ON THE DOCK (1/1)
Date: 28 Dec 1995

Story Note: For all you who read this part of a story. "Beyond the
Sea" is a big favorite of mine, even though it was done in the first
season. Since it was rerun last week, it got me thinking. And that's
always a dangerous thing (snicker). I my opinion, up to that point
in the series, Mulder and Scully 'liked' each other, sort of 'trusted'
each other, but it had not been 'life and death' type stuff. This one
was life and death type stuff. And, of course, the really good stuff
happened during the commercial. So, to get this off my chest, I
wrote what happened on the dock during the commercial.

Warnings: PG-13 for blood. No romance (hey, it was a 2 minute
commercial break, c'mon here), some naughty words that my sons
have taught me and it's safe for all people waiting for the third
season (I'm running for the UN, if anyone is interested, on the
platform that the WHOLE WORLD should be getting the same X
Files episodes at the same time :)

Standard Disclaimer: I'm innocent! I have no intention of making
money (ask my clients) and I think you have a great little copyright
there, so I won't infringe on it. Everything in this is owned by 20th
Century Fox (who have exactly 4 years to change their name) and
Ten Thirteen Productions.

Comments, flames and baby gifts (only 5 weeks to go) should be
sent to me at vmoseley@fgi.net.

ON THE DOCK BY THE BAY
by Vickie Moseley

Raleigh, North Carolina
11:28 pm

Fox Mulder wasted no time in the warehouse. Scully was with
the girl, she could handle that part of it. He was still involved with
the hunt. The kidnapper had the boy who, that had to slow him
down. He couldn't have gone far and he hadn't left that long ago.
There was the definite possibility that they could capture him
tonight--that the nightmare for the two college kids would be over.
That would make Mulder very happy, he decided, training his
flashlight and his gun directly out in front of him. Scully needed to
go back to DC. She had really frightened him the night before. It
had been bad enough when she had left the prison. Her face was
white as a sheet. She had said it was because of her father, it was
grief, but that wasn't what Mulder had seen in her eyes. He knew
grief. Grief was an old friend. It didn't make you look like you had
just seen a ghost. It didn't frighten you. It made you sad,
melancholy, sleepless, sometimes angry. But it didn't make you
scared. And Scully had been scared, scared to her very bones. But
of what? Of Luther Lee Boggs? It made no sense.
So he sent her on to the motel. She would be safe there. At
least, that was the plan. But that wasn't what had happened. She
had decided to check out the leads that Boggs had given them, on
her own. Damn her! How could she have been that stupid? It was
a trap, that had been obvious. Here was a man who could
orchestrate a kidnapping from solitary confinement, and she was
trusting him to lead her to the kidnapper? Mulder had given her
more credit than that! But then, she was pretty torn up over her
father's death. And guilt, coupled with grief, could make you do
really stupid things. On that subject, he was an expert.
<Time to get your mind back on the job, hot shot,> he chided
himself. He was the only one on this particular dock. He checked
the parameter. No signs of life. There were boats nearby in the
water. One, just a few feet away, had it's light on. It was still
covered with a winter tarp, but the light was shining through. It
was 11:30 at night in January, an odd time for a cruise. Mulder
heard the motor rev up and instinct and training took over.
"Federal Agent!" he shouted, aiming his gun and flashlight on
the boat in question. He heard the shot and it startled him. Startled
him enough to cause him to lose his balance, to fall backward, hard,
and hit his head on the dock. He was vaguely aware of the sound
of the boat taking off at top speed into the water.
Within a split second of falling, the pain in his leg reached his
brain. <Damn it!> he thought. <How'd I hurt my leg?> First his
head, then his leg. He thought about sitting up, but found he
couldn't. <What the hell is going on?> he wondered.
Suddenly there were footsteps on the wooden planking.
"Mulder! Mulder?" It was Scully. <Why isn't she with the girl?>
He had only seen a glimpse of Liz Hawley, but he could tell she was
in bad shape. There was a lot of blood. <Another good reason to
leave it to Scully,> he considered. He had never been that good
around blood. Dead bodies bothered him, but he had never fainted
at the sight of one. Blood, especially his own. . .that was another
matter.
Scully was kneeling next to him. "We need an ambulance!
Officer Down!" she shouted to the others on the dock. <'Officer
down'? Who?> Mulder wondered. He still couldn't figure out why
his leg was burning so badly, or why he was suddenly so cold.
Scully was ripping off her jacket and covering his chest. She was
looking up at a piling next to where he was laying. The fear was
back in her eyes. Then, as another agent came up to her, she turned
back to Mulder.
"Just lie still, Mulder. The ambulance is on the way," she said
gently. She took a jacket from another of the agents and covered
Mulder's leg, the one that didn't hurt.
"How bad is it?" asked the now shivering agent towering over
them. <One of the guys out of Raleigh,> Mulder reminded himself,
but couldn't remember the agent's name. He had seemed like an
OK guy when they had met. He looked worried right at that
moment.
"It's bad. Probably hit the femoral artery bundle. He's in shock
already and he's losing an awful lot of blood," Scully said, speaking
to the other agent as if Mulder were not present. <Hey, Scully, I'm
still here,> he wanted to shout at her. He still had no idea what she
was talking about, or why she was covering him with jackets.
Admittedly, he was cold, and getting colder by the minute, but the
damned jackets weren't doing any good. <Now, if somebody
would help me get up and in a car with a heater going full blast--
that would help,> he considered. He started to sit up, but Scully
hands were on his chest in a split second, holding him down.
"Mulder, dammit, lie still!" she hissed. Her eyes had that scared
look again, but this time she wasn't looking at the piling. This time,
she was looking at his leg and reaching up to his throat to check his
pulse. He thought she cursed again, under her breath. Before he
could try and talk to her, the pain that had been residing in his
upper left leg, decided to take a vacation to his chest. He gasped
for breath as it hit.
His lungs felt like they had just collapsed! He could barely
breath. And his chest, God, how his chest hurt him. He reached up
with his hand and grabbed Scully's jacket. "Chest." He clenched
his eyes against the pain. "Hurts!" he gasped out, hoping she would
understand. He felt like Tarzan trying to communicate, but it was
all he could force out of his throat.
Scully quickly moved the jackets and started ripping off the
bullet-proof vest he was wearing. "I know, Mulder. I know," she
said gently. "You're in shock. You're bleeding out and that's why
you're so cold and that's why your chest hurts. I hear the sirens,
they're almost here." She brushed her hand across his forehead. He
closed his eyes against the pain that kept coming with each breath.
She lightly slapped his cheek. "No! No, Mulder, you can't! You
can't black out on me. Not yet! This is important, you have to stay
with me. Just don't pass out on me, Mulder. I couldn't take losing
you, too!" she cried, letting the tremor almost take over her voice.
<'Losing me too'> he wondered. <What the hell is she talking
about?> But he opened his eyes and tried very hard to focus.
There were more footsteps, they shook the planks of the old dock
and he felt bile rise in his throat from the shaking.
He heard a gruff voice very close to his ear. "What have we got
here?" the voice asked.
"Gunshot wound to the upper femur," Scully spoke quickly, in
her 'doctor voice'. <Gunshot wound. Oh shit!> Mulder thought.
He felt a wide band being fastened around his upper arm with
velcro. It tightened, then slowly released. "BP 70 over 45. Should
we start blood substitute?" asked another voice, feminine, on the
side with the cuff.
"Yes," came the terse reply from the first voice. Mulder tried to
focus on the voices, to see the faces, but everything was taking on a
fuzzy appearance. He felt a stab just above his wrist, felt the needle
sliding into his vein. <Hey, I just hit my head and hurt my leg,> he
thought angrily. <We don't have to drag out the Spanish
Inquisition!> He heard, rather than felt, the cloth of the pants he
was wearing being torn all the way up to his groin. This was
getting to be too much.
"Scully," he rasped, and was immediately terrified at how weak
his own voice sounded in his ears. <Where is she?>
She must have been kneeling by his head, letting the paramedics
work on him. "I'm here, Mulder. I'm right here. I'm not leaving,
OK?" she assured him. He tried to focus on her face above him,
but a green oxygen mask all but obliterated his view. The air in the
mask was cool, but not as cold as the air on the dock. It was a little
easier to breath. He relaxed a little.
"Let's get him on the gurney," the gruff voice commanded.
Strong hands were lifting him onto the stretcher. He started to flail
his hand, to reach for his partner. Without saying a word, a small
hand slipped into his and held on for dear life. <Thank god. I
wondered where you went,> he sighed. And as much as he had
tried to stay awake, as much as he wanted to do what she had
asked of him, the blackness surrounded him and he let it take him
under.

Dana Scully saw his eyes slide shut and felt herself begin to
panic. She had only been his partner since March, a little over 9
months, but in that time she had come to think of Fox Mulder as
more than her partner, more than her superior. He was her friend.
And he was very badly hurt. The paramedics hadn't objected when
she climbed into the back of the ambulance with them. As a matter
of fact, they started asking her all the question they knew would be
needed in the Emergency Room once they arrived at the hospital.
"Do you know his blood type?" asked the young woman
paramedic.
"AB neg," Scully said, shivering. Now that she was out of the
cold and in the heated ambulance, she couldn't stop shaking or stop
her teeth from chattering. <Nerves,> she assured herself.
"Age?" came the next question.
"32. His birthday was in October," Dana said. She remembered
the day well. It was the 13th and she had howled with laughter at
that coincidence. She had gotten him a tie, a nice subdued print in
navies and grays that he saved for court dates. They had gone out
for a beer after work.
"Is he on any medication?"
Scully thought for a moment. Mulder hated medicine. The only
time he had been sick since she had known him, she had almost held
him down to get him to take Tylenol for a 102 degree fever. That
had been back in September, after he had decided to go running in
the rain and came down with a killer cold. She had sent him home
the minute she saw him. He had complained loudly, asked her
gruffly who the supervisor was and who was the subordinate agent,
and then let her drive him to his apartment and tuck him in on his
couch. It was the last time, and the only time, she had ever seen
him take a pill of any kind.
"No medication that I'm aware of," she said, hedging her bets.
"Allergies?"
"None," she replied. Most of this information, she was required
to memorize because she was his partner. In an emergency, like
this one, she would be the most likely and most accessible source of
information.
"Next of kin?"
She shut her eyes for a moment.
<<"Scully, I need you to sign this," he said handing her an
official looking form.
"OK, Mulder, what now? I refuse to subscribe to 'The Adult
Video News'," she countered.
He smiled at her. "Very funny. No, it's a form from personnel.
I'm naming you my next of kin, you know, in case of an
emergency," he said, and she wasn't sure if he was trying to hide his
nervousness or if she was just imagining that he was nervous.
"Mulder, why me? Aren't your parents already listed as your
next of kin?" she asked. She watched as his eyes clouded over.
"No. Reggie Purdue is. But Reggie's. . .well, his wife just died
and he's. . . I didn't want to bother him. If you don't want to do it. .
" he started to pull the form back.
She grabbed it and signed it before he slid it away. "No, that's
OK. I was just curious. I'll be happy to be your next of kin," she
said lightly. "Does this mean I get to inherit all your wealth, too?"
she grinned, trying to gloss over the darkness that had suddenly
invaded the office.
He grinned back. "Yeah, my entire video collection, and the last
three years issues to 'Celebrity Skins'," he said with a Cheshire cat
grin.>>
"Ma'am? I need to know who to notify once we're at the
hospital," the young paramedic insisted.
"That would be me," Scully said softly. "I'm his listed next of
kin." The young woman nodded and wrote it down on her
clipboard.
The ambulance finally slid into it's parking bay and Scully moved
to the front of the area, to allow the medics room to remove the
gurney. Mulder's eyes were still shut, his breathing still labored.
Blood had soaked through the sterile dressing the older medic had
applied to the wound. So much blood. It covered his injured leg,
and the other leg, and had soaked the thin sheets that covered the
gurney's mattress. He was bleeding to death right before her eyes.
<No! Not him! Please don't take him, too!> she screamed silently.
Biting her lip, she followed the gurney into the emergency room
cubicle.
Once in the ER, it was a flurry of business. Shouts echoed in
her ears. Mulder woke with a start as he was lifted off the gurney
and landed with a bounce on another hospital bed. He choked, and
coughed. A nurse adjusted the oxygen line, checked his IV. A
doctor ordered two units of O neg. blood, they weren't even going
to bother with a type match at this point. Until he was stable and in
surgery, chances were good this blood would end up on the sheets
of the bed, just like so much of his own blood before it. His
pressure was a little better, the blood substitute had managed to
keep him alive for the trip to the hospital. They were stripping him
of his clothes. One of the nurses pressed his wallet and ID into
Scully's hands. Even these were covered with red. She closed her
eyes and wished it were all a dream. She opened them quickly
when a nurse touched her arm.
"Are you Scully?" the nurse asked. Dana nodded. "He keeps
asking for you. I don't think you can hear him over here by the
door. We're trying to prep him for surgery, but I think he's pretty
scared. If you'd speak to him, let him know we're only trying to
help him. . ." Again, Dana nodded and moved over so she was
close to his side.
She gently put her hand on his forehead. "Mulder, listen to me.
They're going to take you into surgery. It's the only way they can
stop the bleeding. You're making a complete mess of the place
right now, so be a good little agent and let them do their jobs, OK?"
If it was one thing Dana Scully had learned in 9 months, it was that
Mulder used humor to cover a myriad of sins. . .and fears.
Slowly, using all the strength he had left, he reached for her
hand. "Not without you," he rasped.
"Mulder, I'm not a qualified surgeon. I'd only be able to stand
there and watch," she protested.
"Don't care," he said weakly and let his eyes plead with her
when his voice failed him.
She felt the tears burn in the back of her throat and her eyes.
"OK, I'll ask. But you know that means I get to see you naked,"
she teased, and hoped he didn't notice the tear that was streaking
down her cheek.
She couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw him smile under
the green mask and he moved his left shoulder in a weak imitation
of a shrug. She struggled to hold back the hysterical giggle that
almost escaped her and turned to talk to the doctor in charge.

"It's a cold, dark place, Scully. Mulder's looking in on it right
now. . ." Luther Lee Boggs words echoed in her head as she drove
through the early morning traffic to the hospital. She was fighting
her emotions, as she had been all night. But the words of the killer
kept resounding in her mind. How had he known those things
about her. Of course, she had not slept at all. And she was worried
about Mulder. All those things could effect her sight, her hearing.
Mulder wasn't out of the woods, yet, either. She had called
every hour, speaking to the floor nurse at the ICU so often that the
woman now knew her voice on the phone. Each time, it was the
same. He hadn't regained consciousness. He was in critical
condition. And the ever popular "He's holding his own." She knew
all that. What she didn't know was why was it taking so long for
him to wake up.
The surgery had been successful. The bleeding had been
stopped. The bullet had done considerable damage to the femoral
artery, one of the major arteries of the body. An arterial specialist
had been called in to perform delicate replacement surgery. The
bone had been shattered when the bullet struck. It took another
hour to set it, and Mulder was now the proud owner of four pins in
his upper femur. He would be immobile for a while, then on
crutches for couple months, if he was good and didn't try something
stupid. All of this was contingent on him not falling prey to a post-
operative infection, like pneumonia. For the third time since the
shooting, Scully had to pull the car over to the side of the road and
will herself not to throw up.
But even as bad as all that was, he was still alive. If Boggs had
truly been involved with the shooting, why didn't the kidnapper aim
for his head, and not his leg. One shot, that would have been all it
took. No ER, no CPR, nothing could have brought him back from
a bullet in the brain. That was one of the thoughts nagging at her.
Maybe Boggs was just seeing things through other spirits. Maybe
he could lead them to Jim Summers. One thing was certain, time
was not on her side.

If he had been dreaming, he couldn't remember. He knew
something had happened. Something that scared him, but he
couldn't recall all the details. He remembered Scully being there,
her calm assurance that she wouldn't leave. And she hadn't. He
remembered falling asleep with his eyes trained on her face. She
had looked so tired. . .
His throat hurt. If it hadn't been for that inconvenience, he
would have stayed with his eyes shut, letting his mind drift lazily
over the tumbled images that were his recollections of the previous
night. But he felt he had to swallow to breath. And swallowing
hurt. So, he reasoned, he had to open his eyes and figure out a way
to get something down his throat to soothe it.
<Aha, but that's the hard part,> he mused fuzzily. Opening his
eyes was usually an autonomic reflex. He had never considered
how hard it was to make an involuntary muscle move voluntarily.
He thought about it a minute and gave up. Then he forced himself
NOT to think about it, and slowly, his lids dragged themselves
open. He looked around, trying to focus. He wasn't in his
apartment. He wasn't even in a motel room. As his vision cleared,
he could make out the machines nearby, the tubes running into his
arm.
"About time you decided to join us, Sleepyhead," a familiar
voice said beside him. He turned and saw Scully, no longer in her
black pants, gray ribbed tee shirt and that godawful black FBI
jacket from the night before. She had showered, dressed in a dark
suit, but she still looked exhausted. She reached over and picked
up a styrofoam cup with a straw. "Here, your throat is probably
raw," she added and let him take a few sips.
"Good call," he rasped, when he felt he could move his vocal
cords without causing permanent damage.
"How're you feeling?" she asked.
<How am I feeling? How are YOU feeling?> he thought. She
looked totally drained.
"Better than you look," he teased. He closed his eyes a minute.
"You didn't get any sleep last night, did you?" he asked.
"Sleep is highly overrated," she shot back. "A great
psychologist told me that once," she added with a Cheshire grin.
He smiled at the memory of that midnight discussion.
"Probably an insomniac," he countered. "So, how's Liz? Is she
gonna make it?" he asked, suddenly remembering what he was
doing in Raleigh to begin with.
Dana nodded in the affirmative. "She'll be fine, physically. She
identified the kidnapper. Lucas Henry. And get this, the police
have him connected with Boggs. But beyond his name, we're
running out of leads. Maybe if we deal with Boggs. . ." she trailed
off.
He shook his head. "Don't deal with Boggs!" more forcefully
than he should have. "He's only trying to get back at me for putting
him on death row. You would be the next best thing," he reminded
her. <Why are you being so stubborn on this one?> he wanted to
ask, but he was getting too tired to think straight anymore.
She noticed his eyelids droop. "Look, you need to rest. I've got
a meeting this morning. I'll be back later to check on you. Sleep
well, Mulder," she said, and gently stroked his forehead as he
drifted off to sleep. <And thank you for not leaving me,> she
added in a silent prayer. She went off to deal with Boggs in her
own way.

the end