NEW: Call of the Wild 1 of 3
Date: Tuesday, August 10, 1999

Title: Call of the Wild
Summary: Post ep for Field Trip. JoBeth Carson crosses paths with
the FBI once again.
Category: X A MT/ST, MSR
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Field Trip
Disclaimer: Still don't own them. Still playin' with them. Still
hoping the powers that be understand and don't sue :)
Archives: Yes
Comments: JoBeth just can't live a normal life! She keeps stumbling
on to these two nightmares in FBI clothing. But hey, it keeps her
off the streets <G>
Thanks to Susan and Jenniferanne for very fast turn around. Youse
are wonderful!

Call of the Wild
by Vickie Moseley
vmoseley@fgi.net

JoBeth Carson sat at her desk, staring at her computer screen over
a bowl of Frosted Shredded Wheat. It was 3:15 in the afternoon, and
that was as close as she'd come to breakfast or lunch that day, but
she didn't mind. She was working.

Four long years. It had taken her four long years to climb out of
the bureaucratic hell she's thrown herself into, but she'd finally
made it. Leaving USAMRID and the military to take a position
with the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta was
the smartest thing she could have done. She was doing work she
loved, she got the respect she deserved, and, for the most part, she
was her own boss. Her work with viruses and their spread was
groundbreaking and the last lecture series she'd given had been at a
hotel that overlooked the Pacific Ocean in Hawaii. The days of
freezing her scrubs off in Alaska were nothing more than a bad
dream to her now.

Her eyes glanced over, as they did a thousand times a day, to the
framed picture sitting on her desk. Dean, Dean, the man of her
dreams. She smiled playfully as she remembered the nickname
she'd given him on their fourth date. The youngest man to attain
the position of Dean of the College of Medicine at the University of
Georgia, Webster Price looked more like a surfer than a brilliant
surgeon and teacher. But that wasn't all the surprises he had in
store. Even though the son of a wealthy tobacco merchant, Web,
as he was generally known to friends and students alike, was just an
all around concerned person. They'd met at a conference over a
year before and had dated for a couple of months. He begged her to
leave the army and go to work for CDC so they could get married.
Having no better offers, and basically hearing her heart's desire
laid out before her, JoBeth had agreed.

A decent job, a life, and soon a husband. It just kept getting better
and better. Jo was having a hard time believing it wasn't all a huge
dream and she'd wake up in those corrugated metal tuna cans they
called barracks in Dead Horse. But when she really started to
worry, the phone would ring and it would be Web on the line,
reminding her that her dreams really were reality.

She grabbed the phone immediately after the first ring. "You're too
sexy for me shirt," she sang off key, in a low sultry voice.

"Um, I must have the wrong number. I'm trying to reach Dr.
Josephine Carson, with the CDC?"

Jo winced and swallowed. "Uh, you have reached Dr. Carson. I'm
sorry, I was expecting, well, never mind. How can I help you?"

"Dr. Carson, I don't expect you to remember me, but I'm Assistant
Director Walter Skinner with the FBI . . ."

All other words froze in the air before reaching Jo's ear. Walter
Skinner. Could she _ever_ forget Walter Skinner? The man was a
part of a triangle, an evil triangle that haunted her for years. Walter
Skinner, in no small part, was responsible for some of her greatest
triumphs in the field of research and medicine. He was also
someone partly responsible for getting her exiled to the top of the
world. He and those two other people she couldn't bear to think of
at that moment."

" . . . Agents Mulder and Scully have been taken to a small town
hospital not far from Brown Mountain, West Virginia . . ."

Jo sighed. Time to start listening, but that was _all_ she intended
to do. She was not going to get sucked into the vortex again, no
matter how enticing Mr. Skinner made it sound.

" . . . covered in what the doctors think might be digestive fluid,
and some sort of narcotic hallucinogen . . ."

Digestive fluid? "Mr. Skinner, back up a minute. Did you say
'digestive fluid'?"

"Yes, Dr. Carson. A yellow gooey substance. So far we're sure it
contains hydrochloric acid and some other gastric type substances.
It's a pretty complex mixture, I'm told. Anyway, my two agents
are covered in it and now they seem to be having some sort of
reaction to it."

Don't ask, JoBeth, she pleaded with herself. You have a good life.
You have a fiance to think about. Don't do this to yourself again.
But, as usual, she batted the voice aside.

"What sort of reaction, Mr. Skinner?"

"Well, at first we thought it was simply drug induced, from the
narcotic in the substance. But now it appears that there may be a
viral component. They're unconscious, but their ECGs show a
great deal of activity. One of the things that has the doctors
stumped at this point is the pattern of activity."

"Get to the punch line, Walter," Jo said tiredly into the phone.

"Their brain wave patterns are . . . identical. It's like they're having
the exact same hallucinations. And for the most part, they are,
well, smiling."

Ida Henson Memorial Hospital
West Virginia

JoBeth had tried to convince herself that it was the viral aspect that
intrigued her enough to drop everything on her desk. She called and
cancel out on a rather important cocktail party with a delegation
from Japan visiting the medical school, and jumped in her car to get to
Brown Mountain, West Virginia. A new virus, one that hadn't
been discovered, yet. Not immediately deadly, like hanta or ebola,
but intriguing in its unique delivery system. Lying dormant in the
digestive system of a giant fungus. It was something she just
couldn't pass up.

She was aware, as she signed out the agency fleet car, that she
wasn't the only one from CDC heading to the tiny town hidden in
the Blue Ridge Mountain Range. The mushroom found under the
ground seemed to be enormous and was causing quite a stir at the
Centers. There was no telling where it reached, or what sort of
affect it was having on the population. She'd heard one colleague
contend that the meters deep granite shield lying just beneath the
thick Georgia clay was the only thing stopping it's progression all
the way to Atlanta.

The mushroom that ate Appalachia, she snickered as she entered
the double doors of the little two story hospital. That was all she
needed.

Walter Skinner met her at the nurses' station on the first floor.
"They have them in isolation, since they're really not sure about this
virus," he explained. Outside a patient room she eyed the standard
level one or two contagion cart, surgical gown and masks, scrub
brushes with antibacterial and anti-fungal soaps and even shoe
covers. The place might be small, but they seemed fairly up to code
on their quarantine procedures. Skinner was already donning a
gown and mask as she finished up at the sink. She dressed quickly
and followed him into the room.

"The doctor decided that it might be best to have them in the same
room. Cut down on chances of infecting anyone else," Skinner
commented.

"Cut down on patient escapes, more likely," Jo muttered as she
moved into the room. It was a standard double room, two hospital
beds under two strips containing O2 and electrical outlets. She
noticed that the beds seemed to be shoved up against each other.
When she was able to get a better look, the reason became clear.
The two patients were lying with their hands locked together
between them. The hospital bed rail had been lowered and a towel
had been rolled up and placed in the crack between the two
mattresses.

"They were holding hands in the ambulance. Every time someone
tries to pry them apart, they just tighten their grip. The doctor was
afraid Scully would end up with some broken fingers. Or Mulder,
for that matter," Skinner said matter of factly.

JoBeth sighed and chewed on her lip. They looked a little older. It
was difficult to see their faces clearly with the burn ointment
covering most of the exposed skin, but she could detect a few more
lines around Mulder's eyes and near the corners of Scully's mouth.
It appeared that the last two years were no easier on these two than
the previous ones.

"Well, guys, we meet again. And I must say, it's well beyond the
point where people are talking," JoBeth said affably as she reached
down at the foot of the joined beds and picked up Mulder's chart.

"Chemical burns on face, down back, on forearms and hands.
Some burns inside mouth. Ouch, that's gonna hurt," she read
out loud. "Temp 98, well, Mulder, that's lots better than the time
they pulled you into Eisenhower, but it's still a little low. White
count raised. I wouldn't subject them to any random drug tests for
a couple of months, Walt. They're off the Richter Scale,
something chemically similar to codeine. Hullo, what's this?"

She reached over and grabbed Scully's chart, searched for a
moment then nodded. "Whoa, this 'shroom' can take you to the
moon," she said and whistled. "Now that is one hellava spirit
journey! Chemically, it's a codeine-LSD cocktail. Wow, I wonder
if it's what's keeping them down. There's no other possibility."
She flipped through the pages. "And these levels are diminishing.
You'd expect them to start waking up. Chemical burns are
definitely top drawer for painful stimuli." She looked at the
patients, first Mulder, then Scully. After a moment, she shook her
head. "Walter, look at their eyes," she whispered, breathlessly.
"Their rapid eye movement . . . it's in tandem!"

A bright sunny place
midafternoon

Mulder pulled the kelly green BMW Z3 into the driveway directly
behind the Lexus SUV. He glanced at the sky and decided to risk
leaving the top down. He was pretty sure it wouldn't rain. He had
nothing concrete to base that on except a sky the color of his love's
eyes. He smiled at the image and got out of the car, grabbing his
jacket out of the backseat.

He glanced at the SUV as he passed. He could never figure out
how they could both leave the office at the same time, she would
have to stop to pick up the kids from after school and daycare, and
she would still beat him home.

"Gotta check the speedometer," he grumbled to himself, but even
that brought a smile to his face. He ambled through the open
garage door and into the house through the kitchen.

"Daddy's home," he called out cheerfully. Silence for a beat and
then stampeding footfalls as three stair-stepped children plowed
into him from the hallway.

"Dad, can I have 10 bucks? I wanna see the new Alien movie and
Jared's mom said she'd drive and it starts at 7 and I'm not hungry, I
can eat popcorn at the theater," rambled a wiry boy who reached
almost to Mulder's shoulder.

"What's it rated, and did you ask your mother?" Mulder rapid fired
at the boy while being tackled at the neck by a feisty toddler as he
reached down for a hug.

"It's rated PG-13 and if you let him go, you have to explain to me
why I couldn't go to see MY movie last week," complained a girl of
probably 9 who could have been Samantha's twin, had it not been
for the two auburn braids framing her face. "I mean it, Daddy, I'm
really getting sick of being treated like a baby . . ."

"I'm the baby, I'm the baby!" shouted the tike still holding on to
Mulder's neck with a grip that would make Mr. Spock proud.

"Yes, yes, you're the baby. But you're getting to be a big boy.
Now let Daddy loose so he can breathe again," Mulder pleaded
reasonably.

"Hey, hooligans, give the man a break!" came the voice from the
hallway. "And no movies! It's a school night, and you know the
rule, Mister."

Like the parting of the Red Sea, the children fell away and Mulder
was able to take his wife into a hug and kiss.

"What took you so long?" Scully sighed into his neck as she
hugged him again.

"I want to know how fast you go to get here so quick," Mulder
retorted, giving her a light pinch on the rear, which earned him a
bite on the earlobe.

"I know all the short cuts," Scully replied haughtily as she broke
away from the embrace.

"I know short cuts," Mulder countered, opening the refrigerator
door and pulling out a carton of orange juice. He glanced over to
make sure she was busy in the cabinets and took a swig directly
from the carton.

"I saw that, Mulder. Use a glass," she chided, not turning her head.

He started humming the theme from 'Invasion of the Body
Snatchers' and put the carton back, then wandered from the
kitchen. "I'm gonna change."

"Don't get on the 'net. You're grilling the hamburgers tonight,"
she yelled as he hit the first step up the staircase. He groaned, but
didn't object vocally.

As he walked down the upstairs hallway, he glanced in the rooms
on either side. The first, at the top of the stairs, was definitely all
girl, pink walls with white lace curtains. He frowned slightly as he
noticed the pictures of various teen idols clipped from magazines
now taped around the antiqued white vanity. It was time to go out
and buy a shotgun, he half joked to himself.

The room across from that one calmed him a little. The New York
Knicks seemed to be at war with the Washington Redskins and the
Boston Red Sox. Pennants, posters, curtains, bedspread, all yelled
out the team logos. A bookcase crowded with paperbacks towered
over the room. The usual amount of pre-teen sweat cloths littered
the floor. A short chat on the value of picking up was probably in
order, he reminded himself.

The next room always filled him with joy. It was the nursery and
had cream walls with a foot wide runner of Teddy Bears halfway
up the wall and all around the room. Teddy wasn't the only stuffed
animal present, as the shelves and foot of the small youth bed were
crammed with a stuffed zoo, a veritable Noah's ark of polyester fur
and cotton batting. The changing table, no longer needed for its
original purpose, now provided shelter for a variety of playthings,
including an Etch-a-sketch that had seen better days and an old
Tyco play computer, still usable after ten years of continuous play.
Sometimes, like this, Mulder would stand in the door and just
breath in the smells of childhood.

But that wasn't going to get the burgers cooked, he chided himself,
and slipped into the master bedroom to change.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Scully stared out into the backyard
through the window over the sink while she washed lettuce and
cucumbers, celery and carrots and tomatoes for the salad. The
children were playing on the swingset, dark haired boy pushing red
haired girl. Chubby cheeked pre-schooler climbing the slide. The
sight filled her heart to overflowing.

She wiped her hands and reached into the cupboard for the wooden
salad bowl. As she did, her hand caught the light from the window
and the diamond on her left ring finger sparkled with brilliance. She
smiled, breathing deeply. It was a wonderful feeling, knowing she
loved and was loved. She wanted to relish these moments, take
them and freeze them and never let them see the harsh light of day
where they might fade or lose their sharp clarity. She wanted to
hang on for all she was worth.

She was startled by a tugging on her shirt. "Mommy, a owie,"
sniffled the small boy, holding his tiny index finger up for
inspection. Sure enough, there was a cut, less than a quarter inch,
but considerable when one took in to account the size of the injured
digit. She picked the boy up and hugged him tightly.

"Mommy will fix it, sweetheart," she murmured into the strawberry
curls of the little boy's head. "Here, you sit here and Mommy will
fix your finger."

"Do you have to 'topsy it?" came the concerned voice of the little
one as he cautiously held up the finger for closer inspection.

Scully held back a grin and shook her head. "I don't think I'll need
to autopsy it this time. I think a little ointment and a band-aid will
do the trick," she assured him solemnly.

The tears dried on his face as he watched her actions intently. She
smoothed the ointment on the pad of the small bandage, then peeled
back the paper from the adhesive and wrapped it on the finger.
Before relinquishing the finger back to its owner, she gave it a
gentle kiss, right on the bandage. "There, all better?"

A wide grin and a vigorous nod was all the thanks she could have
asked for.

"OK, off with you. And tell your brother and sister that when
Daddy comes outside with the burgers, it's time to come in and
wash up and then set the table."

"Can we eat outside, Mommy? On the deck? Please, please, it's
really nice outside," he begged. "I didn't see no 'squi-dos'."

"Mis-qui-toes," she corrected patiently. "And I don't see why not.
But that means we have to put out the table cloth and get the
plastic plates and glasses out there. So make sure the other two get
in here and help when it's time," she warned.

"I will, Mommy, I will."

end of part 1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Call of the Wild 2/3
by Vickie Moseley
vmoseley@fgi.net
disclaimer in part one

Ida Henson Memorial Hospital
midnight

JoBeth stretched her back, listening with a dull interest to the
vertebra snapping and cracking into place along her spine. She'd
spent the better part of the evening becoming acquainted with the
little wormy thing swimming in the drop of water under the electro
microscope.

Such a unique creature, she mused, as she held up a test tube of
light blue liquid to the overhead light. Definitely a virus, its
properties were easy to understand. What was of interest was its
affect on the body. The little creature appeared to be a microscopic
pharmacist, a sort of arterial 'street dealer'. It was producing,
seemingly as a by-product, the same narcotic and hallucinogen that
was running through Mulder and Scully's bloodstream. The levels
would fluctuate, even appearing to dissipate, until the virus
replicated. Then the values would climb again and the agents
would sink deeper into their drug-induced dreams.

JoBeth had sat for a period with the patients, but it started weirding
her out. They were covered in burn gel, the bluish goop not totally
disguising the angry blisters that covered the skin. The burns had
to hurt like hell, especially on such sensitive skin as the face and
neck, but at the same time, the patients were resting quite
comfortably. For that matter, from the grins on their faces, they
were having one hellava dream.

For that was the theory that Skinner had the guts to propose.
Judging from the brainwaves of the ECG, which was a constant
monitor on each agent, they were having identical dreams. It was
possible that they were even 'feeding' off each other's dreams. It
intrigued JoBeth almost as much as it befuddled her.

The patients, suffering from painful injuries, were resting
comfortably, giving the burns plenty of time to heal. At the same
time, they weren't really fighting the effect of the drugs or the virus
itself, as their bodies were only producing a slightly elevated
amount of white blood cells. It was almost as if they were letting
the virus take control, just sitting back and enjoying the ride.

JoBeth had known both agents long enough to know that wasn't
normal behavior. Especially when they were both injured. She'd
seen them fight tooth and nail to get better, just so they could hover
protectively around the other. To lie back and let the world pass by
without them just wasn't standard procedure in the X Files division.
And that had JoBeth more worried than if the virus displayed more
virulent tendencies.

How was she supposed to _make_ a person get better, if they
didn't want to?

A light tap on the glass of the door to the lab caught her attention.
Walter Skinner stood, trying hard not to look as concerned as he
felt. She recognized the expression immediately and smiled. The
military just had a way with people. She motioned him through the
door.

"Have you found anything?" he asked, his tone clipped and sharp.

"Oh, I've found plenty, but nothing that I would call 'good'," she
answered, moving the slide off the microscope and putting another
one in its place.

"It's a virus?" Skinner asked, still pretty much in the dark when it
came to the problem before them.

"Yes, it's a virus. One I've never encountered before. It's a tricky
one."

"Will there be further . . . complications? Are they in more danger
from it?" Skinner asked anxiously and JoBeth wondered if she was
the only one who'd even seen him crack that 'jarhead' facade.

"Physically, it doesn't seem to be doing any more damage. I think
the digestive juices, that yellow 'goop' was what did the real
damage. This virus just sort of keeps the 'prey' still so the goop
can work. I don't think I have to spell it out to you, but to be
consumed by hydrochloric acid, even in this more diluted form,
would take days. And it would be exceedingly painful. Just simply
doping the prey might not be effective. The virus, in a symbiotic
relationship with the mushroom, held the prey in a trance until the
acid could do its job. I don't see any other systems that it's
attacking save the nervous system."

"Can we counteract the drug? Use some of the stuff they use to
treat addicts?"

"All the treatments are predicated on the absence of the original
addictive substance. The methadone and other treatments
_replace_ the original heroin or cocaine, they don't 'cancel' it out.
So no, there's not much we can do to 'get them clean'. The virus
has to be stopped."

"And how do you do that?" Skinner had come around the lab table
and was staring intently at the little hooked worms displayed on the
computer screen.

"That, Walter, is the 64 thousand dollar question," JoBeth said with
a sigh.

A long stretch of beach with sparkling white sand
Late afternoon, at sunset

Scully felt the warmth of the sun, even through the bright colors of
the beach umbrella. The orange glow all around her made it easier
to close her eyes.

The surf pounded in her ears, just a few feet from where she was
hidden under the shade of the umbrella. The salt was tangy as she
licked her lips. The smell of the ocean was a balm to her sinuses as
much as her soul. She was utterly and profoundly content.

A splashing sound down near the surf pulled her up from her
drowsy musings and she put her hand to her forehead to shield her
eyes from the sun.

He was coming toward her, saltwater and kelp still sluicing off his
trim body. She'd tried to convince him to pack the red speedo, but
he had insisted it was for the Bureau pool, not the ocean. Besides,
she'd made him model five sets of trunks before she finally
approved of the black little number he was sporting. It matched her
one piece hi-cut perfectly.

He dropped next to her on the little grass mat, boneless and wet.
She slapped at him as he shook his head too close to her open
book, drops of saltwater spraying across the pages of Jose Chung's
latest tome. Nice to see he gave equal derision to members of
Congress as he did to FBI agents, the book was a doozy.

Without a word, he leaned over her, his taut muscles rippling
against her suit, sending a million messages to her brain and other
organs. She wanted to smile at him, but that wasn't their way, so
she smacked him on the rump instead.

"Hey, I was just getting a cola!" he cried, feigning offense at her
actions.

"I would have handed you one if you'd asked," she replied, lying
back and closing her eyes again, listening to the surf and the
seagulls crying overhead.

"And what fun would that be?" he responded, unscrewing the cap
and checking the inside liner. "Hey, we just won another bottle of
pop!" His joy was childlike and she couldn't resist the giggle that
bubbled forth like a spring in a meadow.

"Wow, let's sell it and retire on the money," she said between
giggles.

She couldn't see him, but thought she should probably open her
eyes. When she did, he was dropping a half melted ice cube
directly on her cleavage.

"Mulder, you're a dead man," she hissed through gritted teeth as
she flipped herself over to dislodge the offending object. Too late
she realized her mistake, the ice traced a slippery path down her
chest, to settle beneath her suit, right at her navel.

"No, dead is too good for you!" she shouted, but he was already
racing toward the surf, throwing looks and laughter over his
shoulder at her. She quickly took up the chase, tackling him in
knee-deep water, drawing them both down to the sand only to be
swallowed by the surf.

Ida Henson Memorial Hospital
West Virginia
Next day, 10:05 am

JoBeth was becoming more and more frustrated, and the lab was
starting to mirror her emotions. She'd already broken one test
tube, mislabeled a slide, and opened a drawer too quickly, only to
have half a box of slide covers rain down onto the tiled floor.

Still the virus stared up at her, and she was almost certain that the
last time, the damned bug had been smiling.

Nothing was working. She'd hit the little demon with everything
from antivirals to antifungals in an effort to stop reproduction. It
seemed to like antibiotics the best, slurping it up like it was ice
cream and becoming little virus factories in the meantime.
Radiation had some effect, but in the dosage necessary, the cure
was worse than the disease.

She put another slide under the scope and peered at the screen, her
heart dropping. The words 'let it run its course' were becoming a
taunt in her mind. How long would it take for this stupid bug to
work through the fact that it wasn't going to win? When the hell
were Scully and Mulder going to wake up their immune system and
gun this sucker down?

The knock on the door was a welcome distraction. She looked up,
but immediately realized it was not a social call. A nurse she
vaguely remembered being introduced to sometime in the past two
days stood nervously at the door.

"Dr. Carson, I think you better come down to the patients' room.
Something's going on."

Just the tone of her voice was enough to make JoBeth jump off her
stool and hurry to follow the woman down the hall. She skidded to
a stop at the sink and gurney, scrubbing seemed to take forever
before she was finally ready to enter the room.

What she saw made her heart stop for an instant.

X Files office

Scully picked up the coffee cup from her desk and carelessly
dropped it into the cardboard box. It hit the metal picture frame
at the bottom and made a dull clunk. She didn't bother to check for
damage, just proceeded to pick up the day planner and toss it in on
top.

"You don't have to do this," Mulder's voice said quietly, from the
doorway.

"Yes, Mulder. I do." It was said with a touch of exasperation, it
wasn't the first time those words had crossed her lips. More like
the five hundredth.

"I don't know why this is happening now. Scully, after all this
time, how can you walk out on me now?" His tone was steady and
even, but she could hear the desperation, the fear underlining every
word.

She spun on him, finally too tired to fight down her anger. "Look,
I'm not leaving you. You have left me, got it? Ever since that
bitch came back to DC . . ."

"It's probably not a good idea to go into that here," he said through
clenched teeth and looking up toward the ceiling, where they often
found the electronic listening 'toys' in their office.

"I don't give a flying fuck who hears this, Mulder! It's over!
_We_ are over! And if you're too stupid to figure that out, and
'why' . . . well, I don't think any explanation I could come up with
will suffice. Now, get out of my way. I have a plane to catch."

"She means nothing to me, Scully," he said, putting his arms across
the doorway, effectively blocking her path. When she tried to duck
under his arm, he simply lowered it, he was not going to let her out
of the office without going over all the arguments, again.

"I don't give a damn if you sleep with her in Skinner's office. I've
had it with you believing that conniving, two-bit whore over me!
Mulder, damn you, if I miss that plane . . ." she seethed.

"Oh, your precious plane! That means more to you than a
partnership of six years? You're going to throw everything we
have together away because I asked Diana's opinion on a case?
That's just plain . . . God, Scully, I never, ever took you for the
jealous type! Certainly not this jealous," he chuckled mirthlessly.
His nostrils were flaring with anger, but he was struggling hard to
keep it in check.

She stepped back so she could sear him with her glare. "You
fucking hypocrite! How dare you call me jealous! What the hell do
you think it is when you watch every move I make, every man I talk
to . . ."

"You mean that psychopath Padgett? C'mon, Scully, wake up and
smell the indictment! The man was a murderer and you were next
on his list! You're calling me jealous over that one? Even you said
the guy was a creep!"

"Look at the way you came into that apartment, gun drawn, ready
to shoot first and let the locals sort it out! And you called Ritter
'reckless'!"

His eyes actually took on a reddish cast. "Don't you _ever_
compare me to that dickless shit for brains who almost killed you,"
he seethed, his voice low and warning. "Besides, this isn't about
me. Isn't that what you're always telling me, 'Dana'," he sneered.
"You always say 'this isn't about you, Mulder'. Well, this time
you're finally right!"

"Get out of my way, you son of a bitch, or I'll . . ."

"What? Shoot me? Try aiming a little lower and to the left,
sweetheart," he hissed. "Last time, you missed my heart by a mile."

She jerked back as if slapped, but quickly recovered. With one
swift motion, she slammed her foot down on his instep and then
brought her knee up full force to his groin. He collapsed almost
immediately and she calmly walked over his prone body. Before
she took two steps down the hall, though, she turned and looked at
him still writhing on the floor.

"That would be impossible, 'Fox'. You don't _have_ a heart!"

Ida Henson Memorial Hospital
10:15 am

"I don't understand this," JoBeth blew out in a breath. "Charge!"

The nurse moved the dial, pushed the button on the cardiac 'crash'
cart. "Charged."

JoBeth looked over at the machine, then placed the square metal
paddles on the two patches of conductive material on Fox Mulder's
chest. "Clear." The nurse took the cue and hit the red button on
the machine. The noise level from the machine increased in direct
proportion to the electricity flowing through the wires and the
paddles. Mulder's body jumped up off the table, then slammed
back down again.

"Nothing," the nurse said. Her voice was calm, professional, but
JoBeth absently noticed that the woman was chewing on her lip.

"Up to 350. Goddamn you, Mulder. Stop this shit right now!"
The three people performed the same bizarre dance, Mulder's body
once more contracting and relaxing as the current flowed into him.

A second passed. Two. JoBeth refused to draw a breath, just
stared at the heart monitor inches from her face. Finally, a blip
appeared on the screen in place of the straight white line. A second
later, another blip, then another right on its heels. JoBeth sucked
in air and blew it out. A subconscious prayer never even made it to
her lips before it was sent heavenward.

"Oxygen level rising," came a voice from across the room. JoBeth
looked up to see her newest 'cohort in crime', Dr. Jake Bothman
checking the tubing on a respiratory now attached to Dana Scully.

"Just what the hell happened?" JoBeth asked of the nurse who
called her down in the first place.

The poor woman looked suitably contrite. "I don't know, Dr.
Carson. One minute, they were resting quietly, then the next
minute, well, I can't explain it. It looked like they got angry. I
mean, I know it sounds incredible, but there were tears on her face,
and his eyes were clenched, like he was in pain. That's when I
came to get you."

"I heard the alarms go off and when there was no one here, I
started to work on her," Bothman said, pointing to his patient. "I
was in the middle of inserting the vent when his alarms went off.
Couldn't have been more than two minutes between them."

"Weird," JoBeth said, chewing her lip in confusion. "They've been
so peaceful. You said they looked angry?" she asked of the nurse.

"Her face was red and she sure looked mad to me. And him, if he
wasn't unconscious . . . There probably would have been a fist
through a wall," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "I've never
seen anything like it."

"Let me get this straight," JoBeth said, rubbing her temples with the
index fingers of both hands. "First, you noticed that they looked
angry. They were still unconscious, they just looked . . ."

"Madder than wet hens," the nurse supplied.

"You came to find me and Dr. Bothman, but by the time we got
back, Scully was in respiratory arrest and Mulder was in cardiac
arrest?"

"She just stopped breathing and his heart just stopped. Just like
that. No sign of it coming on, nothing," Bothman said, looking
back over the tracings on the heart monitor attached to Mulder.
"Must have been one hellava fight!"

"This is getting nuts!" JoBeth sighed. "This is just a damned bug.
It shouldn't be life threatening, but something is going on."

"Maybe this is normal. I mean, we've never come into contact with
anyone who's been infected with this virus. Maybe this is just how
it acts on the body, using the mind against the victim," Bothman
offered.

"Great," Jo said sarcastically. "That should make it so much easier
to stop." She looked down on the two patients and shook her
head. "It's time to start thinking like a virus." Leaving question
marks in Bothman's and the nurse's eyes, she marched back toward
the lab.

The phone to her ear was making her head hurt. "Yes, I know it's
a highly unusual request, but it's imperative that it be filled. Look,
if I have to get Congressional approval for this . . ." she growled,
changing the phone to the other ear. A smile, soft and playful,
flitted across her face. "That's better, Angie. Thanks. And I owe
ya. A big one."

JoBeth had spent the better part of the afternoon combing the
medical records of both the patients. She'd once thought no one on
earth had medical records as thick as Fox Mulder. That was before
she encountered the medical records on Dana Scully. The last time
she'd treated Scully was long before her cancer, long before the
highly unconventional treatments, which included a small chip in
her neck.

Plowing through all the records took some time, and JoBeth was
almost afraid that she'd miss something. In the end, she'd seen all
she needed to see. The phone call to Atlanta was a necessary next
step, and with that complete, she could catch a few z's. When the
parcel arrived, somebody would wake her up. Then it would be a
day or two before she knew if she'd guessed right.

end of part two
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Call of the Wild 3/3
by Vickie Moseley
vmoseley@fgi.net
disclaimed in part one

An Alley
dawn

Something was tickling his nose and he swatted at it impatiently. A
muttered grunt responded and he forced his eyes open.

Red. All he could see was red.

Slowly, in the pre-dawn darkness, he could finally make out
individual hairs. Then a crown of her head, and further down, if he
angled his head, her face. It was smudged with dirt and a hundred
other things he tried not to catalogue, but it was there, whole and
undamaged.

He wished he could say the same about the rest of her. Scully's
body shivered and Mulder moved to hold her closer to him. If he'd
known it was going to happen, he would have had the presence of
mind to grab his rain coat, which was hanging on the coat tree just
inside his office door. But he hadn't had the time to return, they
had done the only thing they could at the time.

They'd run.

He pulled his jacket lapels up and tucked them around her throat.
Between his jacket and his arms, he hoped she was a little warmer.
When daylight broke, he would check on her injuries. He smiled,
secure in the knowledge that she would, in turn, demand to check
on his injuries as well. All this time, Scully, and we finally get to
play doctor on each other, he thought with an inward sigh.

He closed his eyes, hoping sleep would return, if just for moment.

Instead, the last few minutes before the end of the world displayed
themselves on the backs of his eyelids. He remembered clearly the
sound of the alarm, the feet of a hundred agents all scurrying
toward the nearest exit. Then the first explosion had hit and the
very stairwell shook with the impact. He had Scully's back directly
in front of him, and he grabbed the tail of her long jacket, ensuring
that they wouldn't be separated. He chanced to look back up the
stairs in time to see Skinner ushering more agents through the fire
door and on to the stairs.

As Mulder turned the corner to continue down another flight he
looked up and watched as the second bomb exploded, right there,
near the door. In a flash, he saw Skinner's body engulfed in flames
as the bomb exploded into the stairwell. He stood for a second,
frozen in his spot until Scully's hand was dragging him by his jacket
down the stairs. There was no time to react. No time to think.

Once on the street, it was pandemonium. Buildings were in flames
all around them. Police vehicles were scattered around the streets,
but the occupants were so much litter on the ground, most of them
shot through the head. Mulder sensed rather than thought what to
do. He clutched Scully's hand and ran down the street until he
found a gangway and ducked inside.

They'd run for the better part of the afternoon and evening. It was
cold in DC, had been for weeks, and it was all too apparent that
they weren't dressed for long periods outside. Mulder removed his
jacket and wrapped it around Scully. She started to protest, but
one look and she stopped. She just made a point to direct him to
areas that were out of the wind.

They ran as they never had run before. All the time, there were
sounds following them. Screams of death and destruction, the
sounds of sirens and explosions. Car alarms played counterpoint to
the chaos of noise.

They stumbled onto a enclave of the invaders. Almost too late,
they realized the danger. It was as Mulder had always believed.
The colonists weren't huge monsters. They were the grays, the
'little aliens' as they were often referred to. But their weapons
were deadly and effective.

Mulder was certain they'd been found out when he saw one of the
aliens turn and seem to look him in the eye. A sound, a voice in his
head seemed to shout 'run', and he did without question.

Scully fell and twisted her ankle. He'd picked her up and carried
her as long as he could. Finally she forced him to put her down and
just leaned on him for support. Once, a building just yards away
had exploded. As they were thrown back by the blast, Mulder had
rolled on top of Scully, to protect her. His back, clad only in a thin
dress shirt, had taken the brunt of the blow. Red hot pieces of
shrapnel rained down on him, burning quickly through the cloth and
searing his flesh. He kept his grunts to himself and when the
firestorm had ended, he'd pulled Scully up and they were running
again.

Night fell quickly. The street lights had been a victim of the day's
events and failed to flicker to life. Power plants must have also
succumbed, for no lights could be seen anywhere.

Mulder had at last found them a safe haven for the night. A
dumpster, at the end of a dead end alley. Scully had balked at it. It
was disgusting, not to mention in an area where they could easily be
trapped. Mulder had convinced her that the chain link fence closing
off the alley could, in fact, be lifted high enough to crawl under,
thus giving them a means of escape. After a little more coaxing,
they climbed into the dumpster, and fell into an exhausted sleep.

Scully shifted in his arms now, as the sun made its way above the
horizon.

"Do you hear that?" she asked, her voice still heavy with sleep.

"I don't hear anything," he answered, then realized what she was
saying. There was an unearthly silence all around them.

"Do you think it's over?" she asked fearfully.

He shook his head. "I don't know."

As if she just thought of it, she pulled her cell phone out of her
pocket. She hit a speed dial number and waited. And waited. And
finally let the phone drop to the bottom of the dumpster.

"No answer?" he asked.

"No line," she replied, and just as suddenly started to cry. Mulder
had seen his partner cry before, more than he really ever wanted to,
but this time, watching her, his heart broke into a thousand pieces.

"I was . . . trying to call . . ."

He hugged her close, feeling her fingers dig into the muscles of his
back, inadvertently hitting those tender spots that had been burned
the day before.

After long moments, Scully pulled back and wiped her face on the
sleeve of his jacket. "Do you think . . . I mean maybe they didn't
hit . . ."

"We'll try to find out," he hastened to answer. "If there's a way in
hell to do it, we'll find your mom. And mine. I swear it, Scully. I
swear."

The earnestness of his expression gave her hope. She allowed a
tiny smile to flit across her face and she nodded in agreement.

"Till then, we need to find food," she reminded him. At that
moment his stomach growled loud and clear in the still air.

"Guess that makes it unanimous," he grinned, and clamored out of
the dumpster, helping her to the ground.

They wandered empty streets, keeping a careful eye for any sign of
life, human or otherwise. None appeared. Not even animals were
present. It was hauntingly silent in the street.

Not far from the alley, they found a bakery. The front glass was
broken, and the shelves had been ransacked, but Scully found a
display case with assorted cookies and donuts. "Breakfast is
served," she called out.

Mulder was investigating the contents of a refrigerated case near
the far wall. The electricity was off, but the case had maintained
some coolness. He grabbed two cartons of milk a piece and ambled
over to a overturned table and chairs. "What's your pleasure,
brown or white wine?" he asked with a wink.

"One of each," she said, picking up one of the fallen chairs and
sitting down. They ate in silence, but that became unnerving.

"Where is everyone, Mulder?"

He shook his head and gulped down the last of his milk, getting up
to retrieve another from the case. "Taken. Killed. I don't know."

"There aren't any bodies, Mulder. We should have seen bodies."

"Maybe they disposed of the bodies," he offered, and regretted his
words at her silent shudder. "Maybe there are people out there,
they're just hiding," he suggested more hopefully.

"It's like those really bad movies," Scully said, putting down a half
eaten bear claw and staring out the broken window in the front of
the store.

"Hey, The Stand was _not_ a really bad movie," he muttered, but
followed her gaze outside. He closed his eyes, hoping that when
they opened again, there would be people passing by, cars bumper
to bumper, drivers searching for parking spots. He opened his eyes
quickly. The street was still devoid of all life.

"Come on, Scully. This place is starting to creep me out," he said
anxiously, and took her hand, drawing her to her feet.

Once outside on the sidewalk, they stood, hesitant. "Where do we
go?" she asked.

"Your apartment is closer. We can get you some clothes. We
need to find who ever are left, Scully. We can't just stay here, in the
city."

"You think there might be others? Outside Washington?"

He shrugged. "If I was a foreign power, and I say that in the most
universal sense, I would attack the seat of government first.
Disable the country."

"But we are prepared for that. Strategic Air Command . . ."

"Scully, you really think the fly boys in Kansas could stop an alien
invasion?" Mulder snorted. She slammed her mouth shut and
glared down the street, refusing to meet his eye. He kicked himself
internally. He had to stop running off at the mouth. Her delusions
were all she had, just as he was clinging to his own. He didn't want
to destroy whatever hope she might have.

"I'm being a fatalistic ass, Scully. Ignore me. Must be all the sugar
I recently consumed. And a distinct lack of hot coffee." He
reached out and took her hand in his. "Let's get some stuff at your
place and see what we can find."

It took them little time to make it to her Georgetown apartment.
The door wasn't working, since the security system was run on
electricity. Mulder broke a window in the back and they were able
to climb in. They took the stairs two at a time, Mulder keeping a
hand on the small of Scully's back as she bounded up the steps
ahead of him. She practically ran to her door, as if they were being
pursued.

Inside, it was unnervingly unchanged. Her furnishings were just as
she'd left them the previous morning. The raincoat she'd decided
at the last minute not to wear was still draped over the desk chair.
The air still smelled faintly of her perfume, which she now noticed,
she lacked. "I'll see if the water is running."

He had stood transfixed until her words and he startled. "Yeah,
great idea. I feel like I spent the night in a landfill."

"You spent the night in a dumpster, Mulder. Not that far off," she
countered as she headed down the hall. He finally moved from his
spot by the door and over to her sofa, then thought better of sitting
down on the cream colored fabric. He opted for the coffee table,
and perched on the edge.

"Water works. There seems to be some hot water, too, but
probably not for long," she called out.

"We should conserve, Scully. You know the old college saying:
conserve hot water, shower with a co-ed."

He had meant it in jest, and was somewhat surprised to find his
partner staring at him from the hallway with an expression he'd
never seen. "Scully, I'm sorry. Bad joke. Go ahead and take your
shower. I've had cold showers before. Might as well get used to
them, huh?"

She shook her head as she walked across the living room. Her
expression hadn't changed and now Mulder began to worry. Was
his partner, his anchor, losing it already? How in the world could
he go on if she was unable to cope with what was happening to
them? Could he be strong enough for both of them?

"Scully, are you all right?" he croaked as she stood just two feet
before him. She seemed to look up at him dreamily, unsure and yet
very determined. "Scully. Say something. You're weirding me
out," he said nervously.

In answer, she took his hand. "Come shower with me, Mulder,"
she said and pulled him toward the bathroom.

He went willingly.

The bathroom scent was of lilac and sweet herbs. The air was cool
and moist. Her hands on his shirt were soft and gentle.

"Scully," he rasped, when his mind finally found an outlet through
his mouth. "Do you really think this is a good time?"

She looked at him, amusement in her eyes. "Mulder, it's the end of
the world. I think it's almost too late, don't you?" She raised an
eyebrow in challenge as she slipped his tattered dress shirt off his
shoulders and started to work on his belt buckle.

"Is it? Is it the end of the world?" he asked haltingly. His own
hands starting moving without direction, unbuttoning his jacket and
sliding it off her arms.

"It doesn't have to be," she murmured, standing on tiptoe to catch
his lips in a kiss. It was intense, but short. He was left wanting
more, so much more.

"It could be the beginning," she said breathlessly and this time, he
lowered his head to capture her mouth with his own.

After the shower, which lasted long enough and then some, they
laid down on her bed, skin to skin, clinging to each other.

"Sleep, Mulder. We're as safe here as anywhere at the moment."

He nuzzled her hair, smelling the fresh dampness, the familiar
shampoo and a new scent, his own scent, now branded on her as
she was branded on him. "Sleep. Perchance to dream."

"Quoting The Bard on me, Mulder," she chuckled as she snuggled
her face into the patch of skin at the hollow of his shoulder.

"Just feeling, Scully. Not even thinking at the moment. Just
feeling."

"Good," she said drowsily. "Keep it that way. At least for a little
while."

They slept for a long while. Mulder's body relaxed and formed
bonelessly around his small partner. She wiggled closer until it
seemed their skin almost merged into one. He was comfortable, he
was warm. He was loved. He need nothing else in the world and
neither did she. They lay there, in the tumble of blankets and
decided individually and together that they would never leave this
safe haven.

Until his leg started to itch.

Ida Henson Memorial Hospital
Fifth day, 1:34pm

Assistant Director Walter Skinner had taken up watch over the
sleeping agents. The staff was beyond worry. They were beginning
to suggest that a more permanent setting be arranged for the two
patients. As if the two agents before him would never return,
would never come back from this trip into the field.

He berated himself. He should never have allowed the 302. He
should have found another assignment. But it hadn't seemed that
dangerous at the time! The X Files division had dealt with
hundreds of missing persons cases, unexplained death was very
possibly top on their list of cases. They'd always come back
before. Battered, yes. Exhausted, sometimes carried back on their
shields, yes, but they'd always come back. Could this be the end of
their streak? Could this be the end, period? He removed his
glasses and rubbed his eyes and missed the first movement that
would have caused him some spark of hope.

When he put his glasses back on, he glanced over at first Mulder,
then Scully. It escaped his notice immediately, but finally, his
inherent investigative mind took in what it was seeing. Something
was different about the two agents. Something had changed.

Walter Skinner did the first thing that came to his mind. He started
to scream his bloody head off.

"CARSON! Dr. Carson, get in here!"

It was insatiable. Mulder couldn't stop it if someone held a gun to
his head. Hell, he couldn't stop if someone held a gun to
_Scully's_ head! His movements weren't his own, they were being
directed by something primitive, primal, within him. He couldn't
help himself.

Mulder was scratching.

Scratching madly, his left outer thigh. Then, suddenly, his right
arm, just inside the elbow. His left shoulder started screaming for
attention, and he was unable to resist, but the other parts that soon
followed let him know that he simply did not have enough hands to
scratch everywhere that itched.

It was driving him crazy!

In the distance, he could hear noises. Soft, white noises that he was
positive he usually ignored. Mechanical noises, meant to be
reassuring. They annoyed the hell out of him, on other occasions,
but now he could give them very little thought. His mind was on
his skin and the infernal itching that engulfed every square inch.

Something twitched near him and he grabbed at it. It pulled back,
resisting. He couldn't understand and pulled harder. It pinched
him.

"Mulder, give me my hand back! I need it!"

Scully? Her voice sounded really strange but then, he decided, that
might have been his hearing. Slowly, he peeled the lids off his
eyeballs and looked around.

A hospital bed? When had they left her apartment? And the
noises? When had the electricity been restored? What the hell was
going on? And why was he itching from head to foot?!

"Easy, Mulder. Just a sec. I'm injecting something that should
help." He recognized the voice, but was having a hard time placing
it since the face was covered by a mask of some sort. "Glad to see
you two decided to grace us with your presence. I thought I was
having a nasty case of deja vu."

Now he remembered! JoBeth Carson. That's who belonged to the
voice.

"Itch!" he informed her.

"Yeah!" echoed his partner's voice, very near his shoulder. He
looked over and saw that Scully was lying on a hospital bed, just
inches away. Their shoulders collided occasionally as they
attempted to scratch where it itched.

"I know, and I'm sorry. It's OK, this will help, believe me. The
nurse will be in soon and she'll have a cream. We'll douse you with
that and see about some food. How does that sound?"

Mulder blinked, then looked over at his partner. Scully smiled
tiredly and grabbed for his hand, which was busy trying to scratch
the skin off his upper arm. He smiled in return.

"Sure," Mulder finally replied. "Hey, Scully? How about we make
'em spring for a pizza?" he teased. Her eyes twinkled with amused
approval.

JoBeth shook her head, happy they couldn't see the pleased grin
under her mask. "OK, Mulder. But absolutely _no_ mushrooms,"
JoBeth replied and leaving them with confused glances, left to find
the nurse.

Walter Skinner was standing out in the hallway, a determined
expression on his face. There would be no running to the lab this
time, JoBeth understood that. She took her time removing the
mask and scrubs, then turned to smile at the stern visage of an
Assistant Director of the FBI who was feeling 'out of the loop'.

"Dr. Carson. _Now_ will you share with me exactly what
treatment you've been conducting on my agents, and just how
experimental was this treatment?" He was crossing his arms and
JoBeth had a flash of panic as she tried to remember if he'd
removed his weapon since arriving at the hospital five days before.

"Mr. Skinner, let's go get something to eat. Our fungal friends are
getting a pizza, I think it's time we had a real meal, too."

He looked like he was going to balk, but finally he nodded sourly
and followed her down the hall.

He waited until they both sat down, their plates before them on the
cafeteria table. But when it was apparent that JoBeth was going to
eat before she talked, he could brook no further diversion. "Dr.
Carson. I'm a patient man, but . . ."

"Cow pox," JoBeth said around a mouthful of caesar salad.

Skinner raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Cow pox. Actually, a relatively mild form of pox. So mild that it
led to the introduction of inoculations, if you're into the history of
modern medicine. It was discovered that milk maids never
succumbed to small pox. Never. Later, it was discovered that they
were immune because they had already been infected, and survived,
a milder form of pox that is common around cattle and dairy herds.
Of course, in the US, we've eradicated pox from the animal
population. But that's not the case on the African Serengedi. A
strain of cow pox emerged down there with a little more 'oomph' to
it and it was sent to the CDC to analyze."

"You infected them with cow pox?" Skinner cried, dropping his
fork. "How dangerous is that?"

JoBeth shrugged. "They were both inoculated against small pox.
They have pox antibodies in their systems. But for some reason,
the fungus and its accompanying virus were completely overriding
their immune system. I had to do something to jump start it. So I
introduced an old virus in a new form. It got the body to thinking
about more than just the hallucinations they were experiencing."

"They started to itch from the rash."

"Exactly." Jo smiled proudly. "It should be a week, tops, and the
disease will run it's course. That should be enough time for them
to get back on their feet. They might have a few scars, Mulder
might have to be put in restraints, more than likely since I figure
him for a scratcher, but all in all, it's better than the alternative."

"What was the alternative, now that it's no longer a threat?"
Skinner asked, finally picking up his burger and taking a bite. Then
another. And another.

"Permanent vegetative state, at best. A fatal heart attack or
respiratory failure at worst, I'm afraid. Nothing was working and
they were becoming weaker. It wasn't looking good for the Home
Team, but you knew that."

Skinner took another bite, finishing the sandwich. "They aren't
going to be happy," he said with a wry smile.

JoBeth returned the grin. "They've been through worse, and we
both know it. They'll get over it. In the meantime, though, I'm
keeping them together. That tends to limit the amount of 'midnight
wandering' and constant calls to the nurses station for updates on
the other's condition."

"Thank you, Dr. Carson. Thank you, very much."

10:30 that night

"Working late?" Scully's voice was thick with sleep and surprised
JoBeth as she made her last check of the day.

"Burnin' the midnight oil, again. Must be your influence, Dana,"
she grinned. "How're you feeling? The histimine blockers
helping?"

Scully stretched languorously, and smiled. "I'm feeling . . . toasty,"
she whispered. She let her fingers return to their previous position
of being twined in her sleeping partner's hand. "He's all right? No
lasting effect from the MI?"

JoBeth narrowed her eyes to slits. "Someone has been pumping the
staff for information," she said as a stall tactic.

"That, and I noted the cardiac monitor and the crash cart by his
bed. Was it bad? Will there be permanent damage to his heart?"
she asked, worriedly.

"No, Scully. His heart is strong. He's fine. A week of rest and
you'll be back on your feet, both of you."

"Good," the agent smiled and closed her eyes. "I have plans for
that heart."

"It's about time," JoBeth said with a broad grin, then left the two
agents to their dreams.

the end

Vickie

Come visit my web page, brought to you by the fabulous Shirley Smiley!

http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dimension/5821/index.html

"When you start, you make certain choices, and those choices accumulate and
create a number of [other] choices. The story starts to tell itself, and
that's been very exciting in a way. There's so much that has come and been
told that you are, in a way, a slave to the facts you've created, and it's a
really fun way to tell stories. That's not to say it's simplified. In fact,
it becomes complicated, but it all starts to make sense, and that's been a
really wonderful thing."

Quote from Chris Carter on development of The X Files

1