Date: Sat, 21 Jun 1997
Not the End of the Game

Summary: JoBeth Carson, MD runs into Agents Mulder and Scully
again--this time at a military hospital just north of the Arctic Circle.
Spoilers: Colony/Endgame, In honor of it's debut on tape.
Rating: PG-13 (one naughty word warning)
Surgeon General Warning: This story contains absolutely no
cancer reference and is therefore declared 'cancer free'
Category: S, A, UST
Disclaimer: I'm not gonna, uh-huh, no way, no how. (No
infringement intended)
Archives: I'd be honored, so archive away
Note: This is a sequel to 'Always Darkness Before the Dawn', but
it is a stand alone story. All references to the other story are in
enough detail that you don't need to read it, but if you like to, it's
on the archives.
Comments: vmoseley@fgi.net This story has four parts, if you
don't get all four, e-mail me :)

Not the End of the Game 1/4
By Vickie Moseley
vmoseley@fgi.net

February 24, 1995
06:05

Josephine Elizabeth Carson, MD, stretched and yawned and threw
her legs over her bunk. Six weeks in Dead Horse, Alaska and she
still couldn't get used to getting up to pitch darkness and never
seeing the sun. She thought it was bad enough in the continual fog
of the Cascade Mountains. She never knew how good she had it.

It didn't take her long to shower and dress. Scrubs were the usual
attire for any medical personnel on the base. It was a Naval
installation, Eisenhower Field, but due to the extreme location--the
top of the world as it were, the Army frequently entered into
agreements with the 'swabbies'. That was how she had arrived.

Research was her primary field. She was with USAMRID, and had
worked at one of the high containment facilities for four years.
Until she decided to redefine the phrase insubordination. A case
had come before her, an FBI agent infected with an ailment never
before seen. She had done everything in her powers to save him,
and in the end, had succeeded. But in the process, she'd disobeyed
orders, broken a few federal laws, and nearly gotten herself a
dishonorable discharge with jail time. Instead, she ended up being
transferred from one facility to another, never spending more than
six months at any one place. Never really having a home. A
nomad.

Still, she had kept her rank, kept her privileges. She was a research
doctor, and in all the assignments, that had been her primary
function. But she no longer was allowed to work on the 'hard'
cases involving actual patients. She might lend a hand now and
then, but usually, JoBeth and patients only met in passing. It
saddened her a little at times, but that was the price she'd paid, and
even now, she still considered it worth it.

It was a short walk from the 'barracks' to the hospital portion of
the compound. Due to the Arctic temperatures outside most of the
year, the compound was a set of buildings linked with passageways.
Her office/lab was in the small hospital. At the top of the world, it
was as close to modern medicine as you were likely to find.

When she entered the lab, she could tell there had been some action
the night before. Usually, Eisenhower Field was little more than a
weigh station for cases coming off ice breakers and subs. Traffic in
the Arctic Circle ran more to sea vessels than land vehicles and
when a man got sick on one of them, he was 'choppered' to EF and
when stable, on to a Naval hospital in the lower 48 states. The few
patients they had never stayed long, but it allowed JoBeth and
others to see the effects of temperature and isolation on viruses and
bacteria. She enjoyed the challenge of working with a real case,
even knowing she wouldn't be getting too involved.

"What's up?" she asked the dark skinned Naval nurse leaning in the
doorframe.

Thea Mosley was in her forties, an excellent nurse and a quick wit.
She had befriended the young doctor her first day at the Field.

"Some gawddanged FBI crackpot went off and walked around the
'circle'--chasing some danged dead in the water sub. Froze his ass
off. Recon found him--core temp a' 87, and brought him here. But
when they started warmin' him up, his blood turned to jello and he
arrested. They cooled him down again, defibbed and now he's in
ICU." Thea shook her head over what she considered a waste of
good tax dollars.

"What about his blood?" JoBeth asked, picking up her lab coat and
pulling it on.

"Turned to jello. And not the soupy kind in the cafeteria, either.
Hard as a rock--jello. Stopped his heart. I wasn't there, I just
talked to Helen from the night shift. Said some other FBI was
there, a woman. A doctor, I guess. Bossed old Dave Erickson into
getting him out of the warming tub. It was her idea to cool him
back down. Whole place is talkin' about it, honey. You shouldn't
sleep in so late," the dark chocolate eyes twinkled merrily at
JoBeth, who stuck out her tongue in response.

At that moment, a frazzled Dave Erickson plodded through the
door and collapsed on a lab stool. "That does it. I'm not dealing
with that bitch anymore! She's a goddammed pathologist, for
Christ's sakes! Like she knows anything about virology!" He
muttered a few more curses under his breath before looking up
wearily and noticing JoBeth. "Carson," he said, his whole
demeanor changing before her very eyes. "You get along with
women, don't you?" He was looking at her like a prize calf and she
didn't like it much.

"I manage not to piss them off, Dave. More than you can say, I'm
sure. But then, you piss off all humans, if I'm not mistaken."
JoBeth didn't really like Dave Erickson. He was a consummate
asshole, but it was his basic incompetence that really pissed her off.
And he was in charge of the night shift. She was eternally grateful
that she'd been able to pull the day shift since she'd arrived.

"Look, I don't feel like screwing around with this one. Besides,
after what I saw last night, I give the guy 24 hours--48 tops before
you call time of death. But I don't want to have to listen to his
partner yelling and bitching the whole time. How about if you take
it? It's not like he's gonna be around much to cut in to your 'busy'
schedule." Erickson had never hidden the fact that he thought
JoBeth's presence was totally unnecessary and probably due to the
fact that the Army was afraid to get rid of her.

"Thanks so much, Dave, but I don't go around finding patients who
are going to go sour on me. Maybe next time," she shot back and
went over to her desk to turn on her computer.

"I _could_ order you to take him," Erickson said in an oily voice.
"But I'd much rather use this as a . . . a favor. You know, one I'd
owe you?" The look he was giving her made JoBeth shiver.
"Besides, it won't be your fault he dies, Carson. His partner's
treatment will kill him long before anything you could do."

Something in JoBeth snapped. She was sick and tired of Erickson
assuming that every patient that wasn't well enough to walk out the
door after 12 hours was going 'sour' and wasn't worth the hassle.
It was not why she'd gotten into medicine in the first place and she
wasn't about to let some dick for brains change that in her now.
"OK, Dave. I'll take him. Give me his chart."

She took the pro-offered chart and looked at the name. It started
as a soft giggle in the back of her throat, but quickly turned into
peals of hysterical laughter. It was everything JoBeth could do to
keep in her chair.

Thea was still in the doorway, but moved forward, a concerned
expression in her dark eyes. "Jo. Jo, honey. What's the matter?
What're you laughin' like that for?"

After a few hiccups, JoBeth got herself under some semblance of
control. "Oh, nothing, Thea. It's just . . . well, you know that old
saying about the 'bad' penny that always turns up?" JoBeth
watched the older woman frown slightly, but nod in understanding.
"Well, this is MY bad penny. This is the man that almost got me
court martialed, and all he had to do was get sick to do it. This,"
she handed Thea the chart and got up to leave the room, "this is
Fox Mulder."

The ICU was actually three beds situated in one of the larger
rooms. The nurses desk was at the far end, white starched cotton
curtains divided off the cubicles. Each bed had all the necessary life
support equipment, as well as all the monitors which fed
information into the screens and computers at the nurses desk. It
wasn't the most aesthetic looking room in the hospital, but it served
it's purpose.

Thea had led the way and pointed to the half drawn curtain in the
middle of the room. "She's still in there. Can't get her out with a
pound of c-4. That girl is 'feisty'!" Thea exclaimed in hushed
tones.

"I know," JoBeth smiled at the memory. "I've tangled with her
before." She walked over to the cubicle resolutely and with a flick
of her wrist, pulled back the curtain. "Hello Dr. Scully. I wasn't
expecting our paths to cross again."

Dana Scully looked up from her chair next to her partner's bed.
Her hair was a little different from the way JoBeth remembered it,
not as long. Now, it was looking like it could use a good washing.
Her eyes were beyond tired. The woman looked like she's been
dragged through hell and had crawled out on her hands and knees.
Even so, she smiled brightly at the familiar voice.

"Dr. Carson! What a surprise," she said, pushing herself up with
the bed rail and holding out her hand in greeting.

"Yeah, well, you never know where I'll turn up. Or him," JoBeth
pointed with her chin. "What is it this time, Dr. Scully?" She hung
the chart on the end of the bed and proceeded to do her own
examination of the patient while listening to Dana's voice.

"This is going to be a little hard to explain," Scully started and
JoBeth gave her a wry smile.

"Come on, Dr. Scully. You know me better than that. Don't
worry, I'll suspend my disbelief. Whatever you have to tell me
can't possibly top what I've already seen."

"Don't bet the farm on that, Dr. Carson," Scully muttered. "We're
dealing with a retrovirus."

"Which one? AIDS related?" JoBeth asked, still working, still
making mental notes.

"No, not related to anything we've ever seen. It's . . ." Scully
hesitated and JoBeth stopped to look at her, encouraging her to
continue. "It's not necessarily of this . . ."

"Of this . . . what?" JoBeth urged.

"Mulder thinks it might be alien in origin," Scully said quickly.

"Alien," JoBeth repeated and didn't bother to hide her derision.

"I can't substantiate that conclusion, but I can tell you that this
virus is not like any other virus I have ever encountered and it's
reaction in the human body is unlike anything I've ever seen. The
other agent . . ," Scully started before JoBeth cut her off.

"You've seen it before? He's not the first one?"

Scully nodded wearily. "Your facility in Maryland has the body of
an FBI agent from Syracuse, New York. Agent Barrett Weiss. He
died from exposure to the retrovirus. His blood clotted, thickened,
really. Hyperviscosity. It stopped his heart. But at the autopsy,
one of your people took the virus and lowered the temperature by
five degrees. It knocked it out. It went dormant."

"Five degrees. So when Agent Mulder was on the ice. . ."

"It saved his life. Agent Weiss wasn't so lucky. At normal body
temperature, there's no telling how fast this thing works. He was
dead within minutes, most likely. I doubt if he even knew what hit
him."

"But the virus reactivates, or so it would seem, if warming your
partner up was enough to send him into cardiac arrest?" JoBeth
asked casually. She glanced up just in time to see the shadow of
something, (fear?) move across the other woman's face.

"Yes, so we have to get rid of it. I ordered a complete transfusion
last night. But there could be more of the virus hidden in the bone
marrow, in the organs . . ."

"I see you ordered antivirals, as well. And in higher dosages than I
would have recommended," JoBeth said gently.

Scully bristled for a second, but then her eyes begged for
understanding. "I know. I felt it necessary to be as aggressive as
we can. This thing--we don't know how it reacts when we fight
back. I pulled out the stops. We'll have to deal with the
complications." Dealing with those complications was the last
thing Scully wanted to do, JoBeth could tell just by looking at her.

"Forewarned is forearmed," JoBeth smiled reassuringly. "For now,
we're OK. He's stable for the moment. And you are dead on your
feet, Agent Scully."

"I'm not your patient anymore, Dr. Carson," Scully said with a faint
smile and a low growl to her voice.

"No, it's worse. You're my partner. You have a better handle on
this virus, but I have the facilities, so that means we work together.
And I'm telling you to go get some shut eye. I'll take this shift. I'll
wake you if there are any changes. Scouts honor."

At first JoBeth was fairly certain that Scully was going to balk. She
didn't want to leave his side, not even after finding an ally in this
godforsaken outpost, but after a deep breath, she nodded her
acceptance of her own limitations. She reached over and brushed
her partner's hair from his forehead. "Sleep tight, Mulder. I'll be
close, I promise." She looked hesitantly at JoBeth. "So, where can
a girl get some sleep around here?"

JoBeth could see she didn't want to be too far away. In light of the
low number of patients in the hospital at the time, the answer was
not only logical, but extremely close. "Well, if you can sleep
through the noise of his heart monitor, how about that bed right
there?" JoBeth asked, pointing to the bed hidden by the cotton
divider. The answering beam of a smile was all the thanks she
needed. Scully pulled the curtain aside so she could see her partner
as she laid down, and in seconds, was fast asleep.

"You got the she-wolf to give up her cub?" Thea whispered in
JoBeth's ear as she went about changing Mulder's IV bag.

"When you get to know her, The, you'll see she ain't that bad.
She's intense right now, but she's smart. And loyalty like hers
doesn't come around often enough. I can't blame her for busting
into the ER last night and pissing everyone off. Nobody really
knew what they were dealing."

"Do you?" Thea asked quietly, her dark eyes lowered to the man on
the bed.

"No," JoBeth answered honestly. "But I know enough to listen to
her when she tells me something. That little attribute alone will go
a long way to sending Agent Mulder home alive."

Once again in less than a year, JoBeth found herself staring down at
Fox Mulder, the patient. It was getting to where she probably
wouldn't know what he looked like without the pale features, the
heart monitor, the respirator, the ET tube . . . all the little touches
of ICU which encompassed a man in critical condition.

He'd arrested less than 10 hours before. The heart monitor showed
he was stable at the moment, but he was still very much in danger.
With the levels of ritonavir Agent Scully was pumping into him, his
chances of survival rivaled the proverbial snowball in hell.

Scully was playing with fire, doubling dosages that were
experimental at best. Among the most common side effects of the
drug was low white blood cell count. In his current state, an
infection without the body's 'defensive linemen' would undoubtedly
be fatal for Agent Mulder, and he was already weakened by the
hypothermia. If Scully was right about the virus, though, allowing
it to gain a foothold would be equally fatal. A lose-lose situation,
either way they went.

Mulder was more trouble than he was worth, JoBeth had
determined on a purely emotional level. She'd been pushed into an
act of disobedience the last time she'd treated him, and that was
just during a 5 day period. She could only image what being
partnered with this albatross had done to Agent Scully's chances
for career advancement. And yet, the woman was tenacious when
it came to protecting him. It didn't make a lot of sense to JoBeth
and she decided not to waste too much time pondering it. She had
work to do in the lab.

JoBeth took another slide of the blood and put it under the
microscope. Sure enough, lots of little retroviruses stared up at
her. She knew that simply reducing the temperature of the blood
would slow them down, but she was hoping to get rid of them. The
antiviral agent they were using was doing some of the job, but not
enough. ritonavir inhibited the virus' ability to produce DNA, but it
was taking it's own sweet time against this particular bug, even at
the higher than normal levels. It was obvious that it alone wouldn't
do the trick.

JoBeth chewed on her lip. They were using the most tried and true
antiviral on the market and it just wasn't cutting the mustard. On
the other hand, they had just started the treatment. For now, a
cooling blanket was keeping his temperature hovering at 93
degrees. They couldn't keep him there indefinitely, it was a strain
on his system that he simply could not afford. At the rate they were
going, Mulder's chances were slim to none and not getting better.

But, for the moment, he was alive. After what he'd already gone
through, that was saying a lot.

******
end 1/4

Not the End of the Game 2/4
By vmoseley@fgi.net
disclaimed in part one

Mulder leaned against the wall, chewing on the inside of his cheek
and watched his partner's shoulder rise and fall to her breathing.
Scully looked so little when she slept. He had noticed it for the first
time on their very first case together. The flight back from Oregon
had been late, by the time they got off the ground, it was almost 11.
She fell asleep before they'd finished taxiing off the runway. And
when he looked up from the file he was reading, he realized that his
partner looked like a 12 year old who'd stayed up past her bedtime.

It was as sentimental as Mulder ever got around his partner. And
even at that, he would never admit it to her. He didn't want to give
her the excuse to use one of her autopsy scalpels on a part of his
anatomy. She might pick something he was fond of.

But when she was asleep, he could watch her. It had become one
of his favorite pastimes. What was rather disconcerting, however,
was turning his head slightly and watching himself sleep.

Out of Body Experiences were a well documented phenomena in
the X Files. Mulder had read several case histories, and had even
had the pleasure of interviewing a few people who told of their own
experiences. He had found no reason to doubt these men and
women, they had all been utterly sincere. Still, he had his
suspicions that a few well placed suggestions at a time of severe
illness might actually 'trick' the brain into 'remembering'
conversations that had been related to the individual--not
necessarily heard first hand.

Mulder wanted to believe, but he wasn't a complete nutcase.

Or maybe he was. His last conscious thought had been to roll away
from the conning tower as it lowered dangerously close to his body,
threatening to pin him and then drag him down to the icy waters of
the Arctic Sea. When compared to simple hypothermia, drowning
might have been the quicker option, but at that point, Mulder's last
remaining ounce of self preservation had kicked in with a
vengeance and he'd forced his body to respond to the threat and
move. After that, all was darkness.

His next conscious thought was in the ER. It felt perfectly normal
at first. He was standing by the doors, watching the corpsmen and
doctors and nurses work frantically to remove ice stiffened clothing
from a body that had been brought in on a gurney. Mulder glanced
around the room, looking for a familiar face. He couldn't find
Scully. His gaze casually landed on the patient and he almost
dropped to his knees in shock. The body being worked on was his.

He had a ring side view of Scully's entrance into the ER. She was
fire and brimstone and damn the torpedoes and he loved every
minute of the argument she had with the shithead ER doctor. Right
up to the point where his heart stopped and things got incredibly
bright. A light from above him was so strong that it blocked out his
vision of everything else in the room and he felt himself drawn
toward it. He had almost decided to investigate the source of the
light when a wrenching pain in his chest caused the light to
extinguish and with it, his consciousness.

And now, here he was. Apparently in pretty bad shape, at least his
corporal form. He had one of those tubes down his throat and it
made him cringe, and a number of other tubes jacked into both
arms and his eyes were burned and his nose--morbid curiosity
forced him to stand there and catalogue all of the equipment
attached to and poking out of his body. It made him queasy, just
looking at himself. It was much safer looking at Scully.

Or that other doctor. Now he recognized her--Dr. Carson. He
wondered briefly how she'd arrived in Alaska, if that's where he
was. From the shape he was in, he doubted they would have
transported him farther than necessary.

Which brought up another important question: why wasn't his
'spirit' in his body? If this was an OBE, why couldn't he seem to
return to his body at will? Why was he standing here, watching
everything happen, knowing full well that by all rights, he should be
totally unconscious and unaware of his surroundings. Was this
what happened when you were dying?

He wouldn't really mind it, if that were the case. He had thought as
much, while his consciousness was fading into the mist of each
haggard breath when he was lying on the ice field . He'd found
proof. He'd been told, by a being who had nothing to gain by lying,
that his sister was indeed alive. That was enough. He could die,
justified. He's been given his proof.

He watched silently as Scully opened her eyes. She yawned and
stretched and was up on her feet. Her first motion was to come
over and touch his shoulder.

"I'm here, Mulder. I know it's so easy to just let it all go, but
please don't. We have so much to do. Don't take the easy way
out. I'll help you all I can, but you have to pull some weight here,
too. You have to fight. Promise me you'll fight." Her voice was
wavering as she looked again at the monitors and the tubes. "I
won't keep you bound here forever, but I have to give you a
chance. Just promise me you'll fight."

He sighed and nodded. For himself, death didn't look so bad. But
he'd known for a long time, he'd do anything for Scully. Even if it
meant hanging onto his life a little longer.

*****

It had been twenty four hours since Agent Mulder's arrival in the
ER. JoBeth stared forlornly at the blood smeared slide under the
powerful microscope. They were treading water, not really getting
anywhere. The virus was still being held in check with the cooling
blankets and copious amounts of blood thinners, but the minute
they warmed up the blood samples, the virus took over and the
blood became thick red jello. It was driving her crazy.

She didn't hear the soft 'snick' of the door as it opened. As a
result, she jumped a foot when a hand landed on her shoulder.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," Dana Scully said as she tied
her hair into a makeshift pony tail with a rubber band. "That the
latest blood sample?"

JoBeth nodded and stepped aside, letting Scully see for herself.
"The total count looks lower," she commented. It was true, there
were fewer of the organisms per slide.

"Yeah, well, they're feisty, the ones that are left," JoBeth sighed
and showed another slide. The blood on this slide had a gel like
appearance. "Warm it up and you still get sludge--even with all the
heparin we've added."

"Damn it," Scully swore vehemently. "We need to increase the
anti-virals. They aren't working fast enough."

"Wrong, Dr. Scully," JoBeth said adamantly shaking her head.
"This particular virus seems to be able to slow it's life cycle. The
anti-viral isn't working because it stops reproduction, but doesn't
knock out the bugs that are already swimmin' around. And those
guys seem to take on a 'siege mentality' as a result. It's like the
damned things have intelligence," she muttered.

Scully frowned. "Carson, listen to yourself! They're single celled
organisms, for God's sakes! They have NO intelligence. You
sound just like--" she stopped her tirade for a second, dropping her
voice to a whisper. " . . . like Mulder," she sighed, more to herself
than to JoBeth.

The tears that were held in check on her lashes weren't missed by
the doctor staring at her. Scully dropped her head and grabbed
another slide. "More heparin," she forced through gritted teeth.

"He's getting too much now. Any more and internal bleeding is
going to be a problem. Dana, if he started bleeding, he wouldn't
clot the blood. There'd be no way to stop it." JoBeth was using
her 'bedside manner voice' and winced at the reaction it got out of
Scully.

"Don't patronize me, Carson! I know the effects of internal
bleeding with blood clotting complications," Scully growled angrily.
"I know what I'm doing. You have admitted you don't." She
turned on her heel and was halfway to the door when JoBeth
caught her sleeve.

"Do you? Do you know what you're doing? Or are you just
throwing everything at this to see what sticks?" she asked in a calm,
quiet voice.

The eyes of the woman staring back at her flashed red for a second,
but then settled to a pale blue. They were more haunted and
frightened than any JoBeth could remember seeing. The tears were
glimmering now, threatening to break their hold on the lashes. The
voice that spoke wasn't that of a tigeress, it was the voice of a
small, terrified child. "Please. I can't let him die. You don't
understand, we have so much left to do." Two tears careened
down her cheeks in perfect tandem.

JoBeth stood there, unsure of her next move. But she knew
someone had to make a decision. "Let me order an increase in the
antiviral. We'll check again in four hours. Then you and I are
going to get something to eat."

"I'm not hungry. I'll sit with M--"

"I don't remember phrasing that in the form of a question, Agent
Scully. Remember, you are a civilian on a military base. We rule
this roost. And I'm making you eat something in front of me, so I
can make sure you actually swallow it."

After a few half-hearted grumblings, Scully followed JoBeth down
the corridor. The cafeteria was deserted. The food line was all but
closed down, only a couple of sandwiches left over from the lunch
crowd and a few bags of chips. One lone salad tried valiantly to
look appetizing, but utterly failed. The kettle of soup was down to
the last two bowls. Scully was too distracted to notice the
selection, so JoBeth spooned up the soup and grabbed two cans of
Diet Coke and sat at a table in the middle of the room

Scully stirred the soup, but didn't lift it to her lips. JoBeth
frowned, but decided to cut her some slack. Maybe getting her to
talk would loosen her up and free up her appetite. Not to mention
give the answers to some of the questions JoBeth was dying to ask.

"So, what have you two been up to in the year since we last met?"
she asked jovially.

A dark shadow crossed Scully's face. "Not much," she replied.
Not the answer JoBeth was hoping for, but miraculously, Scully
now seemed quite interested in the soup and began spooning
mouthfuls up to her lips.

"Run into any glowing bugs lately?"

That got a slight smile. "No, thank God. No more glowing bugs.
We did have a couple of run ins with a man whose diet included
human livers, but I suppose that's not close, is it?"

JoBeth almost dropped her spoon, but managed to get a fingernail
hold on her composure. "Well, I guess in some circles," she
shrugged. "How have you been? You look like you've lost some
weight?"

Scully swallowed and looked down at the table, examining the salt
and pepper shakers. "I was sick for a while. I've only been back to
work since a little after the New Year."

More information, but not enough to complete the picture.
"Serious?" JoBeth continued. It was like pulling taffy.

Scully nodded, then took a drink of her coke. "I prefer not to talk
about it, if you don't mind." End of discussion.

Time to try another tact. "How has he been?" No need to indicate
who that 'he' was. It was understood that any 'he' mentioned
would be Mulder.

Scully shrugged. "OK, I guess. My mom said he was . . . upset . . .
while I was sick," she added hastily. "But he's been fine."

JoBeth nodded. "Right up until he decided to commit suicide on an
ice flow in Alaska, that is," she said, not looking Scully in the eye.
She always hated games of 'cat and mouse' and this little
conversation was no exception.

"He wasn't committing suicide," Scully bristled.

"No, I suppose he was taking a vacation," JoBeth shot back. "Ice
fishing can be so relaxing. Of course, most people bring a fishing
pole."

"He was tracking a suspect," Scully seethed.

That got an upraised eyebrow from JoBeth. "So where was this
'suspect' when Mulder was found? There was no one around for
miles. Just a hole in the ice where a nuke sub used to be."

"I don't know," Scully said defensively. "I have no idea what
happened. The only person who can tell us that is Mulder."

The walls Scully had built around herself were growing thicker by
the minute. JoBeth figured it was her last chance before the
drawbridge raised and the moat was too deep to cross. "So, last
time I met you, the two of you were just partners. What's
changed?"

Scully's eyes flashed an icy blue. "I don't know what you mean,"
she said with a low growl.

Whoa, JoBeth thought, nerve endings off the port bow. "I just
sense more . . . urgency? I don't know. It's probably nothing."

"He's my partner. That's all. That's everything. It's not
something I try to explain or define. It just is," Scully said,
dropping her spoon into the empty bowl. "Now, if you'll excuse
me, I do want to sit with him. It's a completely unfounded medical
myth that people in comas don't sense other people around them."

"Really? I had no idea there had been a study," JoBeth commented
casually.

"No study," Scully said flatly. "I know from personal experience."
And with that statement, she stood and walked resolutely out the
door, leaving JoBeth with a frown on her face.

"You'd think the military could afford a more comfortable chair,
huh, Mulder?" Scully asked brightly as she pulled the lone wooden
straight back over closer to the bed. She watched all the monitors
for a moment, then put her hand on his arm. His skin was cool to
the touch, the refrigerated blanket was doing it's job. She pursed
her lips grimly at the fact that it was still necessary.

"I called Skinner. He was impressed that I got here just minutes
after you. I explained what I could." Scully took a deep breath. "I
sure would like to know what the hell you were doing on an ice
flow in the middle of the Arctic Circle, Mulder. I mean, I know
you like exotic places, if the locations of those videos you don't
know about in your bottom drawer are any indication, but you seem
to go for warmer climates than this." She smiled to herself.
"Maybe you were checking out that old Inuit custom. The one
about wife-sharing?"

He didn't move a muscle. Carefully, she touched a finger to the
irritated skin around his eyes. It was so familiar--the burn pattern
was just like it had been after he had been dumped out of an
unmarked van on a deserted bridge in Alexandria. Then, he'd been
unconscious, his airway was swollen and irritated. They'd been
lucky the ambulance had arrived quickly. But not quick enough to
save his informant. The man who had given his life to save Mulder.

Were they really dealing with alien blood? She remembered
standing in an empty warehouse, Mulder fuming because 'they' had
already sanitized the place, Deep Throat trying to warn them what
they were dealing with. She had been so sure before that night.
But science didn't explain the bacteria the doctor at Georgetown
had identified. At least, not yet.

It wasn't entirely impossible that they were dealing with something
outside the realm of man's understanding. That didn't make it
'paranormal'. That just made it 'undiscovered'. But she couldn't
let herself get wrapped up in that mystery. Whatever this virus was,
it had killed one man already. And another was hanging on by a
thread. A thread she held in her grasp. A thread she couldn't let
slip through her fingers.

Science would figure out how to deal with this killer. All she had
to do was take a page from Mulder's book. She just needed to get
inside this killer's 'head'.

Mulder hated this view, it was getting really tiring. Himself, lying
motionless. All the tubes, the ones he could see and the ones the
blankets hid--boy, he sure hated the ones he couldn't see. Not just
embarrassing, but they hurt like hell when removed. But he knew
they were all necessary. They were keeping him alive.

"Scully, I thought we agreed," he said quietly to the tiny woman
rubbing his arm. "You signed my form. No heroic measures. No
life supports. I hate this shit, Scully, I really hate it."

He walked over so that his back was now to his corporal form and
he was looking just at his partner, at her face. "Come on, Scully. If
it's my time, it's my time. I accept that. Now you have to accept
it."

He shifted down to crouch next to her, and reached out to touch
her leg. She shifted in her seat, almost like she'd felt his touch. A
pang of regret flashed through him. "Scully, I don't really want to
fight about this, but I've seen what I needed to see. This guy,
entity, whatever you want to call him--he's not of this earth, Scully.
He was an alien. God, you should have seen how he could reform,
reshape his whole body." He winced at his own words. "Sorry. I
forgot for a moment. You saw it probably before I did. But you
gotta admit, Scully--not even Bill Bixby and Lou Farrigno could do
a job like that!"

Suddenly, as he watched, her chin began to tremble. The last time
he'd seen that was when she'd admitted that she was starting to
believe Luther Lee Boggs. He couldn't understand what was
happening as a tear streaked down her face and hung precariously
on her chin, threatening to drop on his arm. "Scully? What the
hell--why are you crying?" he demanded. "Come on, this is stupid.
There is no reason for you to cry. You'll be so much better off
without me." But even as he said the words, he could tell she
didn't feel that way.

"Mulder, please," she sighed.

He knew with all confidence that she was totally unaware of his half
of their little conversation, but the way she said those two simple
words cut through straight to his heart.

"Don't ask this of me, Scully," he begged.

"Stay with me, Mulder. Please," she repeated and another tear
followed the first, then another and another until the track was a
stream of tears and no longer could he detect they were individual
droplets. Absently she wiped the tears from her chin with her right
hand, but never moved the hand resting on his arm. "Don't ditch
me this time, Mulder. I don't know if I'll be able to forgive you if
you ditch me this time."

It broke his heart to see her sitting there. His mind flashed to an
exact replica--except he was the one sitting in the chair and she was
the one suffering the tubes and the machines. He had begged her to
stay with him then and she had. Didn't she deserve as much from
him? But did he have the strength to do what she had done?

He couldn't answer that question. Scully gave his arm a squeeze,
just like she sometimes did in the office and got up to leave. She
didn't say another word before she left the room. He was glad she
hadn't asked again. He still wasn't sure of his answer.

*****
end of 2/4

Not the End of the Game 3/4
by vmoseley@fgi.net
disclaimed in part one

"All the comforts of home. If you happen to live in a quonset hut,"
JoBeth joked easily as she helped Scully make up the cot in the
corner of her own quarters.

"I really hate to put you out like this," Scully said, still not sure she
liked the new sleeping arrangements. There had been another
patient brought in, one of the Recon team that had found Mulder,
as a matter of fact. He fallen through the ice, broken a leg in the
process and had ingested and inhaled gallons of icy salt water. He
now slept in the bed she had stayed in the night before.

It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the offer, JoBeth could tell the
minute she had suggested Scully stay with her. Scully was just
leery of being subjected to more of JoBeth's brand of interrogation.
The young red head now reminded JoBeth of one of her mother's
cats--aloof, skittish, ready to strike out with a hiss at any moment.
But more than anything, JoBeth was determined to make the
arrangement work--even if it meant curbing her own insatiable
curiosity.

"So, let's see. I have some scrubs here somewhere," she said
digging through her bureau. "Here," she said in triumph and tossed
them on the cot. "You might have to turn up the legs a bit, I think
I'm a bit taller. But that should do while you wash out what you're
wearing. Maybe someone can ship you some things from back
home."

Scully took the scrubs and sat down on the cot. "Yeah, I guess I
should call my mom," she said quietly.

JoBeth nodded. "I just sort of assumed . . . I mean, you'll get the
time off to be with him, right? From your job?"

Scully let out a snort. "I'm 'on duty' actually. I'm supposed to
keep tabs on this retrovirus, document it's pathology. It's killed
one FBI agent already. If it kills again--" She stopped short and
stood up. "I think I should make that call. What time is it back in
DC?"

JoBeth looked at her watch and frowned. "Middle of the night.
You might want to set the alarm and call her later, when she's
awake. Shouldn't you call--" She stopped herself just in time.

"Yeah, I should call his parents then, too. His mother, at least. I'm
sure she'll be worried," Scully said, then stood up. "Where can I
find a couple of towels and a big, claw-footed bathtub?" she asked
with a ghost of a grin.

JoBeth smiled. "It's not claw-footed, and it's not pretty, but it's
pretty deep. Not too long ago, we 'reappropriated' one of the
hypothermia tubs. It was easier than getting a real bath tub, and it
comes with it's own thermostat. Goes from ice water to hot tub in
a matter of minutes. Come on, I'll show where it is," she headed
out the door with the other woman trailing behind.

They ended up in an unused supply room. In the middle, with a
hose running from a nearby maintenance sink, was an exact
duplicate of the warming tub she had found Mulder in just 24 hours
before. For a moment, it caught her off guard and Scully
swallowed hard to keep from letting out a yelp of surprise.

"Like I said, not pretty, but pretty deep. And here," JoBeth was
talking while reaching into a cabinet, hoping to dispel the image she
knew the tub was conjuring. "Thea's husband is one of the pilots
here. He got this in Anchorage for her last birthday and she swears
the stuff makes her itch. I've never had any trouble with it. I think
she just didn't care to smell like roses." JoBeth handed Scully a
package of foaming bath beads. "Not a spa, but as good as you're
likely to get around these parts." She reached into another cabinet
and pulled out two big fluffy towels and a face towel. She waved a
hand toward the control panel. "So, don't turn it past the red mark,
or you'll end up 'par-boiled' and I'll check on you in an hour or so,
just to make sure you didn't fall asleep. Have fun."

"Jo," Scully called out before she'd reached the doorknob. JoBeth
turned and waited. "I just wanted to thank you. For listening to
me last night . . . for everything."

JoBeth smiled and left the room.

It was a wonderful dream, a beautiful meadow, the cute navigator
that she'd met in Nome on her last leave, a bottle of wine--

and someone rudely shaking her shoulder.

"Carson, you got problems," the male voice growled in her ear.
She slit one eye open and glared at the blurry figure in front of her.

"Patrick, this had better be REAL good," JoBeth snarled in a low
whisper and threw off the blankets and slipped on her shoes. Years
ago she'd learned that scrubs could be made to serve the duel
purpose of daywear and sleepwear, if the need arose.

"The fibbie. Temp is rising, nice deep rattle coming from the left
lower quadrant, no cough yet--" the dark haired doctor clicked off
on his fingers.

"But it's coming. Shit," JoBeth cursed and then winced when she
looked over. Sure enough, Scully was awake and pulling on her
shoes.

"Have you done an x-ray?" Scully asked in a clipped tone.

"He's on his way there now. But you said we had to keep him
under 93. If this is pneumonia--"

"I know, I know, Paddy. We're right behind you."

Patrick Mulligan was as Irish as they come and he didn't miss the
'map of Ireland' all over the face of the woman trotting ahead of
him into the ICU. "Who's the babe?" he leaned in and whispered
into JoBeth's ear.

"She's an FBI agent, and she carries a gun under that scrub shirt,"
JoBeth lied in a return whisper. "And the 'fibbie' in the bed is her
partner. I'd watch my step if I were you."

Patrick's face screwed up into a scowl. "Always the same
story--married, taken or gay," he huffed. JoBeth shot him a raised
eyebrow and he quickly added "or totally uninterested." That
admission got him a smile.

"Have you run a CBC?" Scully was asking as she grabbed the
envelope of x-rays from the nurse who had just brought them to the
room.

"His white count is real low," Patrick said with a shake of his head.

"That's the ritonavir," JoBeth mused, ignoring the searing glare
Scully pinned on her.

"If it's pneumonia, is it bacterial?" Scully asked checking her
partner's lungs. "It's the left side that's got the rattle. Shit."
Carefully, she stuck a thermal probe in his ear. "Temp's 99, even
with the blanket."

JoBeth blew out a breath. "Well, either we're licking this thing or
the heparin is buying us some time. Either way, his heartrate is still
60, so it's a safe bet that we aren't dealing with 'blood sludge'--for
now at least."

When she turned to Scully, there was a definite gleam in her eyes.
"We need to use this to our advantage," she was saying, but she
wasn't really speaking to anyone in the room.

"Use what to our advantage?" Patrick whispered in JoBeth's ear.
"And who the hell is she talking to?"

"I haven't the foggiest," JoBeth admitted, then stood back as Scully
brushed past her and out of the room.

It was a couple of minutes before JoBeth finally caught up the
Scully in the lab. "I'm adding Zalcitabine. It's an inhibitor. It's not
enough, what we're doing. If we kick it in the ass while it's
down--"

JoBeth grabbed her by both arms. "Dana, slow down a minute.
Think about this. For one thing, we don't have any Zalcitabine in
the pharmacy. And it will take a day or two to get it from
Anchorage. We don't have time."

Scully pulled out of her grip. "Then you have to have zidovudine.
Don't tell me you don't have any AZT on this ice berg! That will
work. It's a little older, but it should work. And lamivudine. I
need the 3TC Epivir. The three legged stool approach--it works,
I've read the clinical trials. I'll just treat this fucker like AIDS and
see if it can stand up to some good old Yankee know-how." Scully
was muttering more to herself than to the two other doctors in the
room, who watched her in fascination.

"Is she crazy?" Patrick asked in a stage whisper. "I can get some
valium if you can keep her occupied here."

JoBeth shook her head emphatically. "No, Paddy, leave her be. I
think she might just be on to something."

Two hours later, a medical cocktail of all three antiviral medications
currently in use for AIDS patients was dripping into Mulder's veins
at twice their recommended dosages. Keflex, one of the strongest
antibiotics on the market, was hitting his other arm. Scully had
taken up watch in the wooden chair and looked to be there for the
duration.

It was a silent microscopic battle that only Mulder was aware of. It
wasn't that he could _see_ into his body, but from his unique
perspective, he could _feel_ what was going on. First the
pneumonia would gain the upper hand. Then, the combined efforts
of the antibiotic, antivirals and his own white blood cells would beat
it back.

A few seconds or hours later, the alien virus would see an
opportunity and move forward. His heart would pump harder in an
effort to move the thickened blood through his veins. Again, the
heparin would come to the front and thin the blood enough to give
the heart some relief. Just long enough for the antivirals to affect
the remaining virus cells, disrupt their inner workings, like spies in
the enemy camp.

He shook his head at the analogy to a battlefield. He felt like he
was a battlefield. The beaches of Normady on D-Day, to be exact.
And he wasn't sure he knew which side he was on. On the one
hand, the allies, all the meds, his own body, and not the least Scully,
were putting up a valiant fight. The German Army--the virus, was
cunning and resourceful and Mulder couldn't help but admire it.
Sleek, adaptable, a perfect killing machine. Who were they to stand
up against it? It came from the farthest reaches of space. They
would do well to bow before it and beg for mercy.

He didn't deserve mercy. Mulder had never felt that more clearly
than he did at that moment. His sister was lost. A second time.
What would have happened if the 'fake' Samantha had not been
killed? Would she have become a part of his life? Would his
parents have accepted her, would she have been assimilated into
their lives? Would she have been the one to take the others that
one step closer to complete colonization? The thought terrified him
and fascinated him all at the same time.

"Ask yourself, Agent Mulder? How can we know so much about
her?" The 'original' clone, the first, as she was called, had
challenged him in a way that he could only now understand. If they
knew that much about Samantha--then was she with them? Was
she protected by them?

"She's alive. Now, can you die?" The bounty hunter's words
haunted him at this moment, sitting and waiting for the outcome of
his existence to be decided by so many chemical reactions taking
place inside his body. His salvation, or his deathbed. "She's alive."

She's alive.

Sam was out there. Waiting.

It had been almost six hours since the onset of the fever. Scully
watched the heart monitor and her own heart stopped every time it
struggled, skipped a beat. His breathing was steady, then would be
shallow and ragged, needing more help from the respirator, only to
steady once again. She felt like she was riding a roller coaster--and
she'd never liked them as a rule.

The meds were doing their job, at least on some level. Mulder's
blood hadn't thickened, even though his temp was now holding
steady at 102. The rattle in his chest was more pronounced, but
hadn't spread farther than the left lung. He was still on the
respirator, still on oxygen. The little monitor attached to his finger
verified that he was getting enough of the O2 to help his body
concentrate on other things. Like producing white blood cells to
kill off the invaders, pneumonia and the virus.

But was it enough? She'd been asking herself that question for the
last five and a half hours. Was it all enough? Was there anything
else she could be doing? Sitting by his bedside, watching his face,
was driving her crazy.

It didn't even seem like her partner, lying in the bed. Mulder fussed
too much to be this still form before her. He hated tubes, messed
with them incessantly. So much so that the nurses in Raleigh had
threatened him with restraints if he bothered his IV one more time
after he'd been shot. He'd even messed with _her_ IV when she'd
been kept for 'observation' and rest following her return.

It was the thought of her own coma that struck a chord with her.
She had very little recollection of that time. She remembered a
woman caring for her. Nurse Owens. Of course, that couldn't
have been her name, Scully had checked repeatedly and there had
not been a Nurse Owens on that floor or even in that hospital for
years. She'd gotten the name wrong, that was all.

But one other thing she did remember was her partner. It was the
vaguest of memories, but it had stayed with her the longest. Her
partner, Mulder. Holding her hand so very gently that she could
just barely feel the touch of his fingers on her skin. His voice, so
full of sadness. And longing. And . . . hope? Only a little of what
he had said that night stayed with her. Just a few phrases. She
knew there had been much more to their one sided conversation,
but she realized that her mind had condensed it to save only the
important part. "You've always had the strength of your beliefs,
Scully . . . If it helps, I'm here."

She couldn't watch him slip away without trying to get through to
him.

"Mulder."

He heard her voice as if on the wind. It was far away. He was so
intent on the battle raging that he almost forgot that he was so close
that he could see the individual links in the gold chain that held her
cross at her throat.

"Mulder, you once gave me strength. You called it the strength of
your beliefs. It was faith, Mulder. Faith that I would come back."
She took a deep breath before she could continue. "I want to give
you some of that faith, Mulder. Faith to go on. Faith to find
Samantha. And if it helps, I'm here."

Mulder decided it was time to take sides in this fight.

His fever broke at 4 the next morning. His lungs were clear by the
end of the next week. JoBeth urged her to take him off the
respirator. Scully was afraid he wouldn't be able to sustain his
breathing, but he proved her wrong, again.

They cut back on the antivirals. The virus was now just a signature
in his blood work--nothing active, just a memory. Antigens were
now in place should he ever encounter it again. God forbid.

At the end of the third week, he woke up.

*****
end of 3/4

Not the End of the Game 4/4
by vmoseley@fgi.net
disclaimed in part one

April 10, 1995

JoBeth heard the shouting four doors away from the room. Two
voices, one shrill and angry, the other deeper and determined.
Thea was standing in the hall, listening at the door, totally
unashamed.

"Thea, what the hell is going on?" JoBeth asked.

Thea put her index finger to her lips in an effort to get JoBeth to
lower her voice. She need not have bothered, the occupants of the
room were too intent on their own conversation to hear anything
outside the room.

"Agent Mulder's decided he wants to go home," Thea said in a
hoarse whisper.

"And Agent Scully doesn't agree," JoBeth rightly surmised. Thea
gave a knowing nod of the head. "Guess I better go referee before
they start throwing crockery," JoBeth said with a grin.

"Wheelchair, Scully! Ever hear of them? They're an amazing
invention, you might look it up," Mulder growled, totally ignoring
the entrance of another person. He would continue to ignore her
until JoBeth chose sides.

"A wheelchair?" she laughed cruelly. "After that debacle in
National coming back from Raleigh when you decided that you
didn't like being stared at and tried to use crutches to get to the
parking lot? Two redcaps, Mulder! It took TWO REDCAPS to
pick you up off your ass and help you into the damned wheelchair!
Now THAT was embarrassing! Not to mention the three stitches
you popped," Scully fumed back.

"I. Want. To. Go. Home. Scully." Each word was said through
teeth clenched so tight JoBeth was afraid he might crack a molar.

"You. Aren't. Ready." It was hard to believe that this was the
same woman who had fought so hard for his life just six weeks
before. She looked like she wanted the privilege of killing him all
to herself.

"We could do a medi-vac," JoBeth suggested quietly. The room
froze and both faces turned toward her.

Scully was the first to break into a grin. "We could do a medi-vac,"
she repeated.

Mulder wasn't so quick to take up the offer. "More gurneys, more
hospital stuff. No way! I want to go back on a commercial airlines
with lousy food and lots of honey roasted peanuts," he groused.

"You want to wait another week or two to do that?" Scully
countered. Mulder turned to JoBeth for the deciding vote. She
shrugged and then nodded her head.

"You need rest, Mulder. And the antivirals did a number on your
systems. You'll need to be off your feet for another three weeks, at
least. Go back too early, and you'll relapse. You don't want that.
None of us want that. Do us all a favor and take us up on the free
trip home." JoBeth knew her smile would never match his
partner's--at least when it came to persuading a recalcitrant Mulder
to do something he didn't want to, but she flashed him one anyway.

Reluctantly, he nodded his head in acceptance. "But we leave
tomorrow," he said defiantly and crossed his arms to hammer in the
point.

"If I can get it arranged, first thing in the morning," JoBeth agreed
happily.

JoBeth had walked with the gurney to the waiting transport plane.
As luck would have it, two other patients were heading out, as
well, so no one could gripe about the use of Defense Department
dollars to ferry the two agents home. Mulder would be admitted to
Northeast Georgetown upon touch down in DC, where he would
spend a few days getting back on his feet. Then he would be
heading home, either his own, or his partners--another battle for
another day. For now, JoBeth's part in this little saga was over.

"If you ever get to DC, look us up," Mulder said with a Cheshire
Cat grin as he shook JoBeth's hand.

"Not in this lifetime, Agent Mulder," JoBeth said confidently.

He laughed and laughed as the corpsmen readied the gurney for the
long ride. That left only Scully to say goodbye.

"He's really not that bad. You just keep seeing him at his
worst--sick and grumpy," Scully explained with a twinkle in her
eyes.

"Oh, he was OK--while he was asleep," JoBeth allowed. She stood
straight and gave Scully a clipped military salute. "Good sailing,
Agent Scully."

Scully started as she heard the words her father always used to say
goodbye. She bit her lip before she could answer. "Good sailing,
Dr. Carson." She hurried up the ramp to strap in beside Mulder.

JoBeth watched the plane take off, drawing the warmth of her fur
lined parka hood around her face and away from the driving wind.
When she couldn't see the airplane lights any longer in the almost
perpetual night sky, she turned and walked back to the compound.

"Mail call," the corpsman said cheerily, when JoBeth had returned
to her little office.

"Oh, good, my Victoria's Secrets catalog," JoBeth joked. She
could tell by the envelope it was interdepartmental mail. She
opened it with a quick tear and flipped open the letter.

When Thea heard the anguished cry, she hurried into the lab.
"What is it, Jo, honey? Somebody die?" she crooned as she held
her friend's shuddering shoulders.

JoBeth simply handed her friend the letter and tried valiantly to stop
laughing long enough to catch her breath.

"Why, honey child, this looks like you've been transferred again,"
Thea sighed, disheartened. "Aw, lordy! Where the hell is
Quantico, Virginia?"

The end

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Em (lilxphile@aol.com)
The Fourth Person
XAngst Anonymous Guru-For-A-While
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Studies show that one out of four people
are insane. If three of your friends are
okay, then you're it.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
If you don't like your job, you don't
strike! You just go in every day and do it
really half-assed. That's the American way!
-Homer Simpson
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Scully, should we be picking out china
patterns or what?
-Mulder

If I ever need advice about mating
behavior, Commander, I'll know where to go.
-Janeway

(I am a slave to UST... ;D)
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Cafe UST * Window Table * B.I.M.B.O. * EMXC
eXtreme Possibilities * OBSSE * IRC Wench
LGW #67 * M&S * Rat'nik * XPRA * XF-BAJFSG
Loser At The Helm * Melissketeer Queen
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