Date: Tue, 15 Jul 1997
Adventures in Babysitting

Summary: Scully's thoughts as she gets her first taste of the
conspiracy and begins to understand her reckless partner.
Dedicated to LuvMulder, Esther Walker, and MacSpooky.
Spoiler/Post Episode: Deep Throat
Rating: PG
Category: S A UST
Standard Disclaimer: I have always liked this episode, Chris, so
you know I couldn't keep my hands off it. Make you a deal. Finish
up the cancer arc, get the movie in the can, take a week off and go
surf and then get your butt back and write the season premiere and
I promise not to infringe on your copyright. But at the rate you're
going, the temptation is getting really hard to ignore.
Archivists: Please put it anywhere you want, just keep my name on
it.
Comments: Please send them to me. I'm thinking of going through
the whole first season--what do you think? vmoseley@fgi.net
NOTE: Be sure to read MacSpooky's 'Second Case' for another
take on this scenario. It's wonderful and I bow in it's presence.

Adventures in Babysitting
By Vickie Moseley
vmoseley@fgi.net

The gun was slippery in Dana Scully's hand, and she gripped it
tighter to keep it from sliding out of her grasp. Her gaze, however,
never faltered.

"You don't want this to come to violence now, Ms. Scully," the
would be reporter/turned undercover security guard told her as he,
too, gripped the steering wheel more firmly. He was still squinting
from where the butt end of his own revolver had made contact with
his eye. Hand to hand combat, compliments of the FBI Academy,
had never come in handy for her before. In some ways, she was
more than a little excited that she'd come out on top of the little
altercation. She was finally realizing that she had the makings of a
decent agent after all.

If she could manage to get her partner back alive.

This whole assignment had been a classic 'c-f' from the beginning,
as her Naval Captain father had often said (when he thought she
wasn't around). In essence, it was a wild goose chase, the goose
being one test pilot by the name of Captain Budahaus and the chase
ending when the good Captain had returned home, no longer
'kidnapped' and in seemingly undamaged condition.

Then Mulder decided to investigate the Captain's memory loss and
his own 'lights in the sky' theory, without her, and didn't come
back to the motel. It appeared that her wayward partner had
managed to get himself 'kidnapped' while investigating the
apparently solved kidnapping case.

If it hadn't been so serious, she would have laughed herself silly,
boarded the next flight to DC and left him to fend for himself.

But she couldn't do that. If her father had taught her anything, it
was that you took care of your own, whether that be your siblings,
you shipmates, or some nutcase the powers that be had assigned to
you as a partner. Even if the nutcase had only been your partner
for three months, you still did not leave him behind. Not ever.

The sweat was dripping down the back of her neck, but her pony
tail hid it from view. The security guard was now talking into his
little radio, making sure the 'exchange' would come off smoothly.
Scully bit her lip as the military jeep pulled up to the fifteen foot
high chain link fence and screeched to a halt.

"Leave the car running and get out, but slowly," she directed her
'hostage'. The thought flashed through her mind that he really was
her hostage at this point. Short of impersonating a reporter (not
exactly a capital offense in any state), the man before her had not
committed a crime. She had no reason to hold him at gunpoint,
save the very real feeling in the pit of her stomach that he knew
where Mulder was and what was being done to him.

The image of Captain Budahaus, confused, frightened, unable to
remember large portions of seemly essential information came to
her with terrifying clarity. Just let him be in one piece, she prayed.
So I can tear him apart limb from limb on the eight hour flight
home.

Her attention was glued on the man before her. So much so that
she missed seeing her partner's first uneven steps as he got out of
the jeep. She finally looked up and saw him stagger a bit. He
stopped long enough to listen for a second to the words of the
security guard and then, with a confused expression, he stumbled to
the passenger side of the waiting car.

"Get in, Mulder," she ordered, never taking her gun off the men on
the other side of the gate. He stood there for a second, as if he
didn't hear her. "Get in!" she said louder, then noticed that it
wasn't that he didn't hear--he hadn't understood her words. A
worry she hadn't felt before shot through her and chilled her to the
bone.

He got in the car and fumbled with his belt. She put the car in
reverse, not even bothering to buckle up, and peeled out down the
road toward town. She concentrated on the road for several
minutes, checking the rearview mirror every few seconds for any
followers that might be back there. Mulder sat next to her in
silence.

When they were well enough away and there appeared to be no
tails, she turned to him at last. "You OK, Mulder?" she asked. In
her heart, she knew the answer and it was not affirmative. Even so,
he nodded.

"I--I think so," he said hesitantly. Gone was the smart ass FBI
agent who had once tried to mentally seduce her with the line 'do
you believe in the existence of extraterrestrial?' Just his tone of
voice that day would have been enough to file harassment charges.
But he had intrigued her, with his quick mind and dry wit. The man
sitting next to her was a shell, the outer casing of that Mulder.

"Scully?" he asked, and she knocked herself out of her own
thoughts.

"Yeah, Mulder?" she encouraged.

"How . . . how did I get here?" he asked, and the expression in his
eyes betrayed not just confusion, but fear.

Now she was getting seriously concerned. "Mulder, what's the last
thing you remember?" she asked softly, realizing that in his current
state, he was more fragile than she'd ever seen him.

He paused and thought, his brow furrowed in concentration. "I
remember going back to the motel. You wanted to pack up and go
home. I remember going out the door." He stopped. He chewed
his lip. "What did I do next?"

She sighed internally. "Mulder, you took the rental and left me at
the motel. You didn't take your phone. You left me stranded,
ditched me. You didn't come back all night. I got worried and
went to call DC, but the phones wouldn't work. That's when the
nosy reporter showed up and I noticed that he had a pretty fancy
walkie talkie--for a small town paper. And a gun and security
badge from the base in his glove box. The kids showed up and said
they took you to the break in the fence, that you wanted to go find
'Yellow Base'. They had left you there about early evening. They
were sure you'd have come back. That's when I held the reporter
at gunpoint and demanded your return."

Surprisingly enough, that invoked a smile out of Mulder.
"Gunpoint, Scully? A simple 'please' wasn't sufficient?" he asked,
but then he winced and rubbed his left temple with his hand. "My
head is pounding."

"Do you remember any of that? Do you remember finding the
base?" she asked, suddenly very interested in the answer.

He shook his head and then laid his head back and closed his eyes.
He was quiet for several miles.

As they approached the town, the pavement changed and Mulder
woke up. "Where are we?" he asked rubbing his forehead again.

"Idaho," Scully replied and he shot her a frown.

"I meant, are we in town," he answered shortly. "I want to stop off
at the Budahaus's. I have to ask the Captain something."

Scully frowned and her grip on the wheel tightened. He was
beginning to sound like the Mulder she knew, annoying to the last.
"Mulder, I don't think that's a good idea. You look like something
the cat dragged in and Captain Budahaus was not in much better
shape the last time we saw him. I think we should just get our
things and head for the airport. It's still another two and a half
hour drive from here."

He shook his head and she knew that had to hurt from the way he
winced. "No, Scully. I want to talk to him. I won't bug him, I
promise. I have to find out if the memory loss is permanent. It will
only take a minute. Come on, we came all this way, we can spare a
minute, can't we?"

It occurred to her that as her direct superior, he could 'order' her to
drive to the Budahaus house. But that didn't appear to be Mulder's
style. She still wasn't sure what his style was, aside from early
American Bedlam, but he wasn't the type to order her around. She
could very easily refuse and he would grumble, but eventually he
would accept her decision. Just looking at him, his eyes pleading
with her, turned the tide for her.

"Just for a minute, Mulder. Not a second longer," she said firmly,
and turned at the light to make her way down the residential streets
to the Budahaus home.

Mrs. Budahaus met them at the door and refused to allow them in.
In the background, they could hear the Captain, his voice harsh,
angry, demanding to know who was interrupting them now. Scully
grabbed Mulder's sleeve before the door slammed in his face and
led him down the stairs.

"They got to him, Scully. They got to them," he repeated, his eyes
still lost and frightened. He was starting to unnerve her with his
strange behavior--almost normal one minute, fearful and paranoid
the next.

"Mulder, we don't know anything. And that is exactly what I plan
on putting in my report. Now, let's get the hell out of here, while
we still can." She headed off to the car, not bothering to see if he
was following.

She didn't look over at him as he opened the car door and got in.
He was silent again all the way to the motel. She gathered her
bags, which she had packed during the night, and waited in the
open doorway to his room for him to come out. As he picked up
his bag, his face went white and he dropped the bag and ran to the
bathroom.

She stood in the doorway, hearing him get sick, wondering what to
do. Her first instinct was to run to the bathroom and see if he was
all right. Of course he's not all right, stupid, she chided herself.
He's tossing his guts out. But it seemed inappropriate for her to
invade his privacy by following him into the bathroom. She
contended herself with leaning against the door, waiting to see if he
called out to her. After several minutes, he reappeared, looking
haggard. He splashed some water on his face as he passed the sink
and dragged his feet across the carpet. He went to reach for his
bag, but she beat him to it.

"You thinking of a career change?" he asked. "I hear parking
attendants make better money than bell boys."

Scully successfully didn't smile at his attempt at humor and
motioned him toward the car.

They didn't get more than five miles out of town when she had to
pull over and let him out. Mulder was sick again, this time falling
to his knees. To hell with propriety, she told herself, and this time
got out to help him. She held his shoulders as he had the dry
heaves. She was getting seriously concerned.

"Mulder, I think we need to get you to a doctor."

"I thought we had to 'get the hell out of here'?" he shot back when
he could.

"You are in no condition to get on a plane. I want to have you
checked out," she repeated firmly.

"Are you always this bossy?" he asked weakly as she helped him up
and to the car. She smiled and raised her eyebrow in reply. "I
thought so. No wonder Blevins sent you down to me." he sighed
and leaned the seat back to a reclining position.

Mulder required her to make a couple more stops along the way,
and each time he had more difficulty getting back on his feet and to
the car. When she got him in the car seat, she noticed he was
perspiring and even in the light of the dash, he looked too pale.
Finally, she saw the familiar blue and white sign directing her to a
hospital. "Hang on, Mulder. We're almost there," she encouraged
him. He nodded his head weakly, beyond caring where they were
going.

It was a tiny hospital, with four curtained cubicles in the ER. The
doctor on call looked wide eyed at her FBI credentials and
hurriedly directed the two nurses on staff to take blood samples and
get vitals. Mulder, for his part, seemed momentarily grateful just to
be reclining on the gurney, and appeared to doze off. That worried
Scully more than if he had spent the time complaining

Her thoughts were a jumble as she sat next to him on a pre-formed
plastic chair. He had been fine before he had gone missing. Even
the little 'roughing up' he'd received at the hands of the unknown
agents' hadn't left any lingering after affects. Mulder had suffered
quietly through a cursory exam of her own just to ensure that no
serious damage had been inflicted. After she listened calmly to a
few snide comments on her voyeuristic tendencies, she'd tersely
declared him fit.

But that didn't rule out the possibility of something happening
while he was gone. His memory loss frightened her, though she
was trying not to show it. Very early on in their partnership, his
remarkable memory had been a source of constant fascination.
While she had to read over reports two or three times to catch all
the details, Mulder would read them once and have them
memorized, verbatim. If his memory now had a hole in it, the size
of approximately 20 hours, what else had been done to him? But
how in the world could she find out, and how far could she trust the
medical staff at this small hospital to listen to her? She sat, quietly
dissolving into worry, until the doctor called her over.

"Agent Scully, he's dehydrated, running a temp--it's 102.5 right
now. We tried to get some water down him, but he's not keeping
anything down. I also found needle marks in both arms, recent. Do
you have any idea--"

Scully choked but recovered quickly. In the excitement of getting
him back and away from the base, she hadn't even bothered to take
a look at his arms. If he'd been injected with something, that might
explain the memory loss and the vomiting. It was now obvious that
something had been done to him. But how far did she want to
involve this doctor? Not that far. "I'm aware of those. He gave
blood before we left DC. He's a hard stick," she lied.

At first it looked like Dr. Hanson was going to call her bluff, but
then he seemed to come to some conclusion. Probably plans to
check for controlled substances, Scully figured, but held her
ground. She said nothing more. After a few moments, Hanson
shrugged. "Well, I think his symptoms are severe enough to
monitor. It's up to him, but I'd feel better getting him on an IV and
admitting him, over night at least," he said with a tired sigh.

It was obvious that the best place for Mulder was right where he
was, she had no idea what would happen if she moved him. Plus,
she wanted to see those lab results as soon as possible. But
convincing him that he should stay was another matter. Mulder
was stubborn, and usually avoided any medical advice when given.
"I'll talk to him," Scully said and walked over to the bed.

It took a moment for Mulder to come around. Even then, his eyes
held a glassy stare and he looked almost like he didn't recognize her
at first. "yeah?" he mumbled and tried to sit up.

"It's OK, Mulder. Just lie back. Look, you've got something, a
bug or something. Could be a virus, could be food poisoning--at
this point we'll have to wait a while for the lab results to come
back." She didn't feel like going into the needle marks just yet.

"Scully, I've been thinking. I think they did this," Mulder
interrupted in a hoarse whisper.

She sighed in exasperation. Vomiting and paranoia. With
attending fever dreams, she had no doubt. The fact that he was just
giving voice to her own fears only frustrated her more. "Mulder, I
don't think 'they'--whoever 'they' are--had anything thing to do
with this. But even if they did, that's beside the point. You are too
sick to get on a plane, and if you stay here tonight, both of us will
get some sleep. If I have to take you back to a motel, I'll spend the
night sitting up with you while you hold your head in the toilet."

"Great bedside manner, Scully. Pathology was a good choice for
you," he grumbled. Even so, he didn't put up any objections to the
plan.

"Whatever," she smiled at him. "I'll tell Dr. Hanson you're
checking in. Do you want me to call anybody? Your folks?"

"No," he said hurriedly and put his hand on her arm. "Please,
Scully, don't call anybody. I guess I should have made that clear
earlier, but I don't let my Mom know when I'm sick. She's never
been good with things like that--not since Sam. And my Dad--he
wouldn't know what to do."

"Then who do I call? I mean if anything were to happen--" she
asked, a little alarmed at the urgency in his voice.

"You'll do fine," he said with a faint smile. "Tell 'em your my next
of kin. You're a doctor, you should be able to answer all the
questions. Just don't call my parents, OK?"

"OK, Mulder, I won't. I promise," she said reassuringly as she
helped him shift the pillow behind his head. "The nurse will be here
to take you up to your room. I've got to do your admitting
paperwork, since you just added some new duties to my job
description," she teased lightly, hiding her fears almost as well as
her partner usually did.

The paperwork involved with admitting him overnight was
probably more extensive than if he'd been staying for months.
Although she knew most of the information necessary, there were a
lot of questions concerning his medical history that she couldn't
readily answer. If this was going to be a continuing role for her, she
determined to find out all she needed to know.

Mulder was sleeping when she got up to the room. The night
nurse, whose name tag announced her as Pat, had just finished
hanging his clothes in the little closet.

"The doctor was looking for you, some of the blood tests are
back," she smiled at Scully. "I think he's with another patient right
now. He promised to stop back in here before he leaves for the
night." She raised the side rail on Mulder's bed and straightened
the covers, giving him a sympathetic smile. "What a bummer, all
the way across country and sick as a dog. And not one for
hospitals, either, from the way he was acting."

"I wouldn't know," Scully said with a shrug. "This is my first run
in with a 'sick Mulder'."

Pat gave Scully's shoulder a squeeze. "It's probably just a virus.
Once his system gets straightened out, you can hop a plane and
head back home. Have you got a place to stay tonight? You
know, these chairs fold out into a fairly comfortable bed, if you're
not too 'statuesque', that is," she added with a grin.

"I might just take you up on that," Scully returned. It occurred to
her that if they--that group of mythical men who had taken him to
begin with, were to come back, whisking him out of the hospital
would probably be a piece of cake for them. Paranoia was one
thing, but caution was another. She wasn't going to leave him
alone for the night and give them ample opportunity. Still, she was
dog tired and a bed, even a narrow one, sounded like heaven.

"You're back," she heard a raspy voice say behind her. She turned
around from the door and saw her partner, droopy eyed, struggling
to get the bed into a reclining position.

"Yeah. I'm back. I signed away your life, your apartment, your car
and the rights to your first novel," she deadpanned and sat down
next to his bed. "Feeling any better?"

He leaned back once he was in a position to see her and closed his
eyes. "My stomach feels like it's playing 'Twister'. And my head
is still killing me. They don't want to give me anything other than
ibuprofen until they know if it's a virus."

"I think the test results are in, so that might change. I asked them
not to give you much until we had a chance to get the blood
samples. Just in case--"

His eyes opened and there was a twinkle in them, though just a for
a moment. "Why, Agent Scully, is that the opening of a closed
mind I'm hearing?"

She gave him a scathing look. "Mulder, anecdotal data points to a
virus and a lot of coincidence. But I would hardly be flying in the
face of science if I also considered the additional evidence of
memory loss to the equation." She bit her tongue as she watched
his eyes darken. "You still can't remember anything?"

He shook his head solemnly. "A black hole, Scully. It's only
happened one other time in my life. Another twelve hour period
that I can't recall, at least not without extensive trance-like states,"
he added, but didn't even attempt the grin that usually would have
covered his own discomfort.

It was the opening she was hoping for. "Mulder, you've told me
about your sister's 'disappearance'--"

"Abduction, Scully. Please, do me the courtesy of at least calling it
what it was," he asked, eyes closed once again, head half buried in
the pillow.

"Sorry," she corrected herself. "You've told me what happened
when she was abducted, but only in the most general of terms. You
say you didn't remember. What do you remember of that night?"

"Nothing of that night. For a long time, I couldn't remember
anything from that whole day or the day before. Slowly, I got back
most of that. But from about the time my parents walked out of the
door that night until I woke up in the hospital--"

She sat up straighter in her chair. "You were hospitalized? Why?"

He opened his eyes and gave her a weak smirk. "I experienced
'hysterical catatonia' for a period of about a week. When my
parents got home that night, they found Sam gone and me
catatonic. My dad called the ambulance and I didn't respond to
anything for the next 6 days. I woke up in the hospital and I had no
idea how I got there. Then I asked where Sam was, if she was OK,
and that put Mom over the edge. The doctor had to sedate her. It
was the beginning of the worst month of my life. I was in and out
of hospitals for the next four weeks. Finally, my Dad brought me
home, flushed all the drugs they had been shoveling in me down the
toilet and that was the end of it. We never spoke of it again."

Scully sat in horrified silence. She had already spent a few sleepless
nights considering how awful it had to have been for him, losing his
only sibling and no one knowing how it could have happened. But
this retelling of events so long ago ripped at her heart. And yet,
here he sat, relatively unscathed for all the wounds he'd suffered.
Her estimation of his strengths just increased dramatically. For that
matter, he seemed to be taking his current situation very calmly.

"Do you think this time . . .?" she asked hesitantly.

"Might be like last time?" he finished for her. "I can't really say. It doesn't feel the same. I was dissociative for a week back then.
This time I'm just sicker than a dog. I don't know. I think it's
more like what happened to Budahaus. I think they just went in
and erased a page of my memory. I just hope that's all they
erased," he added with a scowl. "Now, if you're done interrogating
me," he said with a half grin, "I think I'll try to sleep a little.
Whatever they gave me, I think I'm not reacting too well to it. I'm
so tired right now, Scully. I just want to sleep."

"Of course," she said hastily, and got up to turn down the lights and
lower the bed back down. "I'm camping out here for the night, so
if you need anything, just call me."

"If I'd known we were going to have a slumber party, I would have
worn my nicer 'pjs'," he said with an extensive yawn and curled
over onto his side. "'Night, Scully," he added sleepily.

"G'night, Mulder. I hope you're feeling better when you wake up."

Scully waited until she was sure he was asleep before quietly going
out into the hallway. Dr. Hanson was standing at the nurses
station, writing on a chart. He looked up when he heard her
footsteps.

"Agent Scully, I was just about to come looking for you. The
results are back. From what I can see, it must be a virus we're
dealing with. White count is up. No signs of food poisoning or
other infections. I'm diagnosing gastrointestinitis and prescribing
reglan for the stomach cramping and vomiting, codeine for the
headache. If he's progressing by tomorrow at lunch time, he can
go home with you." He gave her a reassuring smile. For all intents
and purposes, his questions were answered.

Scully bit her lip. "May I see the results?" Hanson frowned and
she quickly smiled. "I'm a pathologist. Just curious, that's all."
He grinned back and nodded then handed her the chart.

"He was a little anemic, too. Must have been from the blood
drive," Hanson said lightly before turning back to the desk to make
more notations on another patient's chart.

Or they took some blood for their own tests, Scully mused silently.
She looked closely--there was nothing. No sign of a sedative, no
traces of any drugs that might lead to memory loss, temporary or
permanent. There was nothing. She felt like the floor had just
dropped out from under her. She felt Hanson's eyes on her.

"Is something wrong, Agent Scully?" he asked.

She looked up and into the doctor's eyes. Suddenly, she felt very
threatened--she didn't trust this man any further than she could
throw him. "No," she covered quickly. "Nothing. It's just so,
well, we've been partnered a short time and he's never been sick.
Leave it to Mulder to get the flu when we're this far from home."

Hanson's face relaxed into an easy smile. "Some partners are more
trouble than they're worth, Agent Scully." His smile was all white
teeth.

Scully nodded silently and hurried back to Mulder's room.

Mulder was throwing up again when she got back into the room.
She made it over to the bed in two steps, holding the small curved
bowl for him with one hand and supporting his head with the other.
"Mulder, why didn't you call the nurse?" she sighed.

"No time," he gasped. For a moment it looked like he might
continue retching, but he swallowed hard and shook his head to
clear it. "I'm OK," he sighed and she helped him lean back. "This
is for shit, Scully. Where did you go?"

"I was talking to Dr. Hanson. I'm sorry I wasn't here." she said
sincerely.

""S'ok. All evidence to the contrary notwithstanding, I am a big
boy," he said with a tired grin. His face twisted as another cramp
hit but he didn't reach for the bowl. "What did the doctor say?"

"Stomach flu," she answered. "Mulder, there are tracks on your
arms. Needle marks. They weren't there when I checked you over
for bruises the other day."

"They gave me something. Injection?" he asked, sitting up and then
thinking better of it. She'd definitely gotten his attention.

Scully shrugged. "The evidence seems to indicate you were
injected. Or that possibly blood was taken. The lab results show
no traces of any chemical in your blood."

"Fast acting. Probably hard to trace. You'd need to look pretty
close for it, they wouldn't want it to be found," he sighed.

"Mulder, I'm not saying anything. But the doctor also said you
were anemic"

"That wouldn't make me this sick, Scully. I know. I've been
anemic before and all it does is make you tired. Something else is
making me sick."

"The stomach flu, Mulder. A virus in your gut," she intoned. She
could hear him grind his teeth at that answer. "Look, it doesn't
matter right now. Since we aren't positive, we need to treat the
symptoms. The nurse is going to give you something to stop the
cramping and headache. You'll sleep tonight. In the morning, if
the vomiting has stopped, we can get the first flight home."

"You refuse to see it, don't you, Scully?" he whispered, shaking his
head. She just looked at him, pleading with him to understand.
"Fine. Bring on the drugs. Tonight couldn't get any worse
anyway," he sneered.

His words hurt, but there was nothing she could do to respond to
them. It wasn't in her to blindly accept. But what she had seen had
begun to fan the flames of her own suspicions.

Pat came in with the medications. Mulder didn't say a word as the
two syringes were injected in the IV port. He turned his head away
from her and seemed to be considering the wall paper. Scully
pulled the chair out, not bothering with the sheets and blankets Pat
had brought for her. She didn't plan on sleeping anymore. She
refused to leave Mulder unprotected. Pat turned the lights out as
she left, plunging them in relative darkness. Scully tried to get
comfortable, but kept her hand on her holster, which she had now
clipped on her belt at her hip. She heard the sheets rustle on the
bed next to her.

"You all right, Mulder," she whispered, not wanting to wake him if
he'd fallen asleep.

"Yeah," he whispered in return. The room fell into silence again.

"Scully?"

"I'm right here, Mulder," she answered.

"Thanks for saving my butt back there," he said softly.

In the darkness, she smiled brightly. "No problem, Mulder.
Anytime." His words echoed in her head for several minutes,
leaving her with a warm feeling that was softer than any blanket and
stayed with her until the morning came.

the end.