Title: Blood and Roses Segue: One Long Hot Night (1/4) Author: Hope E-mail: vii@netdirect.net (Type this in to reply, my header is a spam killing address.) Feedback: Please!!!!! Category: SAR Rating: PG-13 Summary: One long, hot night finds Scully on the brink of death and Mulder on the edge of sanity. Timespan/Spoilers: Assumes "Post Modern Prometheus", Events from Season 4, but ignores "Gethsemene" and "Redux II" A LOT of cancer related material. Keywords: Mulder, Scully, romance, death, hospital. Repost: Simultaneous to alt.tv.x-files.creative, eXtreme Possibilities. Archive: Yes Disclaimer: "Mulder", "Scully" and "The X-Files" arecopyright 1996, 1997 Ten-Thirteen Productions, and their use here is implied to fall under the statute of fair use for nonprofit organizations. "Blood and Roses" and "One Long Hot Night" copyright 1997 Hope. This story may not be reprinted, in either electronic or bound media, without my and Ten-Thirteen's express written permission. Notes: This story is a segue between my Blood and Roses trilogy into the next trilogy, Broken Orchids. If you haven't read Blood and Roses, some of the references in this story won't make sense. The medical terms in this story are not necessarily representative of a real medical situation. 11.00 p.m. "I love you too, Mulder." Silence. "I've always loved you, Mulder." More silence. Mulder peeled himself from the couch, and shook the thoughts (fantasies, he reminded himself) of Dana Scully from his mind. Wiping a trace of sweat from his brow, he paced his living room in blue boxer shorts. The air conditioning in his apartment had gone out hours ago, and his repeated calls to the landlord were never answered. He hoped there would be a Satanic murder, ten Satanic murders, the entire House and Senate murdered by Satanists, as long as it would get him out of this apartment, and his mind off of his partner. Walking over to his window, he peered out into the inky city night. Steam should have been rising from the streets, the few living trees should be wilted to the sidewalks. Sirens should be screaming through the blackness of a blistering Washington DC night, trundling the victims of heat- anger induced violence into overcrowded trauma centers. Instead, it was oppressively silent. With a quick, practiced motion, Mulder peeled off his socks, and tossed them next to the couch. Shuffling into the kitchen, he ran himself a glass of water, tasted it, then poured it out again with a scowl. It was going to be a miserably long, hot night. 11.00 p.m. When the nosebleed had started, Scully thought nothing of it. She pinched the bridge of her nose with a cool rag, and leaned forward over the sink, expecting the flood to come to a quick close as usual. The nosebleed apparently had other ideas. Rather than slowing, the flow grew heavier and heavier, until her white sink was stained crimson, and spatters of it crawled on the edges of the counter tile. After a half an hour, she packed her nose with cotton, made a phone call to her sleeping oncologist, then put herself in a cab for the George Washington University Medical Center. During the ride, she considered calling Mulder, but then thought better of it. He hadn't taken a day off in weeks, and she wasn't sure she wanted him hovering over her while she waited to be treated. Despite being dressed in a light cotton shirt and shorts, sweat ran down her neck and soaked her back. The heat only made the bleeding worse, and by the time she'd reached the GWUMC, the cabbie was more than happy to drive off without his tip. Self conscious, she tried to cover her face as she walked into the emergency department, and the nurse at the admitting desk was kind enough to get her an ice pack while she filled out her paperwork. Scully sat in the waiting room for half an hour, feeling like an exhibit in a freak show. While she watched an obviously schizophrenic man talking to President Truman, the families with coughing children and broken hands watched the blood pour from her face. She could feel the blood starting to run down her throat, and when she started coughing it back up, she stood up to make her way back to the nurses station. Unfortunately, she didn't quite make it. 12.20 am Giving up on any semblance of sleep, Mulder picked up his phone and dialed every number he knew, trying to find someone with whom to spend this strangely tropical evening. When he got to the end of his list, he was still without plans, and as a last resort (or so he told himself), he dialed Scully's home number. When there was no answer, he tossed the phone back on its receiver, and flopped back on his sticky couch. A few moments later, he sat up, pulled his socks on, dug until he found clean pants and a cleanish shirt. If he wasn't going to be sleeping, he wasn't going to swelter in his apartment either. Grabbing his cell phone, he stuffed his wallet and ID in his pocket, and stepped out of his apartment. 1.12 am "She presented with posterior epistaxis, not unusual until she fainted in the waiting room. CBC, Chem7, and blood gasses, and she did show a low platelet count, everything else seemed normal. Tox screen came back negative. We gave her 2 pints O neg, started a Ringer's drip, gave her 7.0 migs of Minadiol, then had the OTL do an exploratory. So far, the hemorrhaging has shown no signs of stopping, though it has slowed, and the OTL couldn't find a specific cause, so we didn't do an emergency cautery." The trauma doctor pointed out each step of Scully's treatment on the chart with her oncologist. Shaking his head, the trauma doctor waved his pen at the X rays on the wall's light boards. "We took a head array. When we pulled her records, it indicated that she had a malignant posterior nasal tumor, but none of the diagnostics we've done show that. We thought there might be a possibility the hemorrhaging was eclipsing those signs, so we beeped you as soon as she was stable." Scully's oncologist nodded seriously, examining the X rays. "Go ahead and add a short term glucose drip, and have her admitted upstairs to ICU. I'm glad you checked her records and beeped me. I was already on my way in to see her, but was running late. Some nutcase opened every fire hydrant between my house and the hospital!" 1.24 am Mulder languidly flipped a dollar bill at the dancer trying very hard to earn his money. He took another drink of his soda, and turned away from the woman, getting up to leave. He'd been out of the house for an hour, and had yet to do anything but badly spend 20 dollars. Making his way out of the "gentlemen's club" and into its parking lot, he pulled out his keys. When he got to the car, however, he found keys entirely unnecessary. Someone had kindly divested his government issued Lumina of its windows, radio, and ashtrays. Angrily brushing the glass from the driver's seat, he could understand taking the radio, but the ashtray? When he went to put his keys in the ignition, he found a tangle of wires. Looking down, he realized the steering column had been cracked. Frowning at the key with the electronic security device, he started the car. "If not for you, this car could have been stolen, and I wouldn't have to explain," he told the keys. He turned out onto the street, and started towards headquarters. "Scully. . . Dana, I'm not. . .I don't. . .I care about you, it's something more than just. . . " She waited for him to finish his statement. Her heart was beating hard under her skin, and she felt that her head was spinning. Mulder seemed so pale, almost translucent. She reached out to touch his face, but her fingers passed through his image. With a soft gasp, she leaned back, staring. "Dana, I care about you and it's. . ." "She's crashing, blood pressure falling, we're losing her," She turned her head to try and find the source of the new, urgent voice, but saw nothing. Returning her gaze to Mulder, she felt impatient, waiting for him to finish his statement. "One more breath, Scully. Just one more breath." She opened her mouth, but she couldn't speak. "Epi push, damn it where are those paddles??" "Mulder?" "That's all I've ever really asked of you," he said sadly, fading into dust. "Mulder!" "360 charge!" Scully screamed until her throat was raw. "We're losing her, 380 charge!" Her body jerked, and she smelled smoke. She tried to run, but her legs were heavy, like running through water. "Mulder," she sobbed and fell into darkness. 2.17 am "No sir, I explained. I went into the bar to look for my informant, and when I came out, I found the car like this." Skinner raised an eyebrow, staring Mulder down. Shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, Mulder tried to return the stare. He started to craft a response to Skinner's anticipated anger, but his cell phone interrupted. Grabbing the phone as if it might save him from drowning, Mulder flipped it open. "Mulder." Skinner glared impatiently as Mulder talked. "What? When? How is she?" Listening to Mulder, Skinner's face started to blanch at the words "How is she?". He tried to divine what was being said on the other end of the line. After several long, tense moments, Mulder hung up the phone. His mouth drooped open, his eyes were haunted. Despite the hideous heat, he felt cold to the bone. "Agent Mulder?" "Scully, sir. She's at George Washington. They don't expect her to make it through the night." 2.32 am "This is my fault," Mulder whispered wrenchingly, kneading his hands on the steering wheel. Skinner watched him closely; watched him break traffic laws left and right. George Washington University Medical Center was only a few miles away, but Mulder had managed to run four red lights already. Skinner pretended not to notice the tears welling in his subordinate's eyes. "Mulder, you might want to slow down a little," Skinner chided softly. Running a stop sign, Mulder shook his head. "This is my fault, she followed me faithfully, she listened to me, even if she didn't believe me, and now I've killed her. I've destroyed her, and I loved her." Skinner didn't look especially surprised at the confession, but he took charge of the situation. "Agent Mulder, stop this car." Mulder stared over at Skinner. " I mean it, Mulder. Stop this car now. You have no business driving." Slowing down, he pulled the car to a stop, and got out. Skinner walked around the front and took his place in the driver's seat, waiting for Mulder to get back in. "We'll. . . you'll have time to grieve her if it comes to that, Agent Mulder. In the meantime, I suggest you pray." 2.47 am "Sir, you can't go in there, sir!!" The nurse shrieked after Mulder. He ignored her, rushing into the ICU unit where Scully lay senseless, shrouded in a ventilator and IV tubes. A cannula tube ran from one side of her nose, emptying a steady drip of blood into a collection bag. Mulder's heart felt heavy in his chest; his stomach burned. As he reached out to touch her pale hand, someone grabbed his shoulder. Whirling around, he came face to face with Skinner. "Barging your way in here isn't going to help her, Mulder." Bowing his head, inhaled sharply. "She's dying. . . how can I let her die alone?" Before Skinner could respond, the nurse entered the room, followed by a security guard and a doctor. "Sir, I have to ask you to leave this room," the guard said. "I want to know what's happening," Mulder demanded defiantly. "Are you family?" The doctor's voice was soft, comforting. Mulder shook Skinner's hand from his shoulder, and stalked out into the corridor. Reversing himself, he demanded the doctor tell him everything. "Sir, I can't give you any information about the patient if you're not family." Mulder flailed for the right words for a moment, then leaned in to whisper to the doctor. "She's as close to family as I have anymore." The doctor considered Mulder for a moment, then extended his hand. "I'm Dr. Connelly, and you are?" Everything was moving too quickly. Scully couldn't get her feet underneath her, and she was sure she would fall. Looking up, she could see Mulder standing over her, his lines hazy and insubstantial. She reached for him, but he only watched as she slipped further down into the darkness. 3.04 am "She's coding again!" "Paddles, atropine, epi push!" "Clear!" "No response!" "Charge 360, shock her." "Clear!" "No response!" "Try 360 again!" Mulder watched in horror from the glass doorway as Scully was stripped to the waist, and being shocked repeatedly in an effort to revive her. Every jerk she made, he felt. Pressing a hand against the glass, he couldn't stop the tears from falling. The doctors' and nurses' voices melded together, and his bleary eyes skipped from Scully's waxen face to her vital monitors. "380!" Skinner pulled Mulder away from the window, and forced him to sit down. Mulder fought him, but failed. "You don't want to remember her like this, Fox." "I don't want to remember that she's lost her career, her sister, her faith, and her life because of me, either. I owe it to her to be here until the end. I owe it to her to suffer the pain I've caused." Skinner knelt next to Mulder. "Mulder, take the what she's given you and forget the rest. No one forced her to help you re-open the X files. She could have walked away then, gone back to her career track, and forgotten you, but she didn't. She's had tragedies. We all have. You are not her god, Mulder. You did not determine her fate." He touched her face, and leaned to kiss her, but Scully recoiled. She hit him, she pushed him, she screamed. And then she fell. 4.47 am "Agent Mulder? Agent Skinner?" Mulder looked up at Dr. Connelly, as he pulled off his latex gloves. "Is she all right?" The doctor shook his head. "She still has brain stem activity. We've put her on a respirator while we wait for her family to arrive and make a decision. It doesn't look good. I'm very sorry, Agent Mulder." "Can I," Mulder stopped himself, looking back at Skinner, "Can we see her, please?" Skinner bent his head, indicating that Mulder should go ahead without him. Mulder hesitated, then walked into Scully's room. Standing at her bedside, he took her hand in his. He looked behind himself, subconsciously making sure he was alone. "Dana, I want to apologize," he said softly, squeezing her hand. "I want to apologize for causing you so much pain, but I want to thank you too. Thank you for bringing me your intelligence and wisdom. Thank you for trying to set me straight. Thank you for fighting for me. Thank you for everything you've given up for me. I never realized the shell I lived in until I met you, and now that you're leaving me, I don't know if I can ever go on the way I have before. "I'm a better man for knowing you, and you've given me hope. Thank you for letting me love you, even if you couldn't love me in return. I hope we do have more than one life, because I want nothing more than to be part of you for all time." Mulder raised her hand to his lips, and kissed her fingers gently. "I guess this is goodbye now, Dana. I will never stop loving you." 7.30 am Bill Scully stood tensely by his sister's side. Every so often, he threw an angry glance at Mulder, but said nothing. Scully's mother wept quietly in the chair near the window. She looked up anxiously each time a doctor walked past the door, and her face fell when none of them stopped. Holding a cup of coffee, Scully's father walked back into the room. He sat next to his wife, putting his arm around her, and offering her the drink. She stared at it, but never took a sip. After a long, uncomfortable wait, Dr. Connelly finally arrived, followed by a nurse and a respiratory therapist. The nurse and therapist quietly supplanted Bill and Mulder at Scully's sides, and went to work. Dr. Connelly faced the family, and explained what would happen next. "Mr. Scully, Mrs. Scully, what we're going to do is very important in terms of whether or not Dana has any chance of survival without the intervention of machines. Nurse Cooper is covering her mouth and lips with petroleum jelly, so we don't tear her dry skin as we take out the respirator." Mulder stopped listening, instead staring intently at Scully's monitors, and the medical personnel working on her. He was only vaguely aware when the doctor stopped speaking, but intensely aware when he moved to Scully's bed. He watched as the doctor pulled the tape from Scully's face, freeing the respirator to be pulled loose. With well practiced motions, the respiratory therapist tilted back her head, the nurse levered her jaw open, and the doctor worked free the blue tubing and pulled it from her mouth. He set the respirator's tube on Scully's chest, and made sure the nasal cannula was still in place. Then, grimly, he stepped back to watch. In three minutes, Scully's life would end forever, or begin again completely. If she breathed, then her brain functions were somewhat intact, there was a chance. If she did not, she was dead, even if machines could keep her body warm and supple. Trying to remember a prayer, any prayer, Mulder came up with only one. He began the Lord's Prayer silently, but when he reached, "And if I die. . ", he stopped. Holding his breath, he pleaded with her with his eyes, begging the fates or gods to spare her. She was dizzy, and underwater. It was dark, but she could see the sun above her. Struggling to swim, she made slow motions through the water. She felt as though she were treading through molasses. She could hear Mulder's voice, ethereal and strange echoing around her. "I hope we do have more than one life, because I want nothing more than to be part of you for all time." When she opened her mouth to respond, it filled with water, choking her. She tried to swim harder, but she never seemed to get closer to the surface. She reached out for a hand, for help, but found nothing. 7.34 am She drew one long, gasping breath, a breath that rattled through her lungs, and wheezed from her chapped mouth. The collective breaths in the room echoed in relief, then horror when the saw blood begin to pour from her nose. The nurse pushed everyone from the room, and pulled the curtains on the windows closed. Scully's mother broke into fresh, wracked tears, and buried her face in her husband's chest. Bill was a wire wound too tightly, fairly bouncing in place as the nurse rushed out of Scully's room, then back in with surgical tools. A few moments later, she was followed by a phlebotomist carrying bags of blood. "You did this to her, you bastard." Bill's voice was quiet venom. The words were quiet, and at first, no one understood the implication. Mulder stood a spare few feet from Bill, a haunted look in his eyes. He didn't respond, he didn't know what to say. Apparently finding Mulder's silence an anathema, Bill punched him, his right fist connecting solidly with Mulder's jaw. Mulder stumbled back, falling into one of the chairs. Mr. Scully grabbed his son by the shoulders, and pulled him back. "We know you're in pain, Bill, but you're not the only one grieving here." Mrs. Scully's voice was shrill. She opened her mouth to speak again, but Dr. Connelly came out of Scully's room and intervened. "She's awake," the doctor said, stunned. "She wants to talk to Mulder." Anger flared in Bill Scully's eyes, but he didn't try to stop Mulder from entering his sister's room. 7.54 am "Mulder," Scully said weakly, her voice gravelly and quiet. "Come closer, it hurts to talk." He did as she asked, sitting right on the edge of her bed, and leaning in close. He wanted to touch her face, her hands, but he resisted the urge. "You certainly have a flair for the dramatic," he joked weakly. " It's gone, Mulder." He crooked his eyebrow. "What's gone?" She touched the bridge of her nose weakly. " The tumor. . . the cancer." " How can you know that?" His voice was incredulous. She moved her hand slowly to cover his. " Some things. . . some things you just believe, they don't need an explanation." 6.20 p.m. "I'm back," Mulder said as he backed through Scully's hospital door. He had books, magazines, flowers, and a package in his arms. "I brought fun stuff." Scully pushed herself up in the bed, and watched his spread his collection at her side. "Strange Stories comic books?" She raised an eyebrow. "Mmm, yes. This one has the amazing Mutato. Very good comic." He handed it to her, then began showcasing the other things he'd brought. "The new John Grisham, a copy of The Enquirer, America's favorite newspaper, Time, George, American Medical Journal. . ." She smiled softly at him, putting the comic book aside. "You didn't have to do all of this, Mulder. The doctors say they're going to release me in a few days." " A card from Frohike, " Mulder continued, "I don't get this one, but an empty test tube from Danny, flowers from Skinner. . ." Grabbing his hand, Scully stared at Mulder. "What about the box?" Mulder smirked and put on his innocent face. "What box?" She sighed, tilting her head. "The blue box with the green ribbon." Mulder looked around, pretending to see the box for the first time. "Oh! This box?" Grinning, he handed it to her. When she looked down to open it, his face fell slightly. A heavy weight settled in his chest as she pulled off the ribbon. When she opened the box, he watched her pull the silver chain from it's cotton bed. An exquisitely detailed mushroom pendant swung between them, and she took it in her hand. Turning it over, delicate Japanese characters glinted in the light. She parted her lips, then closed them, cradling the pendant in her hand. "How did you know?" "I saw the container in your apartment, but truthfully, Miss Desnoirs told me." He half smiled to himself. " I'm surprised at you, Scully." " What was the harm?" " Apparently none." There was a silence, and Mulder straightened his tie uncomfortably. " I. . . I can take it back. It was just a lark." Scully stared at the Japanese characters again, rubbing her fingers across them. Biting her lip, she tried to sort herself out. She slipped the pendant over her head, its metal clicking softly against the cross. "Mulder. . . this is. . . I. . ." She couldn't find her tongue, and she felt a chill on the back of her neck. She took his hand, and pressed it against the pendant nervously. "I had a Japanese pen pal once," she said finally. Mulder looked surprised, then afraid. "I didn't know that." She nodded, and covered his hand with her own. "I'll probably regret ever saying this," she murmured. "I love you too, Mulder."