  "Now that you mention it, 
no, it wasn't.  But I did notice that the remote was pulled off the cord.  
That happens sometimes.  We'll get it replaced in the morning," she 
assured Scully.

"Thank you, but that's not really necessary.  I think he'll sleep better 
without it," she replied and then hurried back to the room.

Franklin County Medical Center
7:03 am

The sunlight was pouring into the room, and woke Mulder up.  He found 
himself lying on his side, staring into a sleeping Scully, who was 
sitting in the chair next to his bed and quietly drooling onto the pillow 
tucked under her head.  He smiled at the site and then looked around the 
room.  Oddly enough, a pillow case was covering the television and a hand 
towel was thrown over the heart monitor next to his bed.  Upon closer 
inspection, every item of the room, including the digital display on the 
wall clock, was covered in some fabric or paper.  He was working that 
over in his mind when Scully woke up.

She yawned and stretched, then gave him a day brightening smile.  "Good 
morning.  And this time it really is morning," she teased.

"Yeah, it is," he agreed and shifted a little in the bed.  He was tired, 
he was sore, but he felt better than he had in at least a day.  "Dare I 
ask how I'm doing?"

"You mean, after scaring the crap out of me last night?" she asked.

He stared at her, questioning.  

"You decided to code on us.  Definitely a way to liven up a ward, Mulder.  
But the doctor on call last night started you on some medication that 
should stop that."

He glanced over at the television.  "Guess I won't be watching Katie 
Couric this morning," he said casually.

"I think you'll live without television for, say, 48 to 72 hours.  By 
that time, the LSDM should have dissipated completely.  And then you can 
go home."

"No TV," he said dryly.

"No TV, no digital heart monitors, no digital clocks and I covered the 
little digital display at the end of your bed, just in case."

"Covering all the bases, huh, Scully?" he grinned.

"Just keeping one step ahead of you, Mulder.  That's all I ask.  Just one 
step ahead."

The end