Somewhere Under Wraps 1/2

Summary: Scully's thoughts as she and Mulder tackle two extreme
possiblities--one involving unexplained deaths in New Jersey and the other
their own unusual relationship.
Category: X A MSR--to the max RELATIONSHIP WARNING
Spoilers: Season Four, and the other seasons are mentioned in passing.
Rating: Strong *R* for adult themes and situations
Disclaimer: I don't, 10-13 does, I'll be good and put everything back when
I'm done playing with it. And I promise not to bend the edges.
Archive: Please forward to Gossamer but NOT to the newsgroup. It can
be archived anywhere as long as my name and disclaimer are attached.
Comments: Yes, I'd love some. Send them to me vmoseley@fgi.net

Somewhere Under Wraps 1/9
By Vickie Moseley
vmoseley@fgi.net

Dana Scully's alarm sounded a persistent, annoying buzzing in her ear. She
batted at the button on top, hoping to silence it before it drove her mad--or
woke the person sleeping next to her. The silence was like a warm towel
fresh from the dryer settling over her as she stole one more moment to
snuggle into her partner's arms.

Partner. Dana found it funny how many meanings she attributed to that
word. She had been assigned as a partner to Fox Mulder, to work with
him on cases. Somewhere along the line, she'd finally admitted that he was
a partner in her off times, too. A person she could count on, talk
to--although sometimes not often or early enough. Someone beside her
family who knew her well enough not to judge her. Even when she was
judging herself.

Then came the cancer. The beginning had been the worst, to her mind.
The time she spent before telling her partner that anything was wrong.
When it became apparent that she had to tell someone, he was the first
person she told. Then came the awful period where she wouldn't let him
in. She didn't want him to think her weak, unable to do her job. She
didn't want to burden his already overburdened heart with something he
could do nothing about. She didn't want to face the fact that she had to
say goodbye.

He had enough troubles, especially when the shadows apparently figured
out a way to end his life--by forcing him into suicide. They set him up,
using his own beliefs and her cancer to drive him over the edge. He'd come
very close to falling into their trap, but he'd figured it out in the nick
of time.

It was after she had helped him orchestrate his own fake suicide that things
changed. He had gone underground to force to light the murder of five
archeologist in the snow fields of the Arctic and the plot to bring
him down, to trick him with a hoax. Their plan had backfired. In the end
he was
exonerated, but as always the evidence and all but one of the perpetrators
vanished, leaving no trace.

At first, Scully's visits had been only to pass along information and that
was the reason she risked exposure of their plan each night to sneak to
where the Lone Gunmen kept him hidden. From outward appearances, it
was a cancer support group. A group headed by the 'distinquished
psychologist' Dr. Andrew Langly. But when the group meeting began,
Scully would sneak out the back door and up the wooden stairs to the tiny
apartment that Mulder called home.

She remembered distinctly the first time she'd fallen asleep there. It had
been a horrible day. No leads, no word from Skinner that the Smoking
Man had taken the bait. She'd undergone a new cancer treatment and it
had drained her completely. No sooner had she walked in the door had
Mulder swept her up in his arms and carried her like his own personal
Scarlet O'Hara to the futon and laid her down. Then, without a second
thought to anything or anyone, he climbed in beside her, took her in his
arms again, and the two fell into a deep sleep. When she woke up, he was
already downstairs with the Gunmen, working on a new lead.

It quickly became a habit. She'd go to her meeting, go up and sleep. In his
arms. Never for more than a couple of hours, but they found a way to do it
every night. He told her once that it was the only sleep he got--the
moments he slept with her. And that's all they did, even though in her
dreams, he was doing a whole lot more than snoring beside her. Some of
the dreams she had went beyond even her most erotic fantasies and she'd
find herself blushing into the mirror after she woke up. Mulder, for his
part, appeared oblivious to the possible sexual nature of their meetings. He
was there to comfort, he often told her, and to be comforted, as she always
suspected. He made it plain that he wanted nothing more--nor would he
accept anything less. At least, not until she was ready.

Her cure had been a complete surprise to them both. The cancer had
spread to her bloodstream and there was little hope that the new treatments
would work. Miraculously, they had. Mulder was out of hiding and back
at work when the call had come. The doctor had double checked, the
tumor was shrinking and she was most assuredly in remission. Scully knew
her partner suspected that there was more to her 'cure' than medical
science, that maybe their recent successes against the shadows had proven
that they couldn't be beaten, and so the cure was provided. But to his
credit,
he never said a word to her.

She, on the other hand, felt a renewal of their partnership. She had felt so
distant from him and that distance had caused her more pain than the
cancer or the treatments. She never wanted to feel that distance again. If
he didn't make the first move to bring them closer together, she would.

It was his suggestion that the news called for a celebration. They informed
the Assistant Director, then went out for the day--walking through the
Smithsonian, eating at a restaurant that neither of them had ever tried in
Georgetown, and ending the day at her apartment. At eleven o'clock,
sitting on her sofa, she first told him that she loved him. By the stroke of
midnight, one of her sexual fantasies about the two of them had been
realized.

Mulder was everything she could have imagined as a lover. Kind and
attentive, but expressive of his own desires. He allowed her to please him
as much as he was pleasing her. That night, she took a second to mentally
kick herself for having taken so long to love him.

She smiled at that thought. Lying in his arms, feeling the springy hairs on
his chest as he inhaled and exhaled, his morning stubbled chin resting on
her naked breast, she couldn't imagine a more wonderful way to wake up
in the morning. A more wonderful way to live. The past was full of
mysteries, and they were still searching for so many answers. But now
they were so much stronger than they'd ever been before. There was
nothing fate or the shadows could throw at them that would separate or
defeat them, now that they were truly one. Partners--two parts of the same
whole.

He sighed and it rumbled against her skin, sending tiny shivers down her
legs. She glanced over to the clock and decided that if they hit the right
street lights, they had a little time before they had to been in the office.
His
eyelids were heavy against his cheeks and she could count the individual
hairs of his lashes. They were long. A small pang of jealousy tickled her
that he, who never noticed whether he had lashes or not, would be graced
with ones that any woman would kill for. She loved his eyes--every part of
them.

Using just the crooked index finger of her right hand, she gently tilted his
sleeping head up so that her lips could make contact with his eyelids. She
placed dozens of feather-light kisses on his closed lids, his eye brows, the
bridge of his nose. She tiptoed her other hand up so that she could caress
the little indentation just behind his left ear. His body's response was
almost immediate and she grinned at how easy it was to arouse him when
he was asleep. He shifted a bit, and his hardening erection brushed her leg,
setting off it's own set of fireworks deep in her groin. If she didn't know
better, she would have sworn he did that just to get even.

After rubbing behind his ears for a while, she moved her fingers down to
his neck, massaging the firm muscles there, while her lips moved south as
well, placing delicate kisses on his cheeks, just skirting his full, pale pink
lips. She watched him intently as she did this, and struggled not to giggle
as a soft pink tongue darted out of his mouth and run along his top lip,
seeking contact of her. Even though parts of his body seemed to be
waking up, his breathing was still that of a man deep in slumber.

Her hand was growing tired of massaging, and traveled down his sleek
body to come to rest on his left nipple. He'd once told her that men don't
have any strong feelings there--they were just an after thought of nature
when deciding on the male and female of the species, but she knew better.
When she tweaked it between her thumb and index finger, the tongue
darted out again, and this time connected directly with her nose. Using
that as a point of reference, his lips sought hers and kissed her, opening her
lips and letting his tongue explore the wonderous cavern of her mouth.
After thought of nature, indeed, she chided him silently. Looks like an
erogenous zone to me.

He growled in her mouth when she did it again. "G-woman," he said, not
letting go of her lips or tongue. "I'm trying to sleep." It sound more like
'Idh thighing da eep" but she got the idea.

"That's not what I'm feeling," she said with a soft laugh, allowing her hand
to move from his nipple down to just below his navel. She felt great
satisfaction when a certain part of his body jumped against her leg in
anticipation. "Tell that to your body, G-man."

His eyes were still closed but he snorted and pulled away from her mouth.
"OK, revise that statement. I _want_ to sleep." His arms now encircled
her and he was rubbing her back in slow circles, moving his hands down to
knead her bottom. She responded by tilting her hips to rub against him.

"You're sure about that?" she asked, rubbing against him harder. It was
more of a rhetorical question in her mind. There was no way he could roll
over and go back to sleep now. Not until they attended to some 'pressing
business'. Before he could answer, her hand left his stomach and her
fingers slipped around him. His audible gasp was all the answer she
needed.

"Ah, god--Scully," he sighed, and rubbed up into her hand, urging her to
move past the gentle stroking her hand was doing.

"Gee, Mulder, for an atheist, you get real religious in the morning," she
teased.

"Agnostic," he corrected. "There is something out there, I don't know
what, but only something omnipotent could make me feel like this," he
said.

"You mean like _this_?" she asked innocently, but her hands were anything
but innocent.

"God, oh, god, oh, yesssss," he hissed. He wasn't idle as she moved. His
hand went down to her bottom and gripped her there to pull her up just an
inch or so. Then, his long fingers reached over her bottom, giving her a
firm squeeze.

"Oh, god, Fox," she whimpered.

"Two converts in one bed--who'd have thought," he whispered hoarsely in
her ear. Stars appeared before her eyes and she almost forgot what she
was doing.

She started to move, to kiss her way down his stomach to take his shaft in
her mouth, but he stopped her. "I want inside you, please," he asked and
the way his voice cracked took her breath away.

Time suspended and they were lost in each other.

When they came back to the real world, a move of his leg and a subtle flip
of his arm and she was curled up against his chest, still shuddering deep
inside herself. They lay there for an eternity, she thought, but it was still
too short.

"Dana," he whispered in her hair after a few minutes of total silence.

She was too oblivious to hear him, she was listening to her own body--her
heart slowing down, her breath becoming less ragged.

"G-woman," he said more insistently. "C'mon. Work."

" . . . work?" she rasped. Employment was the last thought on her mind.

"Yeah, work. Job. Money. FBI. You remember, the big ugly concrete
and steel building where we co-inhabit the dungeon. Work." He was
talking and gently rubbing her back.

"How do you do that?" she sighed, her eyes drifting shut.

"Do what?"

"After we make love, you're rip roaring and ready to go and all I want to
do is curl up and sleep the day away," she murmured as she used his
shoulder for a pillow.

"What can I say--you energize me," Mulder said with a lopsided grin as he
kissed her tenderly on the forehead. "C'mon. Skinner will have our asses
if we're late and quite frankly, I've become rather attached to yours."

J Edgar Hoover Building
FBI Headquarters
8:25 am

"I remember a time when I would have already been here for hours,"
Mulder muttered as they moved together down the hallway toward the
basement office. The two name plates glimmered in the faint light of the
blinking overheads. Fox Mulder. Dana Scully. He'd given the nameplate
to her the day he moved his clothes over to her apartment. Cohabitation
on an equal basis, he'd told.

"What, are you saying I'm keeping you from your work?" she inquired
with a raised eyebrow and a slight edge to her voice.

"No, not at all, G-woman. I'm saying if you're going to cure my insomnia,
the least you could do is set the alarm a little earlier," he shot back and
slipped off his jacket, hung it on the back of his chair and settled down in
the seat. She thumbed her nose at him in response and went to get a cup of
coffee. By previous long standing agreement, he'd drink half of hers
without getting himself any, but would always get her a refill.

When she returned, he was deeply engrossed in a blue striped file folder.
His glasses were on and she doubted that he heard her when she shut the
door behind her.

"That folder had better not be hiding a 'Playboy'," she scolded in jest and
he looked up and shot her a wry smile.

"Hey, I read them for the articles--you know that. Anyway, that's not
what I've got here, so lighten up. It's a 302 Skinner just sent down."

"He initiated it?" Dana asked, pulling her chair over so she could see the
file, too.

"It's a request. The Trenton Field office has been keeping track of some
unusual deaths involving strokes. At first, they assumed natural causes, the
autopsies found nothing, but then when similar deaths kept occuring, they
revised that."

She took the folder from him and flipped to the back. "The last ME
suspects a fast acting poison," she said, twisting her mouth into a
thoughtful expression.

"That doesn't leave a trace, yeah. But look at the victims. Not a lot of
commonality--they even live in different towns," Mulder replied, reaching
into his top desk drawer and grabbing a handful of sunflower seeds.

She looked up and shrugged. "I hear New Jersey is beautiful, this time of
year," she said brightly.

"And at least I'm not hunting for beast women in the forest this time," he
reminded her with a wicked grin. She punched him in the arm lightly with
a mock glare.

"Just for that, I drive," she declared and flipped him a smile as she headed
for the elevator to arrange their transportation.

end of part one

Somewhere Under Wraps 2/9
vmoseley@fgi.net
disclaimer in part one

Outside the Federal Building
Trenton New Jersey
2:15 pm

Mulder looked over at his sleeping partner and smiled before gently
touching her on the cheek to wake her. "Have a good nap?" he asked as
she yawned and stretched, bones creaking in her spine loudly.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep," she murmured behind another yawn.

"Oh, so you let me take over after lunch because you enjoy the scenery,"
he teased. "That's OK, since you got some shut eye, maybe we can visit
with the locals this afternoon and get some work done later tonight," he
replied, handing her rain coat and carryon to her and taking both briefcases.

"You don't plan on sleeping tonight?" she taunted.

"I'll sleep enough," he replied cryptically. "I miss your sheets when we're
on the road," he grinned at her.

She knew better. He'd miss more than her sheets. They'd set a rule that
co-habitation ended at her doorstep. Any sleep he'd get would be
marginal, at best. But there was another reason. She might have the
power to lull the wild beast when things were relatively normal, but put a
case in his path and Mulder was back to being the same obsessive
insomniac that she'd fallen in love with.

The Regional ASAC met them at the door to the office. John Towers was
a tall man, dark skinned, broad shoulders, handsome face, warm,
expressive eyes and short curly hair just graying at the temple. He met
Mulder with open arms. "Casper!" he called in a deep bass voice.

Mulder grinned and put the briefcases down to embrace the other man in a
bear hug. "Huckleberry! You haven't changed," he exclaimed, patting
Towers on the back affiably. Scully stood off to one side and smiled on in
amusement. Male bonding--it was like watching National Geographic.

Finally, Mulder stepped back and gave Dana a happy wink. "John Towers,
Georgia all-state quarterback and former offensive lineman for the Miami
Dolphins, this is Dr. Dana Scully, my partner. Scully, this is Huck."

"I've heard a lot about you, Agent Scully, and not any of it from this piece
of garbage," John said, taking her hand in a firm handshake.

"You two know each other," Dana said nodding as she looked from one
man to the other.

"Casper here used to keep me up nights at the Academy," Towers said by
way of explanation. The responding raised eyebrow made him laugh and
Mulder grin.

"Get the mind out of the gutter, Scully," Mulder chided playfully. "We
studied procedure. In exchange for my tutoring him at night, John here
kept me from shooting my foot off on the weapons range."

"Ah, you were better than you let on," Towers said affiably. "God in
heaven, it's good to see you, Mulder. It's been too damned long."

"I know, John, I know. But we can save the reunion for later, tell us about
these deaths."

Towers offered to take them out to the site of the latest death, giving him
time to bring them up to speed on the investigation. The three agents got
into his car and headed out Highway 33 to Robinsonville.

"The locals all thought it was natural causes, but then when they started
looking at the numbers involved--" Towers started, by way of explanation.

"How many deaths are we talking, total," Scully asked from the back seat.
"The file only mentioned the autopsies of five individuals."

"Well, not counting the ones we only think might be involved, we're
talking about 30 deaths just in the last few months," John recounted.
"Now, in the big city, that might be acceptable, but out in the sticks, people
start getting scared. Especially since there appears to be no rhyme or
reason. Victims are all ranges of age, both sexes, no common workplace
or association--it just doesn't make sense. And the poison angle is hard to
work, too. I mean, in all cases, the victims died of aneurisms in the brain
or strokes, but a couple of them had concurrent heart attacks, too. All
were healthy individuals with no sign of trouble. Of course, those things
happen, but it's statistically too high a number to be just 'blind bad luck'.
So, as usual, when the locals get stumped, they call Uncle Sam to figure it
out."

"And when 'Uncle Sam' gets stumped--we get the call," Mulder said with
glance and grin back to his partner. She smiled at him and winked.

"Yeah, so I've heard," Towers said, his expression turning serious. "I
gotta tell you, this one has me crazy. We were called in after CDC threw
up their hands."

"According to the report, they're the ones who first suggested poison,"
Scully pointed out. "There was no viral or bacterial agent at work, as far
as they could see."

"And no toxin to be found, either, for that matter. Well, the sooner you
two crack this case, the happier I'll be, that's for sure. I don't like all
these
bodies turning up all around me. It just hits too close to home. Give me
something simple--bank embezzling or mail fraud."

"Huck, you've gone 'whitebread' on me," Mulder cried in mock horror.

"Nah, Casper, I just got 'set in my ways'. It's nice to have a job where you
can make plans on weekends." He took his eyes off the road long enough
to look over at his friend. "Try it some time, you might like it."

"Me, settled? Never," Mulder said and flashed Scully another over the
shoulder grin.

Well, maybe not in the traditional sense of the word, she thought to herself.
In that regard, they'd never be 'settled'

Memorial Hospital
Robinsonville, New Jersey
3:00 pm

They stopped at the Police Station and talked to Chief Neil Simmons for a
few minutes. The Chief was busy with a DARE graduation at the
elementary school, but they set a time in the morning to talk with him.
John drove them over to the hospital.

"The last death occured yesterday afternoon. Forty one year old female,
checker at the Safeway. She'd just had her yearly physical and her doctor
swears that she was fit as a fiddle," Towers spoke as they rode the elevator
down to the basement morgue. "The ME, Dr. Maynard, said they'd keep
her here until you got a look at her, Dana."

"Thanks," Scully said.

"Mulder, do you want to stay here, or go over to the victim's house. It's
about three blocks over?" John asked

Mulder looked over at Scully and she knew that he really didn't want to
hang around. It was their job, she knew that he understood that, but lately,
with all the death that had been following them like vultures, he just didn't
want to sit around and watch her cut up bodies. "Mulder, go on ahead.
And since the deaths all occured either here or in Edinburg or Windsor,
why not scout around for a place to stay tonight?"

"Any preferences?" he asked, biting back a grin.

"Yeah. No cockroaches as bell boys. Something with hot water. And
working toilets. You know, higher than your usual standards. Better yet,
let John find the motel, you just ride along," she speared him with a grin
and turned to meet the Medical Examiner. She couldn't help but chuckle
when she overheard John tell Mulder that she was 'a definite keeper'.

The victim's name was Jennifer Anson. Divorced, one child, but in her
ex-husband's custody. She didn't smoke, didn't drink, and generally was
in excellent health with the exception of the major blood clot in her brain.
The clot resulted in a massive stroke, she lost consciousness and never
regained it. She was found by a neighbor who saw the front door open
after ten o'clock at night.

Scully examined the body carefully, looking for any possible needle tracks
that could indicate injection. Barring that evidence, she doubted that they
would find anything that would give them a clue as to how the poison was
injested. There were no burns in the mouth or nose, no swelling in the
throat or lungs. Whatever it was didn't appear immediately toxic. Blood
test showed nothing of a toxic nature, either.

It was when Scully examined the woman's arm that she saw it. Underneath
the fingernail on her left index finger, there was a black substance. Scully
scraped it carefully onto a slide and prepared it for the lab.

"She must have been a mechanic in her spare time," Dr. Maynard said over
Scully's shoulder.

"How could you tell?" Dana asked, finding more substance under the nails
on the right hand.

"Well, the grease I found all over her. Although I'll be damned if I can
figure out how it got on her legs and ankles. Still, if you're under a car
when you remove a grease pan, well, it can get pretty messy--I know."

Scully looked up from the woman's body and frowned. "You say there
was oil on her legs?"

"Yeah, but I wiped most of it off. None on her hands--which I thought
was strange at the time, but not if she'd gone into the house to clean her
hands."

"Did you keep any of the oil?" Scully asked trying not to sound too
anxious.

"No, I didn't. I couldn't see the need of it," replied the older man. "What,
you thinking this is some kind of poisoned oil--like that town in Missouri a
few years back?"

It took Dana a minute to make the reference, but then she remembered the
story of Times Beach, Missouri. Back in the late 70's, in a cost cutting
measure, the town mayor purchased used oil to spread on the roads to cut
the dust in the summer. The oil had been highly contaminated with
PCP--an extremely toxic substance--and the town had been evacuated in
the middle of the night. Times Beach was now nothing more than barbed
wire fence encircling abandoned buildings--another example of ecological
ruin that man brought upon himself. She could see where the recent deaths
might be invoking similar images in the doctor, but didn't want to
encourage mass panic.

"No, I don't think so. There would have been something show up in the
toxicological, if that was the case. I'm just curious," she said, trying to
sound casual. "Doctor, did you do any of the other autopsies of the deaths
here in Robinsonville?"

"Well, let me think. There was Jimmy Helms, I did him. Same as Jenny
here. Both in good health. Jimmy was a tennis player, home on break
from Florida State. Real sad, that one. Only 21." He looked up at her.
"You know, we only performed autopsies on the last couple. Up till then,
we just thought it was God's will."

Dana nodded. "I understand."

"You gonna exhume any bodies," the older man asked quietly, almost
fearfully.

"I don't know. If I can't come up with some kind of link, I might be
forced to," Dana admitted and went back to her examination.

An hour later, Mulder and Towers returned to collect Scully and take her
to the motel. Mulder made sure that she knew John had picked the spot,
so all complaints could be directed solely to him. After checking in,
Towers treated them both to an early dinner at the little diner across the
street from the 'brand new Ramada Limited' that he'd suggested.

"We need to get a car," Mulder said after finishing off the 'chicken dinner
special' and Dana had excused herself to the ladies room.

"No you don't, you can have mine," John offered. "Wife's coming to pick
me up in a few minutes. She works on the southwest side of Trenton, it's
just a bit out of her way to come out and get me. That way you can use a
bu-car and save me some money," he grinned. Because he had requested
their assistance, all their expenses came out of _his_ line item.

"That works. And I get to meet the mystery woman who could charm a
man accustomed to football cheerleaders," Mulder teased.

"You should get so lucky," Towers shot back. "But then, you look like
you already have," he added with a even stare and a smile.

"John, it's not like that--" Mulder started to object.

"Save it for Skinner. Look Mulder, I'm not condemning here. And for
god's sakes, don't degrade our friendship by trying to tell me there's
nothing going on between you and your partner. You'd have to be stupid
or impotent not to see that woman's the best thing that ever happened to
you. I've heard all the rumors, but I ignored them. It wasn't until I saw
you two and the way half the conversation doesn't have words that I
figured something was going on. But that's your business. And if nothing
IS happening, man, we gotta talk!"

"We just don't want it fodder for the rumor mill," Mulder said sheepishly.

"I understand. And it's safe with me. But if I were you, I'd stop wasting
my budget and get just one room."

"Ahh, that's what this is about," Mulder laughed. "Sorry to burst your
bubble, John, but we _sleep_ in separate rooms on the road. The
temptation to 'sleep late' is too great."

"Bet that makes the pressure to solve the case awful high at times," John
noted, eyes twinkling.

"Luckily, all motels come equipped with cold water in the showers, Huck,"
Mulder grinned back.

John's wife, Celia, picked him up about ten minutes later. John and Celia
both insisted that as soon as the case was over, the two DC agents had to
come over for dinner and Mulder shrugged while Scully readily accepted
for them both. After waving goodbye, the partners walked across the
street to the motel.

"What did you find at the house?" Scully asked as she opened the door to
her room and let him in. The connecting door between the two rooms had
been left open when they checked in, so he went into his room to change.

"She was a neat freak," he called from his bathroom. "The place looked
like the health inspector lived there."

"Did you find any signs of motor oil?" Scully asked, coming out of her
bathroom in sweat pants and tee shirt, her hair pulled back in a pony tail.

"Motor oil?" Mulder met her at the door, wearing cut off sweat pants and
his New York Knicks jersey.

"Yeah. I found motor oil or something like it under her fingernails. And
the ME, Maynard, said she had some on her legs and ankles."

"That's weird. Scully, that woman didn't own a car. She walked to work
or rode her bicycle."

"Maybe it was grease for her bike chain," Scully shrugged.

"Then she would have poured it on herself--they don't need that much.
Not enough to get it on your legs." Mulder flopped down on her bed,
stretched out and put his hands behind his head. He was frowning.

"Maynard thought I was looking for poisoned oil. You know, like Times
Beach," Scully said, flopping down on the other double bed in the room.

"Funny, I was thinking poisoned oil, but not Times Beach," Mulder said,
chewing his the inside of his cheek. "Remember that French salvage
mission?"

Scully frowned at the mention of the crew of a French salvage operation
who had all but one died of radiation poisoning just a little over a year
before. "Mulder, these people are dying of strokes and embolisms, not
radiation."

"I didn't say it was the same stuff, Scully. The coincidence just struck a
nerve," he grinned with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Well, I sent the sample to be analyzed, I should hear something in the
morning. Pendrell's replacement is a little slower than he was, but what
can we do, right?" she said, and a feeling of heaviness decended on them
both at the mention of the deceased lab agent's name.

"Game's on. Wanna watch it with me, since there isn't much we can do
right now?" Mulder offered, and she knew he was trying to lift the veil of
guilt that was threatening to smother her.

She smiled at him. "Sure. I love watching you sleep through athletic
events, Mulder."

At eleven o'clock, the game ended and Scully shoved Mulder through the
connecting door and back into his own room. In less that three minutes, he
was back, without his shirt and with a toothbrush in his mouth.

"Ah wath thingink" he mumbled around a mouthful of toothpaste.

"Spit and rinse, G-man, then try that again," she laughed at him.

He went back to his bathroom and returned, drying his face on a
handtowel. "I was thinking."

"You alert the media, I'll cover the press conference," she shot back with a
grin and he gave her a threatening look that only caused her to laugh at
him.

"That oil you found--when will we get the results?"

"Tomorrow morning, IF they do as I asked and put a rush on it. If not, it
might not be in until day after tomorrow," she answered. "Mulder, don't
get stuck on that--it could be nothing," she warned gently.

"I know, I know. But Scully, this is driving me mad. Look at what we've
got--nothing. Just a statistical abberation. People die of strokes and
embolisms all the time. Hell, it could be caused by high power lines, for all
we know."

"But Mulder, look at the locations. This is the only area, these three little
towns with populations of less than 10,000 between the three of them, with
that many deaths by stroke in that short a period. You could be right, it
could be a statistical anomaly--they do happen. But it just doesn't--"

"Feel right," he finished her sentence.

She nodded. "Product tampering at a pharmacutecal factory? Remember
the Tylenol case back years ago? Maybe that's the cause," she pondered
out loud.

"Possible," he agreed. "But wouldn't it show up? I mean, wouldn't you
be able to pick up a common thread in the bloodwork--if not the toxin, at
least the masking substance?"

"Not if it's a universally used drug like that. On any given day, go out on a
street corner and try to find the number of people who _haven't_ popped a
pill for a headache, cramps, back pain. Face it, we're pill poppers in this
country."

"But what are the chances that an entire lot would find it's way to the
sticks of suburban Trenton? Wouldn't some of it show up somewhere
else? And the safeguards in place in the factory--the chances of pulling it
off successfully would be astronomical," Mulder asked, pacing the room.

"Well," Scully said with an exaggerated yawn, "I'm too tired to think about
it right now. Hit the sack, G-man. I'll see you in the morning." She
walked over to him, gave him a smile and a hug and showed him to the
door.

He turned once, putting his hand on the doorjam. "Promise you'll miss
me?" he pleaded, a twinkle in his eyes.

"I'll dream about you all night," she vowed, her right hand raised.

"Well, in that case, I could always just sleep over here," he started back in
the room, but she shoved him through the door and closed her side. In a
second she opened it a crack.

"Don't let the bed bugs bite, G-man," she called softly.

"That's it, Scully! It's killer bed bugs!" he cried, but before she could
answer, she heard him pulling off his sweatpants, tossing them in a corner
of his motel room, then pulling back the covers and crawling in the bed. It
was enough to flood her with a deep, abiding desire to drag him back into
her room and make love to him till his eyes fell out. She grinned and shook
her head at her own thoughts.

"Go to sleep, Mulder," she called back in a threatening tone. Then, once
he was quiet, she got into her own bed and tried unsuccessfully to go to
sleep.

The call came at 6:45 am. Mulder wasn't back from his run, and Dana was
trying to find her hair brush that she was certain she'd packed in her bag
when the Chief of Police in neighboring Windsor called her room.

"Sure sorry to call so early in the morning, ma'am," Chief Jim Warren said
by way of greeting. "But Neil Simmons told me you and your partner were
up from DC lookin' into these deaths here abouts and I think we have
another one for ya."

Fortunately, Mulder walked in the door as soon as she hung up and the two
dressed quickly then drove to the address in Windsor that the Chief had
given her.

end of part two

Somewhere Under Wraps 3/9
vmoseley@fgi.net
disclaimed in part one

Hampton Residence
24 Countryline Drive, Apt. 16
Windsor, New Jersey
7:45 am

"For a bachelor, Mr. Hampton was neat as a pin," Scully commented as she
met up with her partner in the kitchen of the victim's apartment. "Even the
toothpaste tube was spotless and the cap was on."

"Are you trying to tell me something here, Scully?" Mulder asked with a
raised eyebrow and slightly mocking tone.

"If the toothpaste cap fits, Mulder," she stood on tiptoe to whisper in his
ear.

"We shipped the body over to Robinsonville," Chief Warren said. "Figured
ole Doc Maynard would do the honors. 'Course, if you'd rather, Agent
Scully," he offered with a shrug.

"Actually, I'd prefer it if Agent Scully did the autopsy," Mulder spoke up.
"No offense to 'old Doc Maynard', but Agent Scully will be looking for
some specific markers and I'd like to have her take the lead. If that's all
right with you?" His tone made it clear that the correct answer to the
question was 'yes'.

"Perfectly fine, Agent Mulder. Perfectly fine." Warren looked happy to be
handing over the investigation to Mulder. He looked like he'd turn it over
to his cat, if he thought he could by with it.

"Then I'll need a ride back to Robinsonville," Scully noted. "I want to get
right on this one."

"Chief, if one of your men could take Agent Scully back, I'd like to stick
around here and have a better look around." Mulder didn't wait for the
answer this time, he just wandered off to the living room, where the body
had been found.

As she was leaving the apartment building, Mulder came running out to
catch her. "Scully, I just wanted you to be sure to look for oil," he said
with a lopsided grin.

"Mulder," she sighed in exasperation.

"I know, but humor me on this one, please. I can't get it out of my head."
He leaned over so that only she could hear him. "Kinda like you," he
whispered in her ear.

She tried to look stern, but it just wouldn't happen. So she settled for a
superior smirk and got in the squad car, leaving him at the curb.

Memorial Hospital
Robinsonville, New Jersey
11:15 am

Mulder walked in just as Scully was washing her hands. "You find
anything noteworthy?" he asked, and she couldn't tell if he was teasing or
just very hopeful that she had.

"If you mean did I find any oil, I have to say yes. If you're now going to
ask if I find any significance in that--" she said evenly.

He held up his hand to stop her. "Thomas Hampton was an auto body
repairman, yeah, I heard." He still grinned at her, and the twinkle in his
eyes made her smile back. "But you didn't take that for granted, right." It
was a statement, not a request. After all this time, he knew she'd not take
anything for granted.

"Of course not. But when I messengered the sample, I called and asked
about the one I sent yesterday. Mulder, it was 40 weight motor oil." She
knew he'd be somewhat disappointed.

"That's it, just motor oil? Nothing else?" he asked, doing a poor job of
masking the urgency he was feeling.

"They said it was motor oil. Now, most cars use 30 weight, but 40 weight
is pretty common. They sent it along for some spectral analysis, those
results will be in later." She looked at him and felt the need to cheer him
up. "It doesn't preclude the possiblity that the perpertrator is connected
with the oil, you know, Mulder. It just means it's probably not the 'far
out' reason you were first thinking."

He shrugged and nodded. "You're right. So we look around for a killer
who can cause otherwise perfectly healthy people to have strokes leaving
no trace of toxin behind and carries an oil can. Too bad we're not in
Kansas, Scully, I think I have a lead on this guy." The twinkle in his eyes
was stronger than ever and she gave him a curious frown. "Big guy, silver,
carries an axe and wears a funnel for a hat--think Wizard of Oz, Scully," he
chided and she grinned at him and shook her head.

"I think you're blood sugar level just bottomed out, Mulder," she teased.
"C'mon, we both missed breakfast. Let's get something to eat and you can
tell me what you found at the crime scene."

Mulder refused Scully's suggestion that they could grab a sandwich in the
hospital cafeteria, so they went to the diner they'd eaten in the night
before.
After ordering, Scully watched Mulder toy with the paper covering of his
straw until she was ready to strangle him.

"Mulder, what did you find?" she asked as calmly as she could.

"I pulled some prints, but I don't think they'll lead anywhere, Scully. I've
been thinking of your theory of product tampering. I made note of the
guy's medicine cabinet--he was into holistic medicine. Not a bottle of
Tylenol in the joint. Lot's of seaweed extract, stuff you'd turn your nose
up at, but nothing that would be called 'common'. Then I thought about
toiletries. I mean, toothpaste, shampoo, barsoap--maybe the stuff is
inhaled or absorbed through the skin. It would be a damned sight easier if I
knew _what_ the hell I was looking for. But there again, I didn't recognize
any of the brands he had--all of it was mail order, probably. This guy just
didn't fit. Maybe he was just a stroke waiting to happen."

"But he was only 27, Mulder. I checked his family history--no sign of
stroke, high blood pressure, no indication that this could be a family
connection here. There is no reason that man should have had a massive
embolism, Mulder. I even ran a check on his chloresterol level--sometimes
the plaque can break away and cause the clot in the brain resulting in the
thrombosis. But Mr. Hampton was obviously a health food fanatic--his
chloresterol--" She stopped and stared pointedly at Mulder's double
cheese burger, dripping with mayonnaise and ketchup colored grease and
the seasoned curly fries on their way to his mouth and forced herself to
swallow back a scream.

"You were saying?" he asked innocently, munching another huge bite out
of the burger.

"Never mind," she sighed. "Let's just say there was no decernable reason
for that man to have a massive stroke and leave it at that. It's too early in
the day to try and reform your eating habits, Mulder." She grinned at his
wounded look. "Anyway, that reenforces the 'poisoning' theory. But it's
got to be fast working--Mr. Hampton had only been dead 4 hours when I
performed that autopsy."

"Could it be something that our tests don't pick up?" Mulder suggested.

"I can't imagine what that could be," Scully replied, pushing away the last
of her Cobb salad.

"Something hidden in 40 weight oil, perhaps," he shrugged back.

"We'll just have to wait for the spectral analysis, then," Scully relented.
"What's the plan?"

"I want to talk to the families of the victims. Maybe there's a common
exposure that we've missed so far. And just because Mr. Hampton has
reason for the oil to be on his body doesn't preclude him acquiring it in a
non-job related manner. As you said yourself, the guy was a neatnik. Not
the kind that would forget to wipe the oil off his hands."

"Ankles," Scully corrected.

"Again with the ankles," Mulder muttered, his brow wrinkled into a severe
frown. "Why the ankles?"

"I have no idea, Mulder. I wish I did. But it's obviously another piece to
the puzzle."

"I'd give my right arm to find the piece with the church steeple on it right
now, Scully," he said with a demeaning grin.

Of the thirty-two victims, 7 had lived alone with no nearby relatives. That
left 25 families to call upon. Mulder suggested that they split the list and
thus make a bigger dent into it before calling it a day. Chief Warren had
happily loaned Scully the use of his car for the duration of their stay. They
agreed to meet back at the motel at 6:30 and get something to eat..

Scully tried for ten minutes to get out the door of Mrs. Janet Wilks house,
but the woman just would not stop talking. She glanced at her watch when
the older woman wasn't looking and noted that Mulder was probably
getting ready to eat the bedspread--it was already after 7:00.

"I just don't understand it, Agent Scully. She was so healthy. And smart.
She had a full scholarship to Princeton starting in the fall. She was going
to be on their basketball team," the woman sobbed into her tissue. "To
find my baby girl dead like that--I know the police are thinking it might be
some kind of serial killer, but I just feel it was God's will. I know
sometimes things happen and there is no reason to be found. It just hurts
so much, you understand. It hurts so much to lose someone you love."

"I understand, Mrs. Wilks. And I know that sometimes people die
unexpectedly. But if there is something else going on, if someone is killing
these people, it's my duty to find that person and stop them. Thank you so
much for talking to me about this. I know it's painful to dredge up all
these personal details so soon after your daugher's death."

Mrs. Wilks nodded and Scully was able to take her leave.

Ramada Limited
7:25 pm

"Have you eaten my toothpaste in retaliation?" she asked as she entered the
room.

"Nah. You use the gel stuff, and I hate that. But I did find that stash of
raisinnettes that you were hiding in your garment bag. It's history," he
grinned. "I ordered a pizza about 5 minutes ago. It should be here in
another 20 minutes."

"Getting psychic on me, Mulder? How did you know I'd get here in
time?"

"Not a psychic, Scully--just a good bloodhound. I called the last three
names on your list. Tracked you down to Mrs. Wilks house, and she told
me you'd just left. Your battery is dead on the cell phone, by the way."

"Yeah, I noticed. This one doesn't keep a charge. I'll get a new one when
we get home. Luckily I have a spare with me." She grabbed jeans and a
tee shirt and went into the bathroom to change. "Any luck?" she called out
behind the partially closed door.

"If you call getting plied with fifteen different cups of coffee 'luck'," he
shot back. "The only thing I can say with any certainty after today's
interviews is that the people who died have absolutely nothing in
common--except having lived in New Jersey."

She came out of the bathroom and gave him a tired smile. "Some would
say that would be enough," she joked and he rewarded her with a quiet
chuckle.

"Come here," he commanded and patted the area of the bed next to him.
On wooden feet, she trodded over and sat, slump shouldered.
Immediately, he got on his knees behind her and started massaging her
neck.

"Mulder, you are wrong. You _are_ psychic," she sighed contendedly.

His chuckled breath brushed her neck as he pushed her hair aside to work
on the muscles there. "I don't think so, G-woman. I can just tell when you
need a good rub. And when I'm done with you, I fully expect you to
reciprocate."

"Deal--if I haven't fallen asleep," she murmured and groaned aloud as he
hit a particularly painful knot in a muscle.

"My stomach growling will keep you awake," he promised. He'd always
been able to work magic on her back, but the times had been few and far
between. It wasn't until they'd become intimate that he offered to do it
more often, and she'd come to rely on it to relax her after a bad day.

She stretched her neck over to the side, hoping to encourage him in that
direction, but instead of his hand on her skin, she felt the electric sparks
that signaled his lips on her body. Her mind had the immediate image of a
pitcher of ice just as boiling tea was poured over it--the ice cracking,
spliting, exploding as it surrendered to the heat of the tea. She melted
completely at his kiss.

She turned toward him and grasped his hands to still them. With eyes
closed, she reached up and kissed him on the lips, a slow kiss that was
meant to make him feel the way he was making her feel. She traced the
outline of his upper lip with her tongue and his mouth opened, his own
tongue flicking out to find her lips. They dueled a while before his tongue
won entry into her mouth. She lost all her breath in her sigh.

Pulling back, a little unsteady from lack of air, she pushed him back down
on the bed. For a moment, her surroundings escaped her. She wasn't in a
motel room, they weren't on a case. They had been transported back to
her apartment, her bed, and she wanted more than anything to engage in
activities that they kept locked in that room.

For his part, Mulder was as guilty, if not more so, of ignoring their rules as
she was at this point. His hands were under her tee shirt, brushing across
her breasts and causing a tickling sensation that she felt most strongly in
her stomach and lower to her very core. She straddled his legs, and could
feel the bulge that had started in his own jeans. Leaning over, she kissed
him again and smiled when the bulge grew as she plundered his mouth.

It was Mulder who figured out that the pounding was not his heart, but the
door. The pizza had arrived. Sheepishly, she rolled off him and watched
with a decided flush as he paid for the pizza and closed the door. He stood
there with the most wonderfully bashful expression.

"Decisions, decisions," he muttered as he placed the pizza on the short
dresser. "Which am I hungrier for--"

"Mulder--" she said in a warning tone. Now that the moment had been
interrupted, she'd had the chance to realize what they'd almost done. It
was weighing heavy on her mind.

He saw her look and knew his decision had been made. It might not be
what they wanted, but it was what had been agreed. "Scully, it was my
fault. I screwed up. We decided that work is work and play is play and
never the twain shall mix. I'm sorry," he said repentently.

"That's not it, Mulder. I was as much at fault as you here. I want you. I
miss holding you. I miss--"

"So do I, but we agreed that we don't focus on anything but _us_ when we
allow ourselves to make love. And we need to focus on the case.
Otherwise, we're shortchanging the job. And someday, the job might
manage to shortchange our lovelife. I don't want the two interferring with
each other. But I got carried away with the back rub and I'm sorry. I'll be
a good boy, I promise." He held up his right hand, three fingers up, to seal
the vow.

"Is that a pepperoni pizza, Mulder?" she grinned at him, flashing him a
loving look, a look that said she understood completely and he was
forgiven, if he forgave her.

"Extra cheese, light sauce. One half mushrooms for the fungus lover," he
smiled.

"You've always known the way to my heart, Mulder," she laughed, and
settled down to eat.

Robinsonville Police Department
10:15 am

At the request of Mulder, the Police Chiefs of all three towns, in addition
to John Tower from Trenton were gathering to go over the results of the
investigation. More than anything, Scully knew that Mulder was hoping
someone would come up with an inspiration that would lead them in a
better direction than going around in circles, as they were now. She also
knew he'd had a sleepless night, having heard his television all night and
heard him going out for a run before the sun had risen.

She'd gone over the autopsies three or four more times. It was getting to
be frustrating when nothing appeared to be calling out to her. Usually,
there was a point in the investigation when the evidence started falling in
place. That wasn't the case this time. It was wearing on her nerves.

The fact that the Trenton newspaper had picked up the story and put it out
on the wire, which resulted in headline stories across the Northeastern
Seaboard did nothing to improve her mood. The last thing she wanted was
mass hysteria. Skinner had called twice just that morning, the second time
he briefly mentioned that he was being asked to hand their reports directly
up the chain of command to the Attorney General. The fire under their
proverbial kettle was being turned up--the heat was on.

"All right, now let's get this straight before we break. Scully and I will
finish talking to the families. Chief Warren, I'd like you to handle the
local
press, John, you handle the guys that cover the national. It's imperitive
that we keep this thing under tight control--we don't want rioting in the
streets. In the meantime, Scully's expecting an analysis of the one common
piece of evidence at all the crime scenes to date--the motor oil. That's due
sometime later in the day, hopefully before lunch. When that comes, we
should at least be able to issue some form of alert, so we can stop any more
deaths." Mulder was standing still at the table, but the tapping of his
pencil
on the desk was his own form of pacing, Scully thought. "We are going to
catch this one, I promise," he added, with more conviction than he'd
displayed to her earlier at breakfast.

There was a general murmur in the men collected at the table as they rose
to their feet and headed off. Scully was called to the phone and prayed that
the results of the spectral analysis were in. She took the call at one of the
desks in the main squad room, outside the conference room.

"Agent Scully, that SA's in. I can fax it if you want," said Agent Curry,
the newest member of the Bureau's lab.

"Yeah, that would be great, Curry. Let me get the number," Scully said
and turned to one of the officers to get the fax number for the station. She
glanced over at her partner and started to give him a smile, but it quickly
turned into a concerned stare.

Mulder had been talking to Chief Simmons. He'd been handed a cup of
coffee, and he had taken a sip and was about to take another. Suddenly,
the cup fell from his hand, crashing to the floor and splashing hot coffee all
over the two men in the process.

But Mulder didn't seem to notice. He stared at his hand, as if it weren't his
own. Time and sound stopped for Scully. She stood, terrified for a
moment as he looked up at her with a confused and frightened look on his
face and then he simply crumbled to the ground.

When the moment was over, sound returned with a vengence. Everyone in
the small, crowded squad room saw the agent fall, and several people
hurried over to help. Scully got through the crowd and moved them back
as best she could. She looked up to ask someone to call 911, but John
Towers was already doing that.

"Mulder, can you hear me?" she asked. His eyes were opened but he
wasn't talking. He looked at her, opened his mouth as if to speak, but no
sound came out. She could see the panic in his eyes. It was a look she'd
seen before, when he'd been paralysed by a dart from Samuel Aboah.

"It's OK, don't try to talk. The ambulance is on its way. Just relax, I'm
here. I'm not leaving." She quickly worked at loosening his shirt and tie,
trying to make him more comfortable. She checked his pulse at his neck,
noting that it was fast, but not erratic. At least he wasn't experiencing a
heart attack, what he was going through was bad enough. He lifted his
right hand to touch her, but his fingers wouldn't move, he couldn't grasp
her arm. He dropped it to his side.

She almost didn't notice John Towers leaning down over her until she saw
Mulder focus on his friend. "Dana, this isn't what I think it is, is it?"
John
whispered in her ear, trying to keep from causing his friend more panic.

"Not now, John," Scully hisssed, then turned back to Mulder. His eyes
were drooping and his mouth hung open. She slapped his cheek to bring
him back to consciousness, but it was to no avail.

The hospital was close, and even Scully was impressed at the speed in
which the ambulance arrived at the police station. The EMTs readied
Mulder for transport, supplied him with oxygen and started an IV. Scully
informed them that she was his next of kin and could give a complete
medical history. At this point, Scully was all too aware of the problem.
Mulder was suffering a stroke and time was of the essense. But she also
knew that even if they did everything right, there was still a very strong
chance that her partner would not survive.

end of part three

Somewhere Under Wraps 4/9
vmoseley@fgi.net
disclaimed in part one

John drove her to the hospital. The ambulance was just unloading as they
arrived, and one of the nurses hurried Scully into the ER to get Mulder's
medical history. After they went through his basic information, name, age,
smoker and the like, the harder questions surfaced.

"Any history of stroke, high blood pressure, heart disease?" the nurse,
whose tag announced her as Eman asked in clipped tones.

"Yes," Scully replied, trying to see into the curtained exam cubicle where
Mulder was being worked on. "His mother recently suffered a stroke,
about a year ago."

"How's his chloresterol? We'll check for it in the lab, but if you could give
us a heads up it would sure help," Eman said, writing furiously.

"It was normal last time it was checked. That was, ah, about five months
ago." Scully shuddered as she remembered his last hospital stay, following
his collapse in his parents summer house in Rhode Island.

"Any complaints of headaches, dizziness, weakness on one side or the
other, anything else we should know about?" Eman continued, noting that
her informant was more than a little distracted.

"Ah, yes. He had--an incident," Scully said, furiously trying to put events
into words. "He underwent an experimental treatment for memory loss."
How in the name of God could she explain to this woman, a nurse, that her
partner had willingly let someone drill a hole into his brain, nicking an
artery and causing seizures, while taking hallucinagenic drugs? It would
make him sound insane, but it would cast her in an equal light for letting
him go through with it.

"He had a small hole drilled into his skull, on the left side of his forehead,
at the hairline. It caused a minor subdural hematoma. The drill nicked a
smaller artery, but there was no sign of permanent damage, no paralysis or
weakness in his right side. He was fine."

Eman made no move to hide her disdain. "Does he do things like that very
often?" she asked.

"Not when I can help it," Scully replied honestly.

"Any relatives that we should be contacting?"

Scully thought for a moment. "Not at this time. I'm his next of kin. May I
go see him now?" she asked, and Eman lost a little of her detachment when
she gave her a sad smile and nodded her head.

The doctor in charge of Mulder's treatment was quick to introduce himself.
"I'm Jeffery Scott, I'm in charge of the ER here. I've contacted a
neurologist I know in Trenton, he's on his way out right now. I
understand from Neil Simmons that you're a medical doctor."

"Yes, but my speciality is pathology. I'm sorry, I'm not that up on the
current treatments of stroke," Scully admitted.

Dr. Scott smiled. "Neither am I. That's why I called in the big guns. To be
honest, this is the first stroke victim that we've had, even with all the
deaths. When it hits, it's been massive enough to be almost immediately
fatal. Maybe we can do some good this time," he said with a reassuring
smile. "While I had him on the phone, Dr. Morrow did instruct me to get a
CAT scan as soon as possible. He'll want to see it when he arrives. He
feels that if we begin treatment as soon as we get the initial assessment,
your partner stands a much greater chance of a full recovery."

Scully was listening as best as she could, but it was only with the last
sentence that the events of the last hour made an impact. Her knees started
to buckle and Dr. Scott just managed to grab her arm and steer her toward
a molded plastic chair before she fell to the ground. He was in front of her
in a second.

"Dr. Scully, I want you to listen to me. How long has it been since medical
school?" he asked not unkindly.

"I finished my residency in 1990," she answered, never taking her eyes off
her partner.

"Well, they have done some wonderous things since 1990. We're coming
to terms with stroke, and we're having success with it. That's why I called
Bob Morrow. He's one of the best, and I introduced him to his wife, so he
owes me big time," Dr. Scott grinned. "I've seen him work wonders.
Your partner will be in good hands."

Scully simply nodded, not speaking. Eman parted the curtains, followed by
two orderlies. "They're ready down in X-Ray, Dr. Scott," she said softly.

Dr. Scott looked at Scully as he stood up. "You're welcome to sit in on
this, if you want, Dr. Scully," he said, offering her his hand.

"Thank you. I'd appreciate that," Scully responded and took his hand as
he helped her stand. She reached over and took Mulder's hand as the
gurney moved. He was unconscious, but she still leaned over so that she
could whisper in his ear. "Still here, G-man. We're going down to X-Ray.
Hope you studied for this test because I'll be really upset if you flunk it,"
she teased. It hurt her more than she would admit that she didn't feel any
response in his limp hand.

Halfway through the scan, they were joined in the observation room by Dr.
Robert Morrow. Dr. Scott got up from his seat next to the computer
monitor and let the neurosurgeon take his seat. "Bob, this is Dana Scully.
She's a pathologist for the FBI. That's her partner in there, Agent Fox
Mulder."

Dana shook Morrow's hand. "Are you the ones investigating these
allegations of poisoning and their connection to the increase in strokes in
this area?" he asked as he started at her intently.

"Yes," Dana admitted. "We were searching for a common element,
possibly something consumable, that could be involved."

Dr. Morrow turned his attention back to the screen. "Well, it looks like
your partner just stumbled on something." In color, the interior of
Mulder's brain was displayed on the monitor. One area, on the left side of
his brain, Dr. Morrow enlarged with a few keystrokes.

A colored line, which Dana knew to be an artery, showed with the red
stain, up to a point deep in the brain. Abruptly, it stopped. "There's our
problem," Morrow announced. "OK, I don't see any bleeding. Jeff, I think
we're safe to try t-PA." He turned to Dana. "It's relatively new, but it's
been highly successful in clinical trials. It works best when given within
three hours of onset of symptoms, which puts us in range right now. It
shrinks the thrombosis, and reduces the chances of subsequent strokes. I'd
like to begin treatment immediately."

"That sounds fine with me," Dana said, somewhat encouraged.

"Good. Thanks, Rob. I'll get him up to a room, intermediate care," Jeff
added.

"I think I'll stick around, see how he settles. Judging from the placement
of that clot, he might develop some respiratory problems in the next few
hours."

By late that evening, Dana found herself sitting beside her partner's bed in
the intermediate care unit of the small hospital. It had been decided that
he'd be better off remaining there, rather than risk moving him to a large
facility in Trenton, as long as Dr. Morrow felt his needs were being met.
Dr. Morrow had been right on the money about the respiratory problems,
and Dana remembered from her own neurology rotation that swallowing
and breathing were often at risk during and immediately after a stroke. A
patient often developed pneumonia because saliva ended up going down
airways rather than where it was supposed to.

Mulder looked pale under the flourescent lighting. The thin tube of the
respirator rested on the right side of his mouth. He was on an IV, and was
receiving regular dosages of the drug, t-PA. Dr. Morrow had scheduled
another CAT scan for the morning, to determine if the clot was indeed
shrinking. Now, the only thing she could do was wait.

The door behind her creaked open and Dana looked over her shoulder to
see John Towers tiptoeing into the room.

"He's unconscious, John. You couldn't wake him up if you tried," Dana
said with a sad smile.

"What did the Trenton neurologist say?" John asked, and Dana was a little
surprised that he knew that much. One of the nurses must have been
talking to the agent.

"It was a stroke resulting from a thrombosis, a blood clot, on the left side
of his brain. He's on an anticoagulant, it's been very successful in trials.
Dr. Morrow was able to get his hands on a copy of the NIH study--I was
just reading through it. It's our best hope, at the moment," she said with a
sigh.

"Dana, I want you to know, I'm here for you--and Mulder, of course. I
called Walter Skinner for you. He sends his regards and wants me to be
sure and keep him up to speed. He's going to be sending some additional
agents in the morning, I think he might be coming up himself." John was
quiet for a moment, wondering how to approach the next subject. "But
this has to be hard on you. Why don't you let me take the night shift.
You go on back to the motel and get some sleep."

Scully shook her head fiercely. "I told him I wouldn't leave him. Thanks
for the offer, John, but I want to be nearby, in case he wakes up."

"Dana, I don't want to get nasty, but Walt Skinner said to tell you that
you're still on the clock. And he gave me a direct order to pass along to
you. You are to get some rest. I'm not going to invoke the 'eight hour'
rule that he wanted me to, but I think he's right when he says you won't do
Mulder any good if you slump over yourself."

His words raised her blood pressure considerably, but it was obvious that
he wasn't going to leave her alone. "I'll check with the nurses station.
Maybe there's a cot in the breakroom they'll let me borrow for a couple of
hours," she said tersely. After brushing her hand against Mulder's cheek,
she turned to go. As she left the room, she was certain she overheard John
whispering to Mulder, "You have your hands full with that one, Casper.
But by all accounts, she's worth it."

end of part four

Somewhere Under Wraps 5/9
vmoseley@fgi.net
disclaimed in part one

11:21 pm

The older style hospital bed was in a small room that had been left over
when the hospital had remodeled some years before. The room wasn't big
enough for even a private suite, but was too large for a supply closet. It
contained it's own bathroom and so the doctors often used it to catch a
few winks when they were watching over a patient. Since Jeff Scott had
gone home for the night, and Rob Morrow had gone back to Trenton
sometime before dinner, Dana had the room for as long as she needed.

She was certain she wouldn't sleep, but at least in the privacy of the
darkened room, away from prying ears, she could finally give herself some
release. She crawled up on the bed, and taking the pillows firmly in her
hands, she buried her face in them and sobbed until she was sure her heart
would break.

The irony plagued her. To think that just a year before, she'd been beside
him as he had driven all day to get to his mother's side as she lay striken
with the same malady. He'd been so quick to give up at that time. She
remembered distinctly the look on his face, the tears that fell from his
cheeks as he held his mother's hand in his own. She remembered the feel
of his shoulders, the defeat bending them down as he confessed to her that
he'd had a link to Samantha and had lost it, yet again. They'd sat for hours
that night, just their knees touching. He talked about his feelings of
hopelessness. She had once again vowed her help and had given back his
hope.

She remembered clearly telling him not to give up. But now, when faced
with the same situation, she understood how hard it was not to feel
defeated. She knew all too well what was happening to her partner. She'd
done autopsies on people who had died of stroke. She'd seen the blood
clots, known that the cells of the brain died and never regenerated.

Brain damage was almost a certainity in any stroke. If Mulder survived, he
still only had a 40 percent chance of returning to his previous life. Chances
were much better that he would remain impaired permanently. That could
range from simple weakness in his right side, to something resembling a
vegetative state. If he did regain consciousness, depression over his
condition would immediately send him into a tailspin. It would take
months of grueling therapy to try and make it back. If that was even an
option.

She cried for him, but she cried also for herself. They were finally making
headway. They were coming to terms with their love for one another and
for the first time in her adult life, she wasn't afraid that she would die
alone
and lonely. She knew he would be beside her, regardless what would
occur.

>>From the time she'd been informed that she was barren, the thought of
never having children had caused her enormous grief, but she had always
thought the burden was hers alone. After their first night together, when
she had callously joked that at least they didn't have to worry about any
'little surprises', she'd been shocked to find tears in his eyes. He went on
to explain that it saddened him to think there would be no little 'uber
Scullys' to carry on her spirit in the world. They had wept together, for a
long time, cleansing both their hearts in the process. He'd made a
commitment then, vowed to her that if she were ever ready for
motherhood, he wanted to adopt. It wasn't exactly a marriage proposal, so
much was unspoken but understood. And in a strange way, just knowing
that he was so much in tune to her feelings had made her feel better.

But now, she realized, there was the very real possiblity that their dreams
of that future would also be closed to them. That she might lose him, if not
to a grave, then to a state of being that would be worse than a grave. He
might live for years, but never awaken. Just a shell where a strong and
loving spirit had once lived.

In time, with a heavy heart, she cried herself to sleep.

Hours later, she awoke to his kiss. She knew it was dream, one of her
more tame fantasies. He was walking beside her and suddenly leaned down
and kissed her cheek. She opened her eyes and saw the blank walls and
dull overheads of the little hospital room. She wiped at her cheek where
the kiss still warmed her skin and was mildly surprised to find it wet.
Leftover tears, she determined. She got up and went to see how Mulder
had done during her absense.

John was reading when Scully opened the door to Mulder's room. She
knew he was taking in her puffy, red eyes, the tear stains on her cheeks,
but, to his credit, he said nothing.

"The nurse was in a little while ago. His blood pressure is up a bit, but she
said that wasn't anything to worry about. I don't know if it's just me, but
the last couple of minutes, he's been looking calmer, more comfortable,"
John told her. She scrutinized him then, trying to determine how much was
'bullshit' for her benefit, and how much was truth. The look he gave her
spoke to his sincerity.

"Thanks, John," she said quietly, then walked over and stood next to her
partner. "John! Get the nurse!" she shouted over her shoulder.

The nurse at the desk placed a call for Dr. Scott. Mulder was slowly
regaining consciousness. The movement of his eyelids that had sent Scully
into such excitement was accompanied by some movement on his left side.
His eyes were still only partially opened, but he swallowed against the tube
in his throat and Scully was certain that he could hear her.

She sat on his left side now. She'd gently turned his head so that he could
see her through the small slit between his lashes. His blinks were slow and
langorious, like he was drunk, but she didn't mind. It was a good sign to
have him open his eyes at all.

She's spent the half hour they waited for Dr. Scott murmuring to him about
anything she could think of. She told him that he was in the hospital, and
she apologized that he was going to have to eat hospital food once again.
She told him that Skinner was coming and that, if nothing else, Mulder's
little 'stunt' of the day before had won them both a well-deserved vacation.
She chided him for going a little too far to find the evidence. She never let
go of his hand.

Even though he was pleased with the improvement, Dr. Scott advised
Scully to wait until the scheduled CAT scan later in the morning before
getting her hopes up. She tried to put a lid on her excitement, but after the
night she'd had, it wasn't going to happen. After Scott left, she felt
Mulder's hand tighten around her own and she looked up to find him
focusing on her face. He blinked and focused again and she smiled at him,
her best smile, the one she saved just for him. His hand relaxed, even
though the fingers remained curled around hers, and she watched him drift
off to sleep.

Assistant Director Walter Skinner arrived just as Mulder was being
wheeled into the CT machine. At her request, Dr. Scott agreed to allow
him into the computer room, as long as he remained quiet. Scully could
see it rankled her superior to be told to 'behave' but he also seemed
grateful for any information on her partner.

The computer screen glowed against Skinner's glasses, Scully noted.
Sitting in the room, watching Mulder being swallowed by the huge machine
in the glass enclosed room, she suddenly flashed back to another room,
another CT machine. Then, Mulder had only been a faint ghost image
reflected back at her from the camera he had fastened to his headpiece. He
was hunting a murderer, one they both knew could manipulate people in
any way he wanted. She remembered watching Mulder turn toward the
glass of the enclosed room and in a voice so quiet that only she could hear
he murmured 'I love you' to her before the video screen went blank and
she knew he was in trouble. The dread she felt at the moment so long ago
was with her again, so she was a little taken back when a large, warm hand
found it's way to her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. She looked up and
saw Skinner, his eyes full of reassurance and support. She gave him a
weak smile and leaned into his hand.

This time, Dr. Scott saved his comments for the privacy of his office.
Mulder was taken back to his room and Skinner agreed to sit with him
while Scully talked to the doctor.

Scott had taken the time to fax the results of the scan to Rob Morrow, who
was currently on the speaker phone in Scott's office.

"How bad is it?" she asked. She'd tried to watch the image on the
computer screen, to analyze it herself, but what she'd seen had frightened
her so much that she wanted someone else to explain it to her.

"I won't beat around the bush, Dr. Scully," Morrow's electronic tinted
voice said, and Scully knew his tone had to be practiced. He was giving
bad news and there was no way a person could do that without hurting a
little themselves, Scully was all too aware of that. "The t-PA did the trick,
at least as much as it could. The clot is reducing and there is some limited
flow to that area of the brain. But there was massive destruction among
the cells in the affect area. We can't be certain until he's more fully
conscious, but I'm afraid he's facing paralysis, possibly total paralysis on
his right side."

Scully's excitement from earlier in the morning evaporated like a brief
shower in the middle of the desert. Not enough moisture to sustain life, it
only left the earth feeling more bereft.

"But he's waking up," she heard herself saying. Deep inside her, the
skeptic that she was wasn't ready to accept defeat just yet.

"Yes, and I expect him to be more fully awake by the end of the day,"
Morrow replied. "But waking up may not be enough in this case. He still
might not be capable of breathing on his own, he still will have to be fed.
He won't have movement of any kind on his right side. We don't know for
how long, or if he'll ever regain any of that sensation. I wish I could tell
you more, but I can't. I just want you to know what might lie ahead."

Scott cleared his throat to break into the conversation and picked up a
piece of paper. "While he's still critical, Rob and I think it's best to keep
him here. But in the next week or so, as we assess what we're dealing
with, I suggest you start looking for a private facility to accommodate
him."

"He'll come home, with me," she said firmly and hated it when her voice
cracked at the word home.

"Dr. Scully," Scott answered her with a gentle sadness in his eyes, "you
know that might not be the best place for him. Or for you, for that matter.
He's going to require extensive therapy, regardless of his improvement. A
private facility can meet his needs, and you will still be allowed to
visit, as
long and as often as you want. The world goes on, Dr. Scully," Scott
added kindly. "You have to live in the world--for both of you now."

"I want a second opinion on any treatment from now on," Scully replied,
her voice now cold as stone.

Scott did his best to hide the arrogant smirk playing on his lips. "I don't
think that will change the outcome, Dr. Scully."

"I can fax you a list of neurosurgeons in the New York area," Rob said on
the speaker. "As well as a list of suitable facilities in the DC that you
might
want to consider."

She bit her lip hard and nodded, then left the room without saying a word.

Scully was stumbling with tears clouding her vision as she made it back to
Mulder's room. As she entered, she realized that Skinner was still there
and even though it was the last thing she ever wanted, she couldn't hold
the sobs back any longer. She felt the strong arms reach around her, guide
her to the chair, still warm from where her boss had been keeping watch
for her. She suddenly became aware of a handful of tissues being pressed
into her fingers and a hand rubbing tender circles on her back. It was a
long time before she could acknowledge any of these comforts, so she just
sat and cried and let herself be engulfed in his presense.

Finally gaining a foothold on her control, she sat up straighter and Skinner
dropped his hand, then pulled another chair up next to her. She started to
talk, but he held up a hand and stopped her. "Take your time, Dana. Just
sit for a minute. I'm not going anywhere."

She smiled at his use of her first name. She'd never heard him call her that
before in the entire time she'd known him. "Thank you, sir," she
whispered and took a few deep breaths before taking a sip of water that
he'd gotten for her. She looked over at Mulder, grateful that he appeared
to be still asleep.

"Was he awake at any time?" she asked.

"No, not that I could tell. The nurses checked him when they brought him
back from the scan, but he's been sacked out all the time I've been here."
Skinner looked over at Mulder and swallowed hard. "Scully, you don't
have to tell me everything--I just wondered . . ."

"It was a stroke, sir," she said, interrupting his apology. "Massive, on the
left side of his brain. As far as we can determine, he's paralyzed on the
right side. He was partially awake a little this morning, but he's still
critical. He's asleep now, and that's the best place for him."

Skinner closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened them, he was all
business. "I assume you've been given a prognosis."

She nodded sadly. "They can't say for certain. The clot is reducing, but
the cells in that part of the brain were without oxygen for over twenty
hours. A cell is just like a human in regards to air, sir. No one could
live in
a vaccuum without air for twenty hours. That's the problem with a stroke.
Even after the inital emergency, it takes weeks sometimes to understand
how extensive the damage is. It's too difficult to determine how many cells
were killed in the primary attack."

"But his mother had a stroke, last year," Skinner was quick to interject.
"She's fully recovered, from the reports Agent Mulder gave me."

Again, Scully nodded. "Yes sir. And her attack was equally severe. I
have no explanation for her recovery, sir. By all indications at the time,
she
wasn't likely to survive at all, much less recover fully." Scully looked up
at Skinner and gave him a sad smile. "Miracles do happen, sir. I've never
denied that possiblity. I've just learned not to expect them." A single tear
fought it's way loose from her bottom lashes and careened down her right
cheek. She wiped at it angrily with her fist.

"Maybe some miracles require outside assistance," Skinner said. "You, of
all people, should know that." He stood up and placed a hand on Mulder's
head, his expression thoughtful. "Don't give up hope, Dana. He never
has," he said and left the two agents alone.

John Towers was by later in the afternoon. Mulder had come around
again, and was a little more alert. He tried to turn his head at the sound of
his old friend's voice, but the muscles in his neck refused to budge. Scully
directed John to come over and stand on the left side, next to her.
Mulder's left side of his mouth crept up in a grotesque imitation of a smile,
but just the sight of him trying made Scully's heart almost burst with pride.

'How's the investigation going," she asked, when they'd arranged the
chairs so they could sit next to each other and Mulder could see them both.
She felt Mulder squeeze her hand in gratitude for bringing the subject up.
He might be in serious condition, but he's still working this case, she
mused, and once again was amazed at her partner's persistence.

"They sent a guy named Colton. I think he works out of Baltimore now,"
Towers said. Dana had a difficult time hiding her disgust at the mention of
her old acquaintance and noticed that Mulder's grasp of her hand was
almost bone crunching in it's intensity. "Pardon me for asking, but is this
guy on some unofficial shit list with you two? I only ask because if it's
something that might impede the case--"

"No, John, honestly," Dana was quick to make amends. "Tom's a decent
agent. I've heard he's done some good work in the last few years. But he
hates Mulder. It was a weird form of jealousy, more than anything. Tom
and I were friends at the Academy and he just couldn't take it when I chose
following Mulder's leads over his on a case once. Mulder was right, but
Tom never admitted it. I've not seen nor heard from him since then. I just
hope he focuses on the case, and doesn't see this as a way to get back at
us."

"Well, I've made it clear that Mulder's illness is the reason we've added
more agents. I'll 'impress upon him' the importance of this investigation,"
John said grimly.

"Is that 'impress' as in--" Dana asked, leaving John to fill in the blank.

"I don't think you want to know, Dana," John said with a quiet smile. "No
use making you a co-conspirator. Anyway, Mulder appears to be our last
victim, to date."

Scully shook her head. "I don't know if Mulder fits the victim profile,
John. His mother had a stroke just last year. It's in his family. He
eats all
the wrong stuff, he's sleep habits would render most people zombies, he
was feeling frustrated because we couldn't get a handle on this case. It's
very possible that he just had a stroke." She looked over, suddenly
realizing that her partner, the person she was describing, was awake in the
same room. In all likelihood, he'd heard and understood every word.

Mulder raised his left hand and started grabbing at the air with his fingers.
Scully frowned in confusion, but John picked up the gesture almost
immediately. He dug in his pocket and found a small pad, then a pen.
Scully had to swallow back the overwhelming feeling of deja vu--the scene
reminded her so much of the one she'd participated in when his mother had
been in the hospital. John put the pen in Mulder's hand, curling the fingers
around it, then held the pad in a position so that Mulder could write.

Scully watched intently as Mulder fought his hands sluggishness to form
the first letter. S. Then a moment before another ragged letter appeared.
R. He was grunting now with the effort, but another letter moved on the
page. S. She watched him try to take a breath, but the ventilator stopped
him. He tried again to move the pen. G.

SRSG. The pen went slack in his hand as he dropped it to his side and
stared hard at her, willing her to understand. She took the pad from John's
hand and held it to the light. SRSG. Nonsense. Not a word, no vowels.
It meant nothing to her--just gibberish from an injured man.

He was still staring at her and the pen dropped completely from his hand as
he reached for her. She took his fingers in her hand and the touch of their
skin was electric. She gazed long and hard into his hazel eyes, he was
desparate for her to understand what he was telling her.

Suddenly, the letters appeared in her mind's eye. This time, though, they
weren't in black Waterman ink. They were in blood. Smeared across the
floor of Mulder's apartment, next to the body of a man she knew only as
X.

"Special Representative to the Secretary General?" she asked, breathless.

He couldn't nod, so he simply closed his eyes, but the relief was obvious.
He motioned for the pen again, and this time she put it in his hand and held
the pad.

After painstaking moments, he drew a small heart, like a child would draw,
and next to it the letter U.

She smiled at him, her special smile. "I love you, too, G-man." She leaned
over and kissed his lips. "Get some rest," she whispered. Once again, his
eyelids drooped and he drifted off to sleep.

"Wanna tell me what that was all about?" John asked seriously.

Scully smiled ruefully. "No, John. I don't want to make you a
co-conspirator," she replied and promptly changed the subject.

John had once again offered to take the night shift, but she could see the
strain his vigilence was causing. His eyes were bloodshot and dark circles
gave his face a ragged appearance.

"Thanks just the same, John, but I think it's time to call in the
reenforcements," she smiled.

Dana's mother was unavailable, having decided for once in her life to take
the ads in the diocesean newspaper seriously and make a pilgrimmage to
the Holy Lands. Although Dana knew her mother would return the minute
she heard of Mulder's illness, Dana didn't want to make her come back
when there was very little she could do. No, Dana decided, it was time for
his own mother to take up the burden.

It was a difficult call to make, but she squared her shoulders and dialed the
number from her small address book. After two rings, the line was
connected.

"Hello?"

"Mrs. Mulder, this is Dana. Dana Scully."

"Oh, yes, dear, how are you?" the older woman asked amiably. Then, as if
the thought suddenly occured to her, she drew in a sharp breath. "Oh, dear
god, it's Fox, isn't it?"

"Mrs. Mulder, please. I have some distressing news and I need you to stay
calm. Fox has had a stroke--"

"That's impossible," the older woman interrupted. "He's too young, he's
only 36!"

"I understand how you feel, but I've seen the CAT scans myself. He's here
in Robinsonville, a small town just outside Trenton, New Jersey."

"Why haven't you taken him to Trenton or New York? There must be
better facilities there. How is he? Is he conscious, can he speak? When
did this happen?" The questions were all demanding answers and Scully
was trying to keep them all straight in her mind.

"Mrs. Scully, we have a neurosurgeon from Trenton working on Fox' case.
He has advised us to keep him here. Believe me, if it appears that it would
improve his chances, I'd have Fox moved in a minute."

Her calm voice over the line seemed to have an equal affect on the older
woman. "Of course you would, Dana. I'm sorry. I know I should expect
this kind of news with him, but it still comes as such a shock. I'm sorry, I
didn't mean to question your decisions. I know how much you care for
him."

"Yes, I do care for him," Dana admitted. "He's in and out, right now, Mrs.
Mulder. I don't want to leave him, but I have to make a trip tomorrow.
I'm hoping to find some information that could help in a case--a case that
we were working on when Fox became ill. I know it's a lot to understand,
but he's indicated, as best as he could, that I should make this inquiry for
him and I feel I need to go."

"Is he able to speak?" his mother asked.

"No, not speak. But he can write, very limited of course. I just feel he's
counting on me to do this for him and I can't deny him, Mrs. Mulder. I
just can't."

"Of course not. Tell me, what can I do? Do you need me there?"

"Yes, I think that would be best. He needs you, Mrs. Mulder. He needs
everyone who loves him right now."

"Give me the name of the town and the hospital again, Dana. I'll be there
just as soon as I possibly can."

With John's help, and the help of some of the agents from the Boston field
office, Mrs. Mulder was on her way to Robinsonville and was expected to
arrive sometime during the night. John convinced Dana that he could hold
down the fort until Fox' mother arrived, and with great relunctance, she
plodded down to the little private room and collapsed on the bed, falling
asleep as her head hit the pillow.

end of part five