Part 7/17
They had a 2 hour layover at Logan airport, before the next shuttle to Washington DC. Mulder sat in the blue poorly molded plastic chairs. He had tried reading on the plane, but a headache prevented him from seeing the words clearly. Sleeping might have led to another memory dream. He opted to type his case notes into Scully's laptop, while she dozed. ". . . Rage unconfronted takes its own path" he wrote. Who was he talking about? Karin? Himself? Quickly the report was complete and he started a series of mind numbing games of solitaire. He was tired and felt nauseous. His little apartment would be a welcomed sight and a night filled with channel surfing on the couch seemed quite appealing.
Scully was at a pay phone making plans with a new friend she had met at church. That was another change. At some time during her illness she regained her faith in the church. He was happy for her. It seemed like something she really needed and valued in her life. He remembered her saying to him once that she would be happy "to have a life in this one." It seemed like she was getting what she wanted and he was genuinely happy for her.
He was also terrified. It hadn't occurred to him until recently how much he depended on Scully. She was his entire support system. Sure, Skinner tried now and again to be his ally, if not his friend. Trusting anyone, men in particular, was difficult for him. He found it difficult to trust someone in a position of power as well. He was losing his best friend, not to the cancer that had threatened to take her life. She didn't *need* him anymore. She was reaching out to others instead of to him. She had a support network that covered the United States and parts of Europe. He and Scully worked together and that was comfortable, familiar and all right for now. When would she make the decision to leave him and pursue other goals? Really, it was only a=20 matter of time.
He tossed the magazine he had been holding down on to the cheap blue carpet. Here I go indulging in self-pity again, he thought. Maybe it was time for him to make some changes=20 in his life as well.
"Mulder, let's go to Brueger's and get something to eat," said Scully. She was entering something in her date book. Hmm. Was it a date? He wondered.
"Sure, Scully," he said, and picked up their bags.
The walk to the food court was relatively short.
"Hey, Scully, let me buy you a lobster for lunch, " he said. He was pointing to the tank of live lobsters at the Legal Seafood restaurant.
Scully cocked an eyebrow and said, "I don't think so, Mulder."
"C'mon, Scully. You're in Boston! You know they're fresh," he teased.
"Mulder, you know I don't like to *meet* my food before I eat it. No thanks," she said firmly.
He smirked. "Gee, Scully, I didn't know you had such a delicate stomach. I mean with your slicing and dicing work, I figured you'd be great at lobster. Hey, I bet you do great turkey."
She stopped walking and turned to face him. "Mulder, you know better than to . . . "
At that moment a man in a business suit bumped into Mulder. He reeked of cigarettes and booze. "Sorry, kid," said the man.
Mulder stopped breathing. He was paralyzed. That was the smell of my father. Holy shit! I can't get away from this.
I need to breathe, just breathe, he told himself. In 2 . . .3 . . . 4 Out 2 . . . 3 . . . 4 . . .=20
He felt a hand on his arm.
"What?" he yelped and dropped the bags, stumbling backward and falling on his backside.
"Mulder? Are you all right?" asked Scully.
He couldn't feel his feet or his legs. There was a chair relatively close. I can do this, he thought. As he got up and began to walk he tripped over his feet and landed face forward=20 on the airport carpet. I'm a freaking klutz,=20 he swore at himself.
A memory flash of a green book and of a tape recorder playing. What's going on? He shook his head trying to clear his mind of this odd memory.
"Mulder?" Scully was there trying to help him up.
He blinked hard. This is not happening to me. This is not happening. He created a mantra.
"I just tripped, Scully. No big deal." He was able to stand up with a little help and made it into the chair.
Scully brought their bags over and faced him. "You're not normally this uncoordinated, Mulder."
"Oh, well . . .ah . . . actually I am, Scully. It's just that I hide it so well when you're around," he said hoping to get off the topic.
"I don't think so, Mulder. I want you to see a neurologist when we get back. I think the injuries from the car accident are more severe than we thought." She held out her hands. "Here. I want you to hold your arms out to the side. Don't let me push them down."
"No, Scully, I don't need a neuro check. I'm fine," he informed her.
She shook her head. "Not from what I've seen=20 recently, mister."
He rubbed his forehead. "Mister." That's what his father would call him when he was pissed off. It made his head swim and his stomach flip flop. Get a grip, he urged himself. Don't=20 fall apart here.
"Look, Scully. I just need something to eat so I can take these pills for my headache. That's=20 all," he said. He slowly looked up at her.
She was standing, hands on hips, biting her lower lip. "You know, I have a friend from med school who works at Mass General. Why don't I give him a call and get you an appointment this afternoon," she said.
He shook his head. "No, I don't need a doctor. I need something to eat." He rested his elbows on the table and rubbed his eyes.=20
"Okay, Mulder. I'll go get us something to eat, but if you're not better after you've finished I *will* call my friend at the hospital," Scully said sternly.
"Fine, Scully. I'll do whatever you say." He sat back in the chair and dropped his hands into his lap.
"Well, that's a first," she said with a hint of sarcasm.
"Would you mind getting me some clam chowder? You can't get the good stuff in D.C."
"Okay, Mulder. You be a good boy and just sit there. I'll be back in a few minutes."
"Thanks, Scully," he said quietly.
They had eaten in silence. Scully handed him the two brown medicine vials, he flipped them open, poured one of each of the pills into his hand and then swallowed them down with some Snapple iced tea.
"Hmm," murmured Scully.
"What?" he asked.
She sat back in her chair and folder her arms. "It's just that I don't recall any time in the past where you didn't give me a hard time about taking medication before, that's all."
He nodded and edited the comment in his head that maybe she wasn't the only one who had=20 changed recently.
"We should be going," he said and began to pick up the bags. It was time to go home.
Scully insisted on driving the car from Dulles airport to her apartment.
"Mulder, I want you to come in for a little while, if you don't mind," she said.
He had been quiet the length of the ride to her place. He felt strange. Must be the meds, he=20 thought.
"Yeah, sure," he said. "I'll get your bags then I'll meet you in your apartment."
Scully nodded. "Are you sure you don't need a hand?" she asked.
"Scully!" he said annoyed.
She gave him a half smile and held up her hands in defeat. "Sorry. Just trying to be helpful."
"I'm fine!" he insisted.
He watched her turn and head towards the door to her apartment. She was watching him like a hawk. As he pulled the last bag out of the trunk, he realized how much he missed that. It was the only nurturance he ever got. Then he wanted to slap himself. Stop it with the self- pity crap. Jeez, I'm sick of this same old song and dance, why should I expect anyone else to put up with me. God, I'm pathetic.
He closed the trunk and managed to put the three bags over his shoulders. He looked up and saw her holding the door for him as he=20 began to cross the street.
"Mulder! NO!"
"What?" he said. As if he were in slow motion, he turned his head and saw the car tearing down the street. It hit him in an instant. He felt himself roll into the windshield and have it shatter across the length of his body. The car came to a screeching halt and he felt himself being thrown back over the hood, finally landing on the street.
Damn! The car must have been a Jag, he thought. Gingerly, he touched a gash on his right side.
"Mulder! Mulder!" He heard a distant voice calling him. He fought to keep his eyes open.
"Oh my god!" exclaimed a man with a glorious head of white hair. "Are you okay, son?" The man who drove the Jag reached out a hand towards him and as much as he wanted to reach up, Mulder couldn't will his arms to move.
"Mulder, it's me. Can you hear me?" asked an anxious Scully. Something must be covering his ears because he could hardly make out what she=20 was saying.
He looked at her and tried to respond. The question was too confusing. He looked back at the man who now held a cell phone. Hands pulled up his shirt -- touched his belly, his arms. Whose hands? It was hard to keep his eyes open. He tried to tell Scully he thought he was hurt, but couldn't make the sound work. Volume turned off, he thought. The world began to fade. Darkness around the outside of her face until finally there was nothing.
End Part 7
Part 8/17
I am surrounded by darkness. It feels warm almost welcoming. There is a pull upwards and I find myself in the light again. Am I flying? No. That's not right. I hear noise. What is that? I look around and find I am standing behind Scully who is hovering over my body. This is weird. I can see red lights flashing and if I strain I can hear what Scully is saying.
"He's not breathing!"
"Do you know CPR?" the man asked.
Her response was to begin CPR, a breath and then five precisely placed thumps to my chest. She repeats this.
I look up and see a sky full of stars. I remember this place.
"I can't get a pulse!" Scully tells an EMT.
I've been here before, when I was dead. I think I saw dad here. People talked to me. They said Samantha wasn't there and they were right. She is alive.
"He's aspirating. Let's get an airway in now!" says the EMT.
"The trachea is tight, I can't get him intubated."
Scully grabs my throat and it looks like she is massaging it.
"Try again," she orders.
"Got it!" the EMT tells her.
I feel something. It makes me turn around. "Melissa?"
"Yes, Fox, it's me. I need to talk with you," she tells me.
I feel myself shaking my head. "I'm not going back this time," I tell her.
She hugs me. It feels good to be held.
I kiss her on the cheek. "We miss you," I say.
She laughs. "Really? I didn't think you would miss me very much."
She has a wonderful laugh, very throaty and full bodied. It makes me smile. "Well, let's say that I wish I had made more of an effort to get to know you."
She smiles and wraps her arm around my waist. "She cares for you very much, you know," she tells me.
"I don't know, Melissa. I think I'm holding her back."
"Holding her back from what, Fox?"
I shrug. "Look at her. What is she doing with me? What have I done for her that gives her a reason to stay with me? I don't get it. Scully should . . . I don't know. She deserves more and she deserves better. She should be surrounded by red headed kids who want to dissect worms or something. She should have a husband that is totally focused on her and her needs. She should be happy, Melissa. She can't be happy with me."
I watch my body, now laying on a stretcher slide into the ambulance.
"Fox," Melissa says, drawing my attention away from myself. Hmm, that's ironic. "She can't be happy without you."
I give her a half laugh and shake my head. "I can't see that."
"I know you can't, but you will. That's why you have to go back."
"I don't want to go back."
"I know. You have a rough patch in the road. But your destiny has yet to be fulfilled. Believe it or not there is a master scheme and you have a role in it," she says.
I smile at her.
"Well, it's not like you are the center to this scheme, but your role is as essential as anyone else's. Only you can fulfill your role."
I drop into a squat and hold my head with my hands. "Why can't somebody else do it, Melissa. I'm tired. Worse than that, I don't even know what I believe any more."
Melissa is beside me, running her fingers through my hair. It feels comforting.
"Then believe in Dana. She'll help you find your way back to your path." She holds my face in her hands. "Believe in that, Fox."
I see tears in her eyes or am I looking through my own tears? I don't know. What I do know is that it's time to go back.
We stand up together. "She misses you so much, Melissa," I tell her.
"I know. I miss her, too. Good luck, Fox," she calls out as I start to run. I need to catch up with the ambulance before it leaves.
There is a flurry of activity as I climb into the back of the ambulance. Jeez, I didn't need to see all those tubes coming out of me. There are two rectangular patches on my chest.
"Still no conversion," an EMT tells Scully.
"300 joules," she tells the EMT.
"Doctor, he's gone. Let him go," the EMT responds.
There's a tube hanging out of my mouth and some sort of football contraption hooked up to the tube. Oh, that's right, an airbag or something.
"No! I said 300 joules, now," yells Scully.
I hear the high pitched sound of the defibrillating machine. Time to go home. I walk over to my body and lay down over it.
Oh my god! The pain is incredible.
"Mulder? Mulder?" Scully's voice.
There is a regular "bleep", "bleep" sound. I blink my eyes. I want to say her name but I can't. I reach out for her hand and catch it. It's so warm. I squeeze her hand.
"It's okay, Mulder. You're going to be fine," she tells me in that wonderful low voice.
I nod and blink one more time before I finally lose consciousness.
End Part 8/17
Part 9/17
I can feel myself leave this body and begin to fly. I turn around and see my battered body in the family room at home. I'm lying on the braided rug grandma made. Blood is everywhere. I can hear mom crying. It doesn't matter. Fly.
Up I fly away from that house. I fly past the park where there is a pick up game of baseball. Hey Nick! Hey Sandy! Look at me I'm flying! I fly towards the water. I fly low so I can feel the spray of cold salt water on my face. And then I fly high, so high that the Vineyard looks as small as my thumbnail. Over the airport I fly, playing tag with the commuter planes.
I swoop down to visit Christopher Columbus Park at the North End of Boston. There is an old man tossing bread crumbs from a bench near the water. I am hungry and I gratefully accept a few of the generous crumbs. Up I fly, towards the fragrant dogwood blossoms at St. Leonard's church and then over to sit on top of the Paul Revere statue. Here I will watch the people. There are tourist and groups of school children gathering around the statue. No, there are too many of them. It's time to leave.
I fly up and soar again, higher than the peak of the Old North Church, higher still. I am intoxicated by the smell of anise used for the=20 pizzels and biscottis that are made every Thursday at the North End bakeries. Flying higher now. Yes, it feels good to be free of an aching body and overwhelming feelings of guilt and shame. No, don't think about that not now.
High I fly to the North Shore, to visit Singing Beach. People walk on the sand crystals and their footsteps create a cacophony of bright sounds that constitute a haphazard yet beautiful choir. I perch on top of the building that sells ice cream cones and tonics to children. This was a good place to be, indeed a joyful place.
A familiar sound. Yes, he recognized the tone and cadence. What? Who?
No. He wouldn't allow himself to be drawn into that other world. He was going to stay here, at Singing Beach and watch the children play.
"Mulder! I want you to try and move your fingers. C'mon, just move your fingers for me," urged Scully.
Slam! He was back in his body. The vertigo was almost unbearable. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to go back to the beach.
"Mulder, please, wake up," she insisted.
It was lost already. The ability to go back to Singing Beach. He did what he was told. He was a good boy. Right now, someone was asking him to wake up.
He opened his eyes slowly. The sounds, the smells, the colors were familiar to him. He was in the hospital.
"That's it, Mulder, open your eyes. Can you hear me?" Scully asked.
He turned his head toward her voice and nodded slightly.
"Good. Good. Can you tell me how you are feeling?
Feeling? He didn't know. He felt numb. I need to concentrate, he thought.
"Confused," he said, noting the rasp in his voice and the discomfort in his throat.
Scully nodded. "How do you feel physically?" she asked.
He sighed. I don't want to know. I don't want to do this. He couldn't ignore her request, not one from Scully.
He raised his head slightly and saw the plastic IV tubing in his right arm. His right side was on fire. He rubbed his hand across his belly and felt some sort of contraption made of cloth wrapped around him. Oh, no. He had a foley catheter.
"Mulder?" she said softly.
"I think I'm a mess, Scully." He tried to swallow and get some moisture in his throat. "What happened?"
She took his left hand and held it in hers. How could such a tiny hand radiate so much heat?=20
"You were in another car accident, right outside of my apartment. Do you remember any of it?"
He became aware of beeping sounds. Looking over to the right he saw a EKG read out. Why would he be hooked up to an EKG? he wondered.
"At your place, got your stuff out of the car, started to cross the street and BAM! here I am. I'm a little afraid to ask but what's been going on since then?"
She lowered the bed rail and sat gently down on the bed. He swallowed the scream of pain that leapt to his throat when she did so.
"I need to know why you would walk in front of a moving vehicle?" she asked. Her eyes were downcast.
He brought up his right hand and started to rub his forehead; it was covered in gauze. What?
"I just wasn't paying attention, I guess. I don't know, Scully, it was an accident," he said.
She shook her head and did that thing with her mouth, a half frown and a half pucker. "I don't believe you. You've been acting strange since the last case. I almost think that you . . . " she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
Uh-oh. Here it comes. "Just say it, Scully," he said louder than he had intended to.
She looked at him. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to hurt yourself."
He smiled. Not because what she said was totally ridiculous but because possibly she was correct. She got right to the core of the problem and he was ashamed. The shame made him smile. It was either that or cry and he didn't want to cry.
There was an uncomfortable pause. He had no witty comeback, no dashing repartee.
"Mulder, you've been asleep for close to four days. You have some injuries, but nothing that would cause you to be unconscious for this amount of time. We've run every test and what we could come up with is that you didn't want to wake up."
He shrugged. "I don't know what to say."
She got up from the bed. "Don't give me that bullshit, Mulder. I've spent the last few months fighting for my life. Fighting to be here on this planet. I didn't fight so damn hard just for you to give up on me. You owe me answers. You owe me."
He heard the beeps increase in frequency on the heart monitor, betraying his feelings.
"It's not that easy, Scully."
"That's bullshit! Surviving cancer isn't easy," she yelled.
"What do you want me to say? I know that what you've been through hasn't been a cakewalk. I was there! What do you want from me?" he yelled back.
"The truth, Mulder, I want you to tell me the truth!"
He felt his face contort in different brown furrowing poses. "It's a shameful thing. I want to tell you but . . . " he looked up at her.
"But what, Mulder?" she asked softly.
He searched for the words to tell her. Well, gee, Scully, you know I was a regular punching bag when I was a kid, but that's okay. I protected Samantha when she was around and then later when she wasn't I accepted the beatings because I figured I had it coming to me. Right. Just tell her that, he thought.
His ears closed up and that blanket that caused his body and mind to become numb had descended upon him. Oh! What a relief. Yes, that is much better.
"Mulder, stop it. Do you hear me? Stop it?" Scully pinched his arm.
He looked towards the direction of the pinch but said nothing.
"I know what's happening," she said. "I know you have been in and out of dissociative states since sometime during the Bobby Rich case. The temporary lapses in memory, your lack or coordination, the inattentiveness all are classic symptoms of a dissociative state. What I don't know is why and what I can't possibly begin to understand is why you are so hell bent on getting yourself killed!"
The core stepped back and away from the shell. He hovered near the body but not too closely. He observed Scully. Why does she care if I'm alive or dead? I'm not sure if I care, he thought.
The core found the words and allowed the shell to speak. "I don't know if I can tell you. I mean, I don't know if it's possible. It's like something is preventing me from forming the words and telling you." He noticed the pitch of his voice was high and that his speech sounded strange.
He watched her come closer to the bed and pull up the railing. She was leaning against it.
"Look, Mulder, I'm tired. If you want to try and explain things to me, fine. I'm here for you. But, if you're just going to lay there with that stupid expression I'm going home and getting some rest. I can only do so much for you."
He nodded. "Why don't you go home, Scully. You're right, you should rest. I need some time to think." He looked up at her. "So, why don't you go home. That's a good idea," he said evenly.
Her head dropped down. After a few very uncomfortable minutes, she walked over to the chair and put on her coat. "If I can, I'll try and stop by later."
He licked his lips and nodded, not trusting his voice. He watched her thrust her hands in her coat pocket. One of us should say something, it occurred to him. She paused just for a moment and then she walked out of his room. He wondered if she had just walked out of his life as well.
End Part 9/17
Part 10/17
His dad's fingers dug into his shoulder as he shook him. "Get up you piece of garbage! You are so lazy. You make me sick, boy. Do you hear me? Get up!"
"I'm sorry, dad, I was asleep," he said hurriedly.
"Agent Mulder, are you okay?" asked A.D. Skinner
"What?" he replied.
"Agent Mulder, are you awake?"
He blinked hard then rubbed his eyes. He could hear the tattletale of the heart monitor, once again betraying his fear.
"Yeah, I'm awake." He swallowed hard. "I'm awake."
Skinner nodded. "Glad to hear that, Agent Mulder. How are you feeling?"
That question again. He hated that question. "Fine, sir, I'm fine." He struggled to sit up. Pain! He forgot about the pain in his side. He saw blood seep onto the hospital gown. Breathing brought the pain to a new level. Great. What a wonderful show you're putting on for the boss, he thought.
"Mulder, do you need some assistance?" Skinner asked.
Mulder nodded and listened to Skinner's heavy footsteps leave his room.
He threw his arm over the bed rail and rested. He couldn't do any more moving by himself.
He saw two pairs of feet enter the room.
"You shouldn't be moving around like that, Mr. Mulder," said a baritone voice from above him.
The nurse, Jack Stone, RN, according to his nametag, moved him on to his back. Jack closed the curtains and then came over to the bed. Without any explanation, Jack threw down the covers, took off Mulder's gown exposing him to the world.
Mulder heard a "rrrrrrriiiiiiippppp!" And the cloth around his rib cage now lay flat on the bed. He saw a large sterile gauze square with lots of blood on it. Jack ripped off the bandage. "Ouch!" cried Mulder.
"Looks like you popped a few stitches. I'll clean this would up and redress it," he said before turning around and walking out of the curtained off area.
"Great," Mulder said aloud. Sure, just leave me like this. Let the whole world see what Fox Mulder looks like with no dignity. He sank back into his pillow. If he could just reach that sheet . . .
"Okay, this won't take much time," Jack said as he reappeared with a handful of supplies.
"Uh, Jack? What happened to me? No one has really explained to me what's wrong. Obviously I have this cut here but, I don't really know anything."
"Well, you have about 30stitches here. You were in a car accident and you managed to tear yourself open pretty good. You have some cracked ribs and that's why you wear this binder. You have multiple cuts and abrasions, especially on your forearms and hands. You must have used them to protect your head. You had a cut on your forehead when you came in and now you've got a new pair -- one towards the center of your forehead and its mate, one on the back of your head. While I'm here, I'll take a look at that and change your dressings."
Now I have even more questions, thought Mulder.
Jack secured the binder across his ribs, causing Mulder to see the world begin to fade to black.
"Oh, no. Just keep breathing, Mr. Mulder. You're going to be fine. Breathe in and out. That's better."
"Mulder," he said above a whisper. "Just call me Mulder, okay?"
Jack shrugged. "Call yourself Queen of the Nile, I don't care."
Mulder sighed. This is what you get when you pay for a quality HMO.
Jack dressed him in a fresh johnnie, as he called it, and covered him with a clean sheet=20 and a very warm blanket.
Mulder watched the sterile gauze squares drop away from his head: one, two and three. Oops! The last one fell behind his neck. A thought occurred to him.
"Jack. Do I now have a bald patch on the back of my head that has nothing to do with male pattern baldness?" he asked.
"That's right. You got a few stitches back there. The doctor needs to see what he's stitching up. Don't worry, Pal, it will grow back." Jack patted him roughly on the shoulder.
This is a banner day, Mulder thought. "Hey, can I get off this EKG?"
"I'll ask the doctor. I think they want you on it for another 24 hours, though," Jack explained.
"Why am I on it?" Mulder asked. "I don't have a history of heart disease or anything, I don't understand why this thing is attached to me."
Jack smirked. "Hey, I just work here. The doctor wants you on the machine therefore you stay on. When I get an order to take it off, I'll make sure it comes off. Your doctor is=20 making rounds now. You can ask her when she comes around."
Mulder's head snapped up. "Oh. Okay, I'll ask her then."
"Okay, I'm finished here. Your wounds look good. They're not decompensating. If you need anything else, just push that button by your right hand," Jack said.
He looked over and saw the palm sized remote control/speaker/nurse call button contraption. "Right. Thanks, Jack."
The curtains were opened and Mulder watched Skinner come back into the room from the hallway and take a seat.
"All better, Agent Mulder?" he asked.
Mulder furrowed his brow feeling the gauze move at the same time. "I guess so, yeah."
"I read your report on the Bobby Rich/ Karin Matthews case. Like most of your work, it's pretty strange. I was wondering if you could explain to me what happened out there right before Karin Matthews met her demise."
Office stuff. I can do this, thought Mulder. He folded his arms across his chest. "I believe, sir, that Karin Matthews internalized all of the verbal and physical abuse she suffered as a child. In the end it was too overwhelming for her and she became confused as to who was the victim and who was the perpetrator. I think that to some extent she believed all of the hateful things her father had told her and that she was not able to separate what he said from reality. She was a psychotherapist and she should have had knowledge that such splitting can occur. You know the saying, some psych students are there to learn how to help others and some students are there to learn how to help themselves."
Skinner nodded. "Understood. Which kind of student do you think she was, Agent Mulder?"
"Well, I suppose a little of both."
"Which kind of student were you?" he asked.
A cold shiver went down his spine. "Excuse me, sir?"
"When you were studying psychology at Oxford, which category did you fit under?" Skinner=20 asked.
Mulder counted breaths until he hit eight. "I don't find that particularly amusing, sir."
"It wasn't meant to be. Agent Mulder, I was wondering if you could explain to me, why one of my best agents called me today and said she wouldn't work with you until you got over your death wish."
I can't believe she called Skinner! he thought angrily. He had almost told her his most intimate secret. Thank goodness he didn't tell her. She'd probably be working on the memo broadcasting it to the entire bureau.
"I'm waiting for an answer, Agent Mulder," Skinner said sternly.
The betrayal hurt him, deeply. He found himself trying to focus and find the words to explain to his boss but the words were not forthcoming. He felt hot. A rush of emotions overwhelmed him and wouldn't go away.
"Take your time, Mulder. I cleared my afternoon schedule to spend time with you," Skinner said sarcastically.
Terrific. That's such freaking GREAT! Okay. Just breathe. Breathe. Yes. The mantle that caused him to feel numb fell across his head and chest. He looked at his fingers and pinched his thumb against his index finger. He felt nothing. Good, very good. I'll just go away for now. He settled back into his pillow and allowed the numbing to take over his body. Wow, was he tired. He closed his eyes.
"Agent Mulder, I'd like to give you an opportunity to answer before I take you off active duty status," said Skinner.
Gee, that should bother me, but I don't really care, he thought. He swallowed. "Sir, I don't know why Agent Scully said that, you'll have to ask her. All that I can tell you is that I have been in 2 car accidents inside a week and I'm feeling a little confused and dazed. If Agent Scully interpreted that as something else, that's her problem. I'm happy to discuss this matter with her at anytime. Now, if you would excuse me, I really need to rest." Oh, yeah. That was good. He felt proud.
He heard Skinner sighing hard. He did that when he got angry. It reminded him of a bull that was being antagonized. That image almost=20 made him smile.
"Fine, for now. When you are discharged from this hospital, I will call Scully into my office and if she still does not want to work with you, she will be reassigned or you will be taken off the active duty list. Is that clear, Agent Mulder?" he said angrily.
Mulder nodded. "Yes, sir."
Skinner leaned down and spoke into his ear.
"I don't believe that bullshit story you just gave me. Is your head clear enough to understand that? It's insulting to me but more importantly it's insulting to your partner. That makes me sick." He moved away and picked his coat up from the chair. "Give that some thought," he said.
Mulder heard his heavy footsteps leave his room.
End Part 10/17
End part 10/17
Part 11/17
Mulder didn't have to time to fall asleep before he heard the shuffle of footsteps enter his room.
"Mr. Mulder, I'm Dr. Shane. How are you feeling today?" she asked.
Here we go again, he thought. "I'm fine and please call me Mulder, just, Mulder."
He regarded this doctor. She was mid-40ish with long black hair that fell to her elbows. Her jewelry was large pieces of turquoise and silver artfully made. He could see under her hospital lab coat that she wore a loose fitting dress in a paisley pattern. She was a psychiatrist. He was sure of it.
"Mulder, most patients in the hospital aren't 'fine'."
"Yeah, well, I am," he said angrily.
She opened what he assumed was his "chart".
"Let me see, here. According to your chart you've been sleeping quite a bit. It doesn't seem to have any medical correlation," she noted.
"I'm tired. I was in a car accident. I got hurt. I need my rest," he responded tersely.
Dr. Shane stared at him for a moment.
Mulder was happy to challenge her to a staring match. He could stare down any psychiatrist.
The EKG began to beep more quickly. He really hated that thing. He had enough of it. He tore down his hospital gown, grabbed the leads to the EKG and pulled them off his chest. He dropped the collection of wires on to the floor.
"I don't need a psychiatrist," he announced.
"Really?" she responded. "From what I've just seen you could use someone with whom you might discuss your considerable anger."
He clucked and shook his head. He folded his arms across his chest. Scully must have said something, he thought. Her betrayal was growing by the minute.
Jack ran into the room. "What's going on?" he asked. "His monitor went flatline on us at the nurses station."
Dr. Shane replied. "Mulder prefers to have the EKG leads off of him at this time. I'll stop by the nurses' station after I leave here and you can put them back on. Thank you, Jack."
Jack nodded and left the room.
Dr. Shane said, "It's obvious that you are not pleased that I'm here. I was asked to do a psych consult with you and that is what I am going to do, even if it takes a court order."
His arms uncrossed. "Are you kidding me? A court order? For what? Listen real carefully, Dr. Shane. I am recovering from physical trauma as a result of a car accident. I require a medical physician, not a psychiatrist!"
She closed the chart and placed it on the edge of his bed. "Intent to harm self or others is considered a crime, Special Agent Mulder. I can get a court order in less than 24 hours. I was hoping to save you the embarrassment, not to mention the possible repercussions with regards to your employment," she said sternly.
He crossed his arms again. "Fine, then. Let's get this over with. What do you want to do? A standard in-take? Maybe some psych testing? I don't see a case that might hold Rhorshach plates. They can be so entertaining don't you think? But they're not my favorite. I prefer the Thematic Apperception Test. I think it's more revealing, don't you? Oh, I am oriented times 3 by the way so we can skip that part.
Dr. Shane moved the chair by his bed so that she could face him when she sat down. "Was that meant to impress me? I am aware of your psychology education. Let's just talk for a few minutes, I'll save the psychological testing for a day when your affect has improved."
He looked over at her. "Fine. I didn't try to kill myself, by the way. That's something my partner at work dreamed up."
"Really? Why would she make this up?"
He relaxed a little. What was he doing? The memories, the dissociative episodes were strong=20 indications that he was in trouble. Acting like a jackass wasn't going to help resolve anything.
"Look, Dr. Shane, I admit to being somewhat preoccupied and perhaps a little clumsy. I've just finished a difficult case, and I'm tired. I wish people would . . . " he stopped himself. What am I saying? I know I need help. What's it going to take to make me understand that? Do I need to walk into another speeding car? He hung his head.
He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. "This last case was difficult because it dealt with kids being hurt." He felt his face flush. "As soon as the case was resolved it started happening."
"What started happening?" she asked more evenly.
"I . . . ah . . . that is . . . after . . . " Oh, yeah. That's impressive. Show her how articulate you can be, he thought. He felt his hands digging into his arms. "Could you shut the door, Doctor?"
She took a deep breath and looked at him somewhat suspiciously, he thought, before getting up and closing the door. She took her=20 seat again in the chair and looked at him.
"Thank you," he said sheepishly. "Okay, I admit I'm having some problems. I don't want everyone in the world to know about this. I mean, I have this image in my mind of my therapy bills being posted on the web page at the FBI." He looked to see if he had made her smile. Nope.
He continued. "I realize that I need some help but I want it confidential. I'll pay the bills myself. I can't do this until I know that what I'm going to say stays between the two of us."
Dr. Shane nodded. "Fine. I understand that you want to keep your private matters private. I promise that I will make every endeavor to do so. However, if you have intentions of harming yourself I am under legal obligation to report that. I have no other choice. Do you understand that?"
He nodded. "Yes, I understand."
"Good," she replied. "You say you've been having some problems. What do you mean by that?"
He looked away from her and closed his eyes. Here we go, he thought, noting the pounding that had begun in his chest.
"You know I've been through this before. When I was at university, I started to have some memory flashbacks and some other problems. Actually, I fell down a flight of stairs and that put me in hospital. That's where I=20 started this process. Hmm." He shook his head.
"What?" Dr. Shane asked.
"I just thought I had everything under control, you know? I mean I already dealt with this stuff and moved on. I didn't realize that I could be so totally overwhelmed by all this old stuff again," he said. "What happened to make me lose control of all this? Can you explain that to me? What did I do to deserve going through this again?"
Dr. Shane nodded. Her eyes never lost contact with him. "You haven't been specific about what you've gone through in the past or now and that's okay. You tell me when you are ready. I can tell you this. When a psychological trauma has been inflicted it doesn't just go away one day no matter how hard you work on it. As you just said, it's a process and it's cyclical in nature. Sometimes things from our past are brought up for whatever reason and you work on these issues again. But this is what's most important -- this time you confront your issues with a whole different set of skills, a whole different attitude and a whole lot more=20 knowledge than you did that last time. Does that make sense to you?
He nodded slightly. "Yes, intellectually. I have to tell you that in my gut, I don't understand it and it makes me real angry that I have to go through this again." He lay his arms down on either side and relaxed into the pillow. "It's weird. These things from my past have so much power. Jeez, it almost got=20 me killed."
"Are you saying that you tried to hurt yourself?" Dr. Shane asked.
"No. No. I was totally dissociated and unaware of my environment. It's a good thing I wasn't working on a case. Something really bad could have happened." He recalled what Scully had told Skinner. She was right. She wasn't safe around him right now. If they were out in the field and his weapon was drawn he might . . .=20 What if he drew his weapon on her because he was confused? The realization of this fact made his chest burn and he could feel his heart beat quicken once more.
"You said before that it was a case that had brought some memories to the surface? Is that right?" the doctor's voice broke his train of=20 thought.
"What?" he asked. He placed his hand on his chest. Man, this is starting to hurt, he thought. "Oh. Yeah, but it wasn't just the case. My life has changed in a very big way recently and I think that's probably what got things in motion. This last case just brought everything to a head." It hurt to breathe. Okay, just try and relax, this is no big deal, he said to himself. Breathe in and breathe out, you've been doing it your whole life. Breathe . . .=20
Dr. Shane was standing next to him. When did that happen?
"Mulder, tell me what's happening?" she said.
He shook his head and pretended not to notice that his hands were balled into tight fists. Just like he tried not to notice that he was losing feeling in his face and in his arms. "I'm fine," he croaked.
Suddenly the pain got more intense. He heard himself cry out and felt his body attempt to go fetal. "I think I'm having a heart attack," he didn't mean to say that aloud. Dr. Shane pressed the nurses button. = "Bring me 20 mg of diazepam IV right now," she ordered.
He couldn't breathe. He could see a hand around his heart and this hand was squeezing tighter and tighter. He grabbed on to the side rail of the bed and he held on to it tight. If he could sit up, maybe he could breathe better. Wait. He had to rest, the pain was too intense. He leaned his forehead against the rail.
Hands were on him. They pushed his shoulder back toward the bed so he was laying down. No! Didn't they know what was happening? He still couldn't breathe. He was going to die. There was no air in the room. Hands placed an oxygen mask over his face. There was no air. Hands taking off the gown. Hands placing something wet and cold on his chest. No! It was too late. The room began to fade.
Oh, no, he thought. I'm dying and I didn't have time to tell Scully that I'm sorry. Oh, god, Scully. I'm so sorry.
End Part 11/17
Part 12/17
It is Christmas eve and people are coming over to the house. Sometimes momma drives me and Samantha around at nighttime and we look at all the pretty lights on the houses. Some are real fancy and some just have a few lights in the tress. I like to look into the houses and wonder what it's like to be a little boy in that house.
Momma put a shirt and a sweater she made for me on my bed and told me to change into them. She says I have a problem with colors. I don't think I have a problem with colors, but people tease me sometimes at school. I have a bad owie on my tummy. It's dark and it hurts when I touch it so I don't touch it. I have big owies and little owies. They're all on my tummy and on my back. No one can see them, except momma and dad.
Yum! I cam smell cookies baking! Momma makes the best peanut butter and Hershey kiss cookies. I put on my clothes so I can go down to the kitchen to help her.
Dad has made a fire in the fireplace and he is throwing a new log on. Momma likes having a fire going. She says it reminds her of when she was growing up and they depended on the wood stove to heat her house.
"That's a nice fire, dad," I tell him.
He looks at me funny. Not like he's mad, but like he doesn't care for me too much. I wish I could turn invisible right now.
"What would you know about anything?" dad says.
"I don't know," I say and go into the kitchen. Momma has on her "party" dress and she is filling a big plate with cookies. She's been making different kinds all week. Samantha and I helped her with some. Tonight we're supposed to help by not eating all the cookies before company comes.
"You look pretty, momma," I tell her.
"That's nice of you to say, Fox. Come here and help me with this cheese and cracker platter." She shows me how to put sparkly toothpicks in the little cubes of cheese.
"I wanna help!" says Samantha.
"Here," I tell her and give her a handful of toothpicks. "You give these to me one at a time, okay?"
She nods.
The doorbell rings. "Go ahead and get that, kids," says momma.
I help Samantha off the chair and we walk/skip to the door and open it. It's the Farley's from down the road! "Hi Mr. and Mrs. Farley," we say together.
The doorbell rings a few more times and more neighbors join the party. I get one of the red plastic plates and fill it up with cookies and one piece of a really gross looking cake that Mrs. Merrymead brought. Momma said I had to try it Momma helps me get some cider, but not the spiced cider from the big bowl. I get the kids cider from the kid's bowl. I can't see a good place to sit, so I go up the stairs, just a few steps. Wow! I can see everybody from here.
A lot of the ladies are oohing and aahing over Samantha. She's only two and she doesn't talk very good but she's very cute. The ladies are playing with her long wavy hair. I hear a burst of laughter coming from the group of men. Dad must have told one of his stories. People tell me that dad is very good at telling stories but he never wants to tell one to me.
There are a lot of people here from my neighborhood. Ow! I touched one of my owies by mistake. Do all the dads hurt their little boys? I have a feeling it's wrong and it's bad. I know I'm not supposed to tell, never. Sometimes the older kids in the neighborhood will come over and watch Samantha and me so our parents can go out to dinner with their friends. Dad says he needs to be with "adults for a change." I know some of the kids who watch us have seen me with owies but they don't say anything. People must think I'm really stupid or silly because I always have owies and=20 sometimes I wear a cast for really bad owies. Sometimes I wish one of the neighbors would ask me and Samantha to go stay with them. We could see momma during the day and then leave at night when dad gets home. I wish someone would help me. I try so hard to be a good boy. Dad says I'm "damaged goods." I'm not sure what he means. It's not like I'm a dented can at the grocery store. Maybe that's why no one will help me.
"Fox, come here," says dad. "I was just telling Mr. Blake how you knew the names of all the Massachusetts senators dating back to Adams. Go, ahead boy, tell them."
This is the only time dad seems to like me. I go to the circle of men and tell them all these different things I know from books and stuff. I do what I'm told. I'm a good boy. Aren't I?
Thwack!
"Damn!" came a voice from the hall.
Startled, he awoke quickly and accessed the situation. He was in the hospital. He was an adult. It was just another memory dream. He sighed and tried to relax. He could hear his heart beating quickly via the EKG. Don't these things have a volume control? He had a wicked case of dry mouth.
"Hello there. I see you're awake," said a female voice.
"Scully?"
"No, I'm your physician, Dr. Patel."
He watched the petite dark hared woman walk across the room and over to his bed.
"It's nice to finally meet you. Every time I come in here you're asleep." She began to write in the chart.
"Um, could you tell me what's going on? I know I was in an accident but no one has really told me anything," he said.
She continued to write in his chart. "Just a moment."
A nurse walked into the room. "Dr. Patel, here are those test results you asked for."
"Oh, thanks, Jeanette," the doctor smiled and accepted the paperwork.
"Excuse me," he said. "Can I have some water or something?" he asked Jeanette.
He watched her look over to the doctor.
"He can have some apple juice, herbal tea if you have any around, Jeanette," she informed.
"I'll take anything," he told the nurse. She smiled and left the room.
"Let's get you up to speed," said Dr. Patel. She dropped the chart on top of the EKG machine and he jumped.
"Exaggerated Startle Response. Typical," the doctor murmured.
"Excuse me," he said. Now is not a good time to lose my temper, he thought.
"You arrived in the emergency room 6 days ago. At the scene you arrested and revived via CPR and defibrillator. That's why you've been on the EKG. You have four cracked ribs on your left side, and a five inch wound beneath your ribs on the right. All is healing nicely. You suffered a concussion, and have minor head wounds that required only a few stitches. You have several abrasions on your body, most notably arms and hands, nothing serious. Do you have any questions at this time?"
He couldn't think. "I'd like to have this catheter removed, as soon as possible. When can I go home?"
"I'll order the removal of the foley today. I don't know when you can go home. Psych wants you admitted as soon as your medically ready."
What? "I don't want to go to the psych ward. I'm fine. When can I go home?" he asked more aggressively.
"You can discuss your psych admit with your psychiatrist. Apparently, you had some sort of panic episode yesterday and she wants to start you on some medications before you're released. As far as I'm concerned, I'd like to see you eat something and be able to use the toilet and then you can leave."
The indignities of being a hospital patient. The only time when discussions around your toileting habits are so important it's documented.
"Then can I get rid of this EKG?" he asked.
"Yes. Your test results are all normal. There's no need to record how many panic attacks you have in a certain time period," she remarked.
Pick your battles, Mulder. "Fine, Dr. Patel, thank you."
"You're welcome. I'm sure the staff on the psych unit will treat you very well. Goodbye." She picked up his chart again and walked out of his room.
She didn't even call me by my name, either of them. He felt like he had inconvenienced her and that pissed him off.
"Hey, partner. Heard you were thirsty?"
"Scully!" he said smiling.
She walked over to his bed and handed him a bottle of apple juice. "How are you doing? And if you say 'fine' I may have to kill you," she said with a hint of a smile.
He smiled back. "I have no idea how I'm feeling. Is that okay, or should I be worrying that the safety is off of your weapon."
She was putting ice in a plastic cup. "No, that answer is acceptable."
He nodded and watched her pour the juice into the cup and stick in a straw.
"Here you go. Take it slowly, you haven't eaten anything in a while."
The first sip was incredible. He would have chugged it if she weren't watching him. "Did you catch my doc's act just now? I feel like I should apologize for interrupting her day."
"Yeah, I caught it. Mulder, I think it's a good idea for you to move to the psych unit until you're stabilized," she said.
He felt his smile dissipate.
"Mulder? It's just to get you started on some meds and then you can leave. It's no big deal." She crossed her arms and looked at her shoes.
He felt like a raw nerve. Many emotions cascade through him accompanied by no thoughts in particular.
"I think you're right, Scully. I'd rather go home and just come in to the clinic everyday though."
When she lifted her face he could see that her eyes had brightened up.
"Gee, Mulder. I didn't expect a positive response. I've spent most of the morning coming up with retorts to all of your negative and snide comments. You surprise me," she said.
"Is that a good thing?" he asked.
She nodded. "Yes. That's a very good thing," she said.
At once they said to each other, "Look." After a slightly uncomfortable laugh he said, "You go first."
"I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry I got Skinner involved. I was wrong. I should have trusted you to know what you needed and to do the right thing."
"Hmm," he said. "And when have you known me to know what I needed and to do the right thing?"
He watched her as she rocked back and forth on her heels, her eyes scanning the ceiling.
"Okay, Scully, whatever. You were right to go to Skinner. You have a duty and a right to protect yourself from anything harmful and that includes me. Look you're making me seasick. Would you sit down, please?"
She pulled the chair around and took a seat.
"Thank you," he said.
"It's good to see you back to your old self again. Well, sort of, I guess."
"Okay, I think," he replied.=20
"What are you going to do? About Skinner, I mean," she said.
He took another sip of juice and considered her question. "I'm going to ask him to keep this incident to himself. I think that as long as I follow whatever Dr. Shane says, he'll agree to=20 that."
"What if she says you need to be admitted to the psych unit for evaluation?"
He shook his head. "I don't think she'll say that. We already have an understanding. I realize I have some work to do and she knows I'm willing to do it."
"That's good, Mulder. I'm happy to hear you say that," she said and rested her head on the back of the chair.
He looked away from her. "I . . . uh . . . think I should request a very temporary leave of absence until I know that it's okay for me to be working again. Well, and until you think that you want to work with me again. I want you to feel safe round me, Scully. I couldn't stand it any other way." He raised his eyes to meet hers.
She nodded and he thought she saw a tear well up in her right eye.
"Thanks, Mulder," she said softly. "I needed to hear you say that."
He nodded and dropped his gaze. They sat in a comfortable silence, a silence that could only be shared among true friends.
End Part 12/17