FOURTH SEASON SPOILER

Mulder deals with paralysis while Scully deals with the
case. Set during the last few minutes and after 'Teliko.'

Rating: R for language and violence. No romance.

Disclaimer: I don't own the X Files, I just play with
them. I'll make you a deal, Mr. Carter. You get rid of
Marita and I'll continue to shower you with the love and
adoration I have for the last three years. And not
infringe your copyright, either.

Comments (no, I cannot be persuaded to like the blonde
from the UN) to vmoseley@fgi.net.

A Whiter Shade of Pale
By Vickie Moseley

Philadelphia
May 19, 1996

Fox Mulder shuddered as another drip of water fell
on his head and rolled down his back. He wiped at it
with disgust and looked up for a source, knowing that it
was unlikely he would be able to pinpoint it. With a
shake of his head, he moved slowly on.

<This is one of the dumber things you've done this
week,> he chided himself. It amused him slightly to note
that whenever he got on his own case, his inner voice
sounded exactly like his partner. His partner on one of
those mornings when he *knew* greasy french fries and
chocolate shakes would be the menu at lunch and the
phone better not ring too many times or she would shot
it. Or him. Or both. <Yup, you have stuck your foot in
it big time,> his own voice sounded in his head.

It seemed totally rational at the time that they would
find Samuel Aboah in a deserted demolition site. The
man worked for a demolition company. Why this
particular site, out of all the urban renewal taking place
in Philadelphia, jumped out and shouted to him from the
side of the road, he would never be able to tell. He
wondered again at how far his relationship with Scully
had come. She didn't even raise an eyebrow. She had
just followed him into the site, even past the heavy
security chain and padlock.

<I wish she would have questioned this one,> he
finally decided. Maybe, if Scully had raised an eyebrow,
had asked 'why this one, Mulder', maybe then he would
have been able to shove the little alarm to the back of his
mind and drive past this site. But she hadn't. And so he
couldn't discount the alarm in his head. And now, he
was sorely wishing he could be like most people and not
hear things like killer's thoughts and ringing alarms in his
head. That he could turn off his job and just go home at
night, find a nice girl and let her drive him crazy trying to
figure out how to make her happy, maybe even get her
to say 'yes' she'd spend her life with him.

He glanced over at Scully. Well, he might not have
the first three items on that list, but he sure had number
four. After all the horrors they had endured, Scully was
still there, beside him. Well, actually, in this case, he
was beside her. This had been her case. Her
opportunity to shine. How often did the CDC turn to
the FBI for back up? <Pretty damn never,> he answered
himself. And he had to go and stick his nose in, mucking
up her nice, pretty, scientific, it's-just-a-disease,-Mulder
explanation. And here they were, in an abandoned
building and that damned alarm was sounding so loud in
his head that it was starting to give him a headache.

This was crazy. They had to split up. He motioned
for her to take the left, he would take the right. They
would stay in earshot, like always. He didn't want to be
too far away in case she needed him. Of course, he
would never tell her that was the reason. As far as she
knew, he just wanted to know where she was if he
needed back up. <Yeah, right. I worry about back up
*a lot*,> he laughed silently. In reality, the only back up
that concerned him was making sure that Scully had
plenty of it.

The corridor he was going through seemed endless,
but finally opened up in a room. There was a metal
ladder and Mulder was sure he heard someone up there.
<Nah, it's too good to be true,> he smiled to himself, as
he climbed the ladder. He flashed his light around the
narrow corridor. Nothing. But he heard the noise again.
Cautiously, he started forward.

<Rats,> he considered. <Maybe I'm hearing rats.>
He moved on toward the end of the corridor and was
standing on a grate that looked onto the area below.
Suddenly, a sharp pain hit him in the neck. It wasn't a
bug bite, this had some force to it. He reached up and
brushed the spot, his finger came back with blood on it.

"Scully," he shouted, but his voice sounded distant to
his own ears. His eyes were getting blurry, everything
around him was starting to wave and distort. "Scully,"
he tried once more, but this time, it was little more than
a whisper. All feeling left his body and he collapsed
onto the grate.

It must have been just a few seconds until Mulder
sensed a form standing over him. He couldn't focus
properly, nothing was working. Worse yet, he couldn't
feel his legs or his arm or even the grate under his cheek.
<I'm paralyzed,> he realized in a panic. <Oh, God, no,
not again,> he thought in terror. The feeling was just
like the last time, the time his sister had been taken from
him. Except that time, there had been no dart involved,
only a light, a very bright light. But the end result was
the same, he couldn't move.

For a moment, he feared that the poison on the dart
would take over his involuntary responses, as well as the
voluntary ones, and that he would suffocate because he
wouldn't breathe. But he was breathing, and it appeared
that he would continue to do so. <Maybe this is a good
thing,> he decided wryly. <If I had any control over my
breathing right now, I'd be hyperventilating.> But his
breathing remained steady, even though his heart was
pounding at the speed of a race horse after a full mile
and a quarter run.

The form moved into the light of Mulder's flash and
with a little concentration, Mulder could make out the
face. Samuel Aboah. <Big surprise,> Mulder thought.
But there was something different. Aboah looked
bleached of all color. Even his eyes were strange, the
bright red pupils staring at him, watching Mulder to see
if the poison had taken affect. Aboah kicked Mulder in
the stomach. There was no pain, no movement. Aboah
smiled and grabbed the stricken agent by the legs and
dragged him down the corridor.

<Scully, now would be a really good time to show
up,> he prayed. He had seen the INS social worker and
the prospects of ending up without a pituitary gland did
not appeal to Mulder one bit. He tried to figure out
where Aboah was taking him, but it was dark, the flash
now yards behind them. He was disoriented enough
from the poison, there was no way he could keep track
of where they were going.

Aboah stopped and pulled on something out of
Mulder's line of sight. He heard metal scraping and then
he was being hauled into what appeared to be an air
conditioning duct. <Oh shit, visions of Tooms,> he
quipped to himself. He didn't have time to consider
anything else, because he was being dragged down the
air duct.

It was so hard to keep the panic away. He was so
totally helpless, not even able to call out to warn Scully.
<She'll come looking for me,> he reminded himself. He
remembered that Aboah had left the flashlight lying in
the hallway. She would see that. With any luck, she'd
call for backup.

<And would *you* call for back up, Einstein?> he
asked himself. <Noooo, and she probably won't either.
She wouldn't want to waste the time or make the noise
that might tip this guy off.> He became horrified that
Aboah might have more darts with him. With Scully's
smaller size, one of the darts would have enough poison
to kill her. <If I get out of this, we are changing
procedure! Call for back up _first_, then come looking
for the other.>

"Mulder!"

He could hear her, beneath them, calling to him.
<Scully!> his mind returned, instinctively. <Scully, get
the hell out of here and call for back up. Lots of back
up. The Fucking Fifth Army, for all I care.> The
frustration of not being able to warn her was making him
physically ill, but even in that he had no control over
himself. <Shit, I can't even throw up if I want to,> he
raged inwardly.

Aboah stopped and dropped Mulder in a heap against
a grate. Mulder's head fell to the right and now he was
staring out a grate. <Not much of a view,> he thought.
He could hear, though, and listened as closely as he
could, trying to figure out what the small African man
had in mind for him. <You know what he has in mind,>
he reminded himself with a mental shudder. He realized
he couldn't even close his eyes against the horror. He
could blink, but didn't have the control to keep his lids
shut. <This stuff _sucks_ big time,> he decided.

It took a moment for it to sink in, but finally Mulder
realized he was alone in the duct. Aboah had gone.
<Scully!> Mulder's mind screamed. <The bastard's
going after Scully!> It was getting harder to breathe and
his heart was pounding, the blood loud in his ears.
<Calm down. It won't help to have a fucking heart
attack, Mulder,> he heard her voice in his mind chastise
him.

It felt like he was in the dark forever. Occasionally,
he heard a noise. A thought flashed through his mind,
that in his present condition a sewer rat could gnaw his
foot off and he would never be the wiser. <Think of
something,> he commanded. <Anything! Just think of
something to keep your mind occupied.>

<What if he kills Scully and then comes back and
finishes me off?> It just popped into his mind, unbidden.
He tried hard to think of anything else, but the thought
wouldn't leave. <What will this do to Margaret? Two
daughters gone. And it would be my fault. I promised
her I would protect her daughter. I deserve to die, but
not her, not Scully.>

Then, the vision of his own mother came into his
mind. <Damn it, Mom. I feel like you have so much
you could have told me. And we finally had the time. I
came so close to losing you, and I've been so happy that
you're OK. I haven't wanted to risk asking. Now, I'm
gonna die and the search will end. It will all end, just
like Dad told me when I was in that Hogan. All end.>
The despair engulfed him and mentally he sobbed against
it all.

The sound of scraping and movement clawed him out
of his self-induced torment. <Aboah,> he reasoned.
That would mean that Scully was probably dead. He
hadn't heard her, but then, she hadn't heard him, either.
He heard more scraping. It was coming toward him,
slowly, methodlically. The logical conclusion was that
his partner was dead and he was about to die. <Good, I
wouldn't want to go on without her, anyway,> he
decided and oddly enough, the thought calmed his racing
heart. <We'll still be together,> he considered. <Unless
there is a God, and I get what I deserve,> he thought
and the despair enclosed him again.

"mulder?"

<Scully?> Could it be possible? Could she still be
alive? <Scully! Oh God, Scully!> He struggled to
acknowledge her, even just to turn his head toward her,
but nothing responded. The panic enfolded him again.

"mulder" she whispered, her voice full of worry. "oh
god, mulder," she sighed. "I'm here."

She turned suddenly and fired her weapon. The
panic was gripping Mulder so tight he couldn't breath.
<Not a good time to pass out,> he thought. <But then
again, not exactly a *bad* time, either.>

Scully was climbling over him. He knew that if he
could feel, he was going to hurt. She was putting
bruises on bruises and there was nothing that either of
them could do to avoid it. She pushed past him to the
grate and pounded on it with her flash until it broke free.
As gently as she could she pushed and pulled him out of
the small opening, dropping him down to the floor. She
winced when he hit, and slid boneless into a heap.

There was a little more light now, with her flash and
his and he could take a good look at her. She was still
fuzzy and wavy, but it only made her look even more
beautiful than she already did to him. Quickly, she
pulled out her cell phone and he heard the number pad
sing out 9 - 1 - 1. <Thank God,> he sighed.

The operator was giving Scully a hard time, he could
tell by the tone of her voice. <Badge number, Scully.
Always give them the badge number FIRST, then the
rest. You know that,> he chided her. A movement
above her left shoulder caught his eye. He wanted to
turn his head, and tried, but nothing happened. <Damn
it, I HATE THIS!> he screamed. Not only couldn't he
move, he couldn't even feel anything. He was beginning
to think it might be a permanent condition. The only
thing he could do was watch. He focused his eyes on
the movement. Red eyes gleamed back at him.

Aboah!

<Scully! Scully! Behind you! Look behind you!> he
ranted on silently, knowing full well that she could not
hear him. <Eye contact, I have to get eye contact with
her,> he ordered himself. He stared at her, hoping the
horror in his eyes might break through to her. <Come
on, Scully, work with me here,> he begged. But then,
he considered that he probably looked pretty stupid,
afterall. He knew his eyes were open as far as they
could be, it was the only movement he could make and
allowed him to focus. She had to look directly at him,
she had to 'see' into his mind.

<She'd not a mind reader, dumbshit,> he chastised
himself. But then, there had been times . . . many times
that there was only one explanation for her sudden
appearance or her flash of understanding. Maybe, just
maybe she COULD read his mind. <Come on Scully!
I'm SCREAMIN' it here. THE BASTARD IS BEHIND
YOU! TURN THE FUCK AROUND AND SHOOT
HIM!>

And suddenly, she looked over her shoulder at the
spot where he had been staring. Just as Aboah leaped
down to the floor, she fired and Aboah crumbled into a
heap.

For whatever reason, the poison, the fear or maybe
the relief, Mulder passed out.

Northeast Georgetown Medical Center
May 20, 1996

"How's he doing, Scully?"

Somewhere in a fog of cotton and cobwebs, Mulder
heard the voice of his Assistant Director.

"The doctor thinks the poison is almost out of his
system, sir. He's moved a little in his sleep," came the
voice of his partner. She sounded tired, exhausted.

"Then why is he still unconscious?" Mulder was as
curious to hear that answer as his boss.

"A combination of things. The poison, for one. It
affects the central nervous system. He still isn't
responding to stimulus." Mulder did a little test of his
own. Nothing. He couldn't feel a thing. The fog was
looking good again.

"Permanent damage?" Again, Skinner seemed to be
coming up with all the good questions.

"They've done a CATscan and did an EEG last night.
There were some spikes on the EEG that could be
considered abnormal, but not alarming. They plan on
another one in the morning. Hopefully there will be no
permanent damage. But it's very hard to tell. This
concoction is ordinarily used to kill animals in the wild.
We aren't real sure of it's affects on humans." Scully was
silent for a moment. "You know, Marcus Duff was
moved out of ICU. He should be released in a week to
ten days."

"No, I hadn't heard," Skinner said slowly. "That's a
good sign, isn't it?" Mulder couldn't hear the answer.
There was more silence. "Let me know if there is any
change," Skinner said and Mulder heard the door swing
open and then click closed.

There was a soft rustle of cloth and then a squeak of
a chair spring. Just on the edges of his consciousness,
Mulder felt <felt!?> something, a soft weight on his arm.
It felt warm and filled him head to toe with an incredible
joy. <I can feel that! I can feel my arm! Her hand is on
my arm!> It gave him the courage to attempt the
impossible. Concentrating his efforts, struggling against
the fog and the mist, he felt his eyelids slowly slide open
and with an effort, he focused on his partner sitting by
his side.

She noticed the change immediately. There was that
smile, the one she always gave him. The best 'welcome
home' he could have hoped for. She tightened her grip
on his arm. "Hey there. How are you doing?"

He tried to answer her. God help him, he tried. But
the control was not there. It had exhausted him just to
open his eyelids. She noticed the anguish in his eyes.
"It's OK, Mulder. The poison is still hanging around in
there. They tried to find an antidote, but nothing has
worked. We're pretty sure it will dissipate on it's own.
Till then, can you blink for me?" she asked.

He tried again. <What is that code? Oh, yeah, one
for yes, two for no.> He blinked once and nearly passed
out from the relief. At least he could communicate on
some level.

"I take that as a 'yes'," she smiled again. Then her
expression grew serious. "Mulder, are you in pain?"
Two blinks answered her. "Good, but I think that might
change. You look like the 'geek' we meet in Circustown.
All black and blue marks. Can you feel anything yet?"
One blink. Again, good news. "OK, now for where.
Your legs?" Two blinks. "Your arms?" One blink. She
smiled brightly. "Hey, it's a start, right? And it means
that it will all come back with time. Now, I think you've
had enough excitement for a while. You just rest now, I
need to talk to your doctor. I'll be back." Before she
got up, she ran her hand through the hair on his
forehead. He could feel her hand, warm on his skin. He
looked up at her and blinked, once. She smiled even
brighter. "We're making progress," she told him and left
him to fall back to sleep.

May 22, 1996

"Mulder, don't start with me," Scully sighed in
frustration. "You are not ready to go home. You still
can't stand without your knees turning to jello."

"I would have been fine, I just moved too fast. I
want to get out of here, Scully. And speaking of jello,"
he rasped, "I'm not eating that shit." Jerking a bit, he
pointed to the green glowing pile in the bowl on his tray
table. "Looks like . . .ectoplasm," he said in disgust.

"If I could find some red jello with bananas in it,
would you 'try' to eat some?" she offered, teasing him.

"No," he said, crossing his arms. When he had woke
up, he had feeling--bruises on top of bruises and a
sprained shoulder from the fall from the duct, but with
feeling. And motion. Not very steady, and it was only
with a firm grip on the IV stand he had made it to the
bathroom before the nurse surprised him and he landed
on the floor. Still, even his partner was having a hard
time coming up with reasons for him to stay much
longer. But he knew the real reason. Everyone was
giving him that psychobabble again.

"The nurse told me you had a nightmare last night,"
Scully said quietly and waited, watching him.

"So?" he returned. He was the psychologist here.
Did he ever tell her how to perform an autopsy?

"She said you were screaming that you couldn't
move." Scully sat down next to him on the bed. "Want
to talk about it?"

He resolutely stared at his hospital wrist band. "No."
It wasn't that he didn't want to talk about it. He
_couldn't_ talk about it. It was too frightening, now that
it was over. How could he tell her what it was like?
How horrifying it was to just lie there, aware of all that
was going on, but totally unable to do anything to
change it? How helpless he felt? How much this
experience had brought back all the feelings he had after
Sam's disappearance? He knew she would understand,
he just couldn't make his mouth form the words--
couldn't even let his mind form the thoughts.

She nodded slowly. "Mulder . . ."

He looked at her and their eyes locked. After a few
seconds, she nodded again and let a small smile, a
knowing smile, grace her lips. He didn't need to say the
words. She understood. "I'm here," she told him, but
the spoken words were like an echo to the thoughts he'd
already heard.

He smiled back. "I knew that already." He could get
through this. And she would be there to catch him if he
fell. He let the silence settled again. "Of course, you
might decide to run off to the CDC, . . ." He was
teasing and she knew it.

She was happy to see the mischief in his eyes and
laughed in response to it, a bright, happy sound rang off
the walls of the small private hospital room. "Right,
Mulder. Not a chance. If it's one thing I discovered
during this case, those guys at CDC are a bunch of 'light
weights'. Too ready to accept the first half-baked
plausible conclusion. Afraid of what a little
'investigation' might dig up. I'd be bored to tears in a
week." She patted his leg affectionately. "I'll get the
doc to commute your sentence. I'll be back after lunch
to spring ya."

"Thanks," he said with a nod.

"Don't mention it," she answered.

the end