Genesis
Ally

Chapter 11

Mercy General Hospital, San Diego. 6:29a.m.

It had taken all of Scully's powers of persuasion to convince Christine Stevens to accompany SAIC Wickham away from the relative safety of the Motel and in to protective custody. Whilst Scully could understand her misgivings after everything she had been through, she had found herself losing the little bit of patience she had left.

Eventually though, Christine had conceded, perhaps realising that she would achieve nothing by staying where she was, and was finally, after much red tape, ensconced within one of the Bureau's local safe houses.

It was only then, that Scully was able to get away, and ignoring Wickham's gentle suggestion that she should get some rest, had instead headed straight for the hospital to see her partner.

Information on his condition had been scant at best, and when she called them up, they had stood by their strict policy of refusing to give out any details over the phone, a policy that as a doctor herself, she both understood and appreciated. It didn't lessen her anxiety though, especially since she also knew that when the medical profession clammed up it was usually because the news was not good.

It was fortunate for her that the early morning streets were still quiet, because she made the drive to the hospital at breakneck speed, taking full advantage of her excellent reflexes to keep her out of trouble. She had managed the journey in a little under ten minutes. On arriving, she had wasted no time on formalities, bypassing the front desk, and instead heading straight for the I.C.U. where she quite literally ran in to the doctor in charge who grabbed at her arms to stop her proceeding further along the corridor.

"Whoa, where do you think you're going?"

Scully shook off his hands, breathing heavily from her exertions.

"You have a patient here. Fox Mulder, he was brought in early this morning."

"And you are?"

Realising her mistake, Scully reached in to the inside pocket of her jacket and pulled out her badge, flipping it open in front of the doctor's face."

"I'm his partner."

The doctor relaxed visibly, and Scully lowered the badge.

"What's his condition?"

Her heart sank as the doctor once again took a hold of her arm, applying moderate pressure in order to steer her forward, away from the nurse's station, towards the visitor's lounge.

"Let's talk in here," he suggested.

The room was empty, the blinds drawn against the rising sun, and on another occasion Scully might have appreciated it's soothing decor. But not today. Not now. Following the Doctor's lead, she perched on the edge of one of the hospital issue chairs that lined the room, and waited for him to begin. He smiled at her soothingly.

"My name is O'Brien. I'm currently the physician in charge of your partner's care. I attended to him initially he was brought in, in view of the seriousness of his condition."

"What is his condition?" Scully repeated, already dreading the answer.

"Well, I have to admit that we're slightly at a loss. Mr. Mulder arrived here in an extremely serious condition," he consulted his notes, "he was in full cardiac and respiratory arrest, which to a lay person means..."

"I know what it means. I'm a doctor."

"But you're an FBI Agent. . ."

"That too. How is he now?"

O'Brien shook his head. "We managed to jump start him again, but his condition is currently giving us some cause for concern. We have him on a ventilator, at present he is making no efforts to breathe unaided. He is extremely tachycardic which thankfully we are managing to keep under control. He is deeply unconscious and isn't reacting to external stimuli. He has dangerously low blood pressure, and his temperature . . . well, see for yourself."

Scully accepted the proffered notes, and quickly ran her expert eye down the lists of figures. Her mouth dropped open.

"105.6? . . . but that's not possible. Are you sure that's an accurate reading?"

O'Brien nodded. "Absolutely accurate. We took three separate readings using three different instruments. The results were the same. We've had your partner on a cooling bed for the past two hours and it's had no effect at all on his basal temperature. I've never seen anything quite like it."

"But I was told that a viral infection was the cause, that you suspected meningitis."

"Yes that's right," agreed O'Brien, "but I got the results of the spinal tap an hour ago. It was completely clear. No abnormalities at all."

"Did you run blood work?"

"Extensively."

"And?"

"Same result. Nothing there. A slight reduction in the red blood cells, but nothing that would suggest anything more than a low grade infection, a cold, the flu, something along those lines."

"Did you run a Toxicology screen?" Scully broke in.

"No, I didn't. Not yet anyway."

"I'd like you to run one immediately."

O'Brien looked confused, "What am I looking for exactly? I mean, a Tox screen won't explain why he's like this."

Scully fixed her blue eyes on him, not yet willing to voice the suspicions that were formulating in her mind, especially not until she had something to back them up.

"I don't know yet. Maybe nothing, but it can't hurt to explore every possibility. There has to be an explanation, and we have to find it."

"Agent Scully, do you have information that I should know?" O'Brien narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but Scully held his gaze.

"All I know is that six hours ago, my partner was suffering from nothing more than a nasty case of the flu. I examined him myself, it was a diagnosis which any first year med student would have made, and now, if what you're telling me is correct, he's fighting for his life. That didn't just happen for no reason, and I need to know what that reason is. I think you do too."

She got to her feet, indicating clearly that the conversation was over. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to see him."

O'Brien shook his head, "I'm sorry. That's not possible right now. We have him in isolation, no visitors."

Scully was not impressed by O'Brien's attempts at authority. "OK. Then I would like to speak to someone in charge."

"Agent Scully, I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation here."

Scully drew herself up to her full height, preparing to deliver her trump card.

"No, Doctor O'Brien, I think it's you who doesn't understand. If you would like to check Agent Mulder's medical records, you will see that I am listed as both his next of kin and his chosen physician. Do you need me to spell out to what that means? Because you're wasting time standing here arguing and I won't tolerate that. So you have a choice, either take me to him, or accept that I will exercise my right to remove him from your care and the care of this hospital. Don't make me waste my time."

For a second, they glared at each other, but finally O'Brien dropped his eyes, knowing that he was in a no-win situation, that if he stood his ground, she would do exactly as she threatened.

"All right, Agent Scully. Against my better judgement, I'll allow it. But you must ensure that full isolation procedures are followed. Until we know what this thing is, I refuse to take any chances, especially with your life."

Scully softened slightly, appreciating the reasoning behind his gruff words. "I understand. Thank you."

*********************

10:13 a.m.

Scully glanced at her wristwatch wearily, and rubbed a hand across her eyes in an attempt to wake herself up. She was painfully aware that it was now forty eight hours since she had experienced anything resembling normal sleep, and the dull ache behind her eyes was a constant reminder that she was pushing too hard.

She desperately needed coffee, a shower and food, in that order, but she couldn't bear to leave Mulder alone for even a few minutes, and to add to her burden, she was counting down the minutes to Skinner's arrival.

She had phoned him shortly after receiving the news of Mulder's collapse from Wickham, and after a brief conversation, Skinner had informed her that he would be getting the next available flight out.

She had mixed feelings regarding his decision, needing and wanting his support, but at the same time knowing he would want answers, answers that she simply didn't have at the moment. Just to compound things further, she also found that she couldn't rid herself of a nagging feeling of guilt, that she should somehow have prevented this, that she hadn't taken Mulder's symptoms seriously enough at the beginning.

She knew it was absurd to be thinking like that, having gone over and over the events of the last two days in her mind. Nothing she had seen at the time, or that her partner had described could account for the seriousness of his condition right now. Scully was becoming more and more convinced that an outside influence had been brought in to play, that something had been done to him during the early hours of the morning, after his departure from the motel.

She shouldn't have let him go alone, and nas her eyes settled on him once again, she sent up a silent prayer now that her error come back to haunt her, like so many others had done.

Beside her Mulder lay as if dead, the steady rise and fall of his chest a direct result of the ventilator tubing which was taped to the corner of his slightly open mouth, rather than from any normal respiratory effort on his part. His temperature remained abnormally high, and though it had fluctuated slightly over the past three hours, it was still high enough for his body to be bathed in a constant sheen of sweat. He was naked apart from a towel draped over his middle torso and despite the cooling blanket beneath him that circulated a constant cycle of cold water around it, Scully could still feel the heat from him radiating towards her.

Despite his high temperature though, his complexion was sickeningly pale, his parted lips seemed cracked and dry against the whiteness of his skin, his dark hair wet with sweat and plastered against his forehead.

The myriad of tubes and wires attached to him made any kind of close contact difficult at best, the life support systems which monitored his condition clustered like high tech sentries around the bed. Scully's medical training made them easily identifiable to her. She constantly checked their readings, all too aware that Mulder's condition was not improving in the slightest, despite the high grade antibiotics that were being fed regularly in to his system through one of the two canulars which had been inserted in to his arm.

The other contained nothing more than saline solution, essential in maintaining his fluid levels as his temperature continued to rage and the sweat poured out of his every pore. She knew that dehydration was a dangerous reality in cases like this, and one which Mulder didn't need right now, because weakened as he was it would kill him in a matter of hours.

During her time at his side, she had been able to do little more than hold his hand and murmur soft words to him, not really knowing whether he could hear her, but needing to do something to let him know she was there, that he wasn't alone.

She had seen his life threatened before, had spent more hours than she cared to remember pacing hospital corridors or by his bedside waiting for him to wake up but this was different somehow. Back then there had at least been a reason for him to be there, something she could grasp hold of to give her hope. Now though, there was nothing to explain it, and nothing she could do to help him.

Scully sighed and brought her partner's hand up to her cheek, and rested it against her, her eyes never leaving his face as she searched for even the tiniest signs of life, but there was nothing, no response to let her know he was still with her. Feeling helpless, she closed her eyes and let her head drop until it rested on the bed beside his arm. Her fingers remained tightly curled around his, and even as she finally succumbed to the exhaustion that overwhelmed her, her grip never loosened, unwilling to let him go, even in sleep.

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