The Last Stand (1/?) by 1to7fan DATE: May 2009 CLASSIFICATION: MSR, XF3. RATING: R, for a few instances of strong language SPIOLERS: everything is game DISCLAIMER: Chris, Frank, I've got only honourable intentions for your characters. SUMMARY: The date is five months to End Game... and counting. FEEDBACK: would be greatly appreciated. xf1to7fan@yahoo.co.uk Note: This story is unfinished and completely open. You have been warned. Part 2 is already on the works and I have a vague idea where it's going to lead eventually, but there's no telling what the journey will bring. *** PROLOGUE *** Panic rises in sick waves as she recognises the nature of her predicament. It renders her motionless, for an instant, on her way to the front door. Shock and horror crash over her, stirring the calm waters of an oblique certainty which she now sees for what it is: a travesty, the biggest and most intrusive of deceptions. She grips the banister where her hand rests at the bottom of the stairs. It's a death grip. A battle of wills unfolds inside her head which she knows she cannot afford to lose without mortal consequence. In the next instant she spurs into action, frantic, stumbling . She ransacks drawers and cupboards, sending handfuls of domestic clutter sliding across the floor, looking for a means of restrain. Her mind is a blur, her breath sharp and shallow as she looks left and right, trying to remember where they put them, she hasn't seen them for years. "AAARRRGH!" Frustration takes the better of her, she doesn't have time for this, she can feel her resolve waning by the second. She pants, crouches on the floor and shuts her eyes tight, clawing at the last remaining strings of sanity, feeling them slip from her grasp, leaving her being, gone. She rises to her feet, once again calm and secure, she walks to the small side table by the front door, grabs her car keys "NOOOOO!" She makes a last, desperate effort and throws the keys across the room as hard as she can, as if they were possessed of evil. They collide with a framed picture on the wall and broken glass scatters over the sofa beneath. She grips the back of a chair to steady herself, trembling... and then she sees it, her salvation, right before her eyes. Her medical kit is at arm's reach, bulging full and beckoning. Hope rises in her chest. She scrambles around the chair and, dropping heavily to her knees, opens the bag and empties its contents amongst the cushions, searching desperately for the small bottle of Chlorpromazine she knows is in there somewhere. Sanity is slipping once again as she closes her fingers around it <1000 mg left, thank you Lord> She rips a syringe package with the help of her teeth and somehow manages to insert the needle in the bottle. As she draws the yellow liquid, her mind betrays her once again and she loses her sense of purpose. She stops in her tracks, full syringe at the ready and all she can do is stare at it, dazed. She blinks once... twice... finally, she shakes her head and her hands resume their uncontrollable tremble. she thinks, resigned, and aims for the vein in her left arm without the use of her fine motor skills, let alone control of her brain functions. A moment later she feels the blessed drug enter her bloodstream, the outrageous dosage claiming her almost immediately. She only has time to extract the needle and toss it to the side before she slumps sideways against the chair, engulfed by darkness. *** PART 1 *** July 23, 2012. Rural Virginia. Mulder was quite proud of their determination to remain a one-car family, along with all the other green initiatives they had adopted. Doing their bit for the planet was one of the ways in which they stubbornly persuaded themselves that the future did matter, that there was hope. Small tasks like taking the rubbish out to the compost bin and walking the mile and a bit home from the bus stop were usually a comfort to him, components in a daily ritual of self reassurance. It was days like today, however, when such perspective could be swallowed whole by the simple and the mundane. Mulder was baking hot, grumpy as hell and sweating like a pig. As he made his way through the dense, humid atmosphere, tie loose at the collar, jacket and briefcase in hand, he swore under his breath and wondered for the hundredth time how the sun could still be so damn hot this time in the evening, and why on Earth he insisted on subjecting himself to this tripe instead of just buying a car. "Oh shut up, you lazy sod," he chastised himself. In reality, he did not have to walk home regularly. Most days he would just hang around for an hour or so at the University and then catch a ride with Scully. It would be silly to buy another car in order to use it once every two months when she was on call. Even today he could have just called her and asked her to pick him up, but she had finished her long weekend shift that morning, and he knew from experience that she would probably be catching up with some much needed rest. The thought of Scully curled up in bed, tussled haired and clad in skimpy silk PJs, filled him with the kind of warmth that had nothing to do with July weather conditions. He had barely seen her in the last few days, which was part of the reason for his grumpiness, and he was looking forward to getting home, sliding his arms around her waist and just breathing her in... even if he was sure his intentions would become much less honorable from there on. His musings delivered him to his front gate with a smile across his face. He let himself in and practically glided to the porch, surprised at the fact that he was whistling. It was a pretty impressive mood swing, even for him. He suddenly felt light-hearted and slightly giddy. The scene that greeted him as he opened the door, however, made his heart plummet right down to the pit of his upturned gut. *** His blood froze in his veins and he stopped breathing. Next thing he knew he was at her side, jacket and briefcase forgotten where he had dropped them on the porch. "Scully-" he choked out, feeling desperately for a pulse, begging her to be alive. God, he couldn't feel anything, he couldn't feel his fingers, he'd gone numb with panic. Fighting the nausea that was creeping up his gullet, he pulled her back by the shoulders and laid her on her back. There it was, the steady rise and fall of her chest. . A wave of momentary relief came over him and he bent double to catch his own breath. he repeated, as if to make it real. "Scully," he said, more steadily this time, "Scully, can you hear me?" He had brought his hand to her face so she would feel him if she could. He shook her lightly but she was completely non- responsive, her head lobbing freely from side to side with each of his prods. She was out cold. His panic rose again. He inspected her head for trauma and found none, then continued his inspection down her body. A nasty bruise was beginning to spread on the inside of her left arm, a puncture mark at the center of it. He looked around and took in his surroundings for the first time. The upturned drawers, the broken glass and the syringe... His investigative mind jumped into auto-pilot as he searched frantically for the car keys. They had come looking for something, Scully had confronted them, there had been a struggle and she had been injected with fuck knows what. He spotted the keys on the sofa, amidst the shattered glass, and sprinted to retrieve them. Moving back he picked up the syringe, unscrewed and discarded the needle, then placed the rest in his pocket, gathered Scully in his arms and rushed out the door, not bothering to close it behind him. *** July 23, 2012. Our Lady of Sorrows Hospital. Mulder pulled up right at the front door and kicked himself mentally. He wasn't thinking straight, out of practice as he was with dealing with emergencies, incapable as he had always been of keeping his head when his partner was in danger. His partner. His eyes stung and he knew his desperation was plainly visible in his face to anyone who cared to look. What the fuck had they injected her with? He imagined, with every second that passed, the effect of whatever it was advancing like a parasite in her body. There was no time to lose. As he unbuckled her seat belt, he kicked himself once again for not having called the hospital ahead so they would be ready to receive her. "Hold on, Scully. Please hold on." He chanted over and over in her ear as he lifted her out of the car straight through the driver's side. When he burst into the quiet ER, however, pleading loudly for someone to help him, Mulder realized he needn't have worried about not getting a quick response. The sight of him, ashen faced and desperate with an unconscious Scully in his arms, caused a commotion comparable to what he would expect Frankenstein's monster storming into the building would cause. "Oh my god, what happened?" "Doctor Scully!" Several worried voices surrounded him and a stretcher was wheeled towards him immediately. He set her down but didn't know which way to turn, who to address. They were wheeling her away and he just concentrated on staying next to her. "Mulder. Mulder!" A hand on his shoulder, a familiar voice. He looked up into Dr. George Craddock's face. "What's wrong with Dana?" "I found her on the floor, I don't know how long she's been out. She's been injected with something," he blurted out, retrieving the syringe from his pocket. "What! By whom?" "I don't know! Someone broke in, the place is trashed. Please," he begged, panic rising again at the thought of the grim possibilities, alien viruses and metal compounds jumping unbidden into his brain, "just try and find out what this is, quickly! We may be running against the clock." George had always suspected his acquaintances had some kind of sinister past, reserved and secretive as they were. It was widely known now that they had been FBI agents, and the speculation was that they were involved in something very messy back in Washington that forced them to keep their heads down out here in the sticks. As he looked into Mulder's eyes and heard the terminal urgency in his voice, he got the impression that Dana could be in a lot more danger than met the eye. He took the syringe from Mulder and tried to reassure him, conveying his understanding of the gravity of the situation. "I'm on it. Try and stay calm, Mulder. I'll be out as soon as I know something." Mulder watched helplessly as they wheeled Scully away and prayed to her God that his suspicions were unfounded. He headed for the waiting room, retrieving his cell phone, dialing a number he still knew by heart. *** July 23, 2012. J. Edgar Hoover building. "Assistent Director Skinner's office... I'm sorry, he's unavailable right now. Would you like to leave a message?... Agen- Mr. Mulder!... Yes... Yes, I'll tell him straight away." Kim bolted out of her chair to Skinner's door and didn't bother to knock. She ignored the stunned faces of the two agents who sat in front of him, and pinned Skinner with a significant look. Knowing Mulder's name would cause an uncomfortable stir, she calculated her words. "Sorry to interrupt, Sir. I have a Mr. *Luder* on the line. Says it's urgent." Skinner's face betrayed no comprehension, but Kim knew he had got the message when he immediately dismissed the two agents. As soon as everyone was out, however, his face became grave. Mulder wouldn't be calling him at the office with good news. He picked up the receiver with a sense of trepidation. "Mulder, what's wrong?" "Hopefully *I'm* wrong. I think the shit has begun to hit the proverbial fan." Skinner didn't miss the tremble in his voice or his rapid breathing. Only one thing could affect Mulder that way. Skinner braced himself before asking. "What's happened?" "Scully's in hospital, I don't know what happened but we need answers, we need a forensics team at my house, but be careful, they were looking for something and it looks as if Scully interrupted them, they may be coming back, although I'm not so sure they weren't intending to run into her anyway, I think she might even have been their main target-" "Wowowo, slow down a second! Tell me she's ok. Silence, then a sharp intake of breath. Dear Lord. "I don't know, Walter. They're examining her, she's unconscious and she's been injected with something, that's all I know." Shit. "Alright, you sit tight and find out what the doctors have to say. I'm on my way." *** July 23, 2012. Our Lady of Sorrows Hospital. Mulder sat tight. Elbows on knees, head in his hands, he felt completely impotent. He wanted to go back to the house and examine the evidence more closely, he wanted to hunt down whoever did this and smash their head against the wall, anything that would distract his brain from concocting the worst possible scenario. Inactivity in this sort of situation was always guaranteed to intensify his torture, but he had no intention of leaving the hospital before knowing more about Scully's condition. He was concentrating all his energy on keeping his act together when George appeared down the hall. Mulder stood up with a questioning look on his face and his breath held tightly in his lungs. "She's alright, Mulder." Optimism appeared in the horizon, but he needed to know more before he could embrace it fully. "What did you find?" "She was injected with an antipsychotic called Chlorpromazine, which also acts as a sedative in big enough doses. It's a powerful drug but a fairly mainstream one, and side effects usually only present themselves after prolonged treatment. There should be no lasting consequences after she wakes up." "And you found nothing else?" "Nothing. But the levels in her blood were fairly hefty. Whoever injected her intended to keep her under for quite a while. She'll be out for another few hours yet." Mulder finally released his breath and welcomed the relief that flooded over him. They had sedated her, that was all. They had probably intended to take her away but had not succeeded, fleeing out the back door when they heard him coming. It would explain the hastily discarded syringe, and he wondered if there was more incriminating evidence at the house, inadvertedly left behind in the assailant's hurry. Skinner and his team would not be there for another few hours, by which time whoever it was could have gone back and cleaned it all up. He had to get back there quickly, confront them if he must. As he was about to rush to the car, however, a chilling though stopped him in his tracks. Our Lady of Sorrows was a small, rural establishment with no real hospital security to speak of. He knew that instant he wasn't going anywhere. "I need to see her." "Of course. She's in room 103." "Thanks George." He shook the other man's hand with both of his and set off at a quick pace, cell phone in hand. *** "Skinner." "It's me. She's fine, Scully's fine." A sigh of deep relief reached Mulder's ear and he felt a rush of affection towards his old friend. "What did the doctors say?" "She was sedated. I think they were trying to abduct her." "Abduct her. You mean... Um, Mulder... sedatives are not exactly standard abduction procedure." "No, but she's hardly a standard abductee any more." "What are you talking about?" Mulder hesitated. They had not shared this bit of information with anybody yet. "Scully and I... we have fashioned our own... brand of implant, so to speak." "What?" "I'll explain later, right now I need to ask you another favor." "Tell me." "Where are you?" "Just coming up to Stafford on the 95, why?" "Ok, I need you to call the Richmond PD and send them to the house ahead of you. The assailant left in a hurry and I think there's a chance they'll want to go back and clean up after themselves." "I already did that, Mulder. The officers reported back fifteen minutes ago and said the place was clear. They're standing guard until we get there." "Great. The other thing I think the assailant might do is come back for Scully." Silence. "Are you armed, Mulder?" "No." "Ok, don't let her out of your sight, I'll get someone on their way." Mulder hung up the phone and took his seat on the chair next to Scully's bed. She looked peaceful and her cheek felt warm and soft against the back of his hand. He felt the adrenaline begin to subside and had to fight to stay alert until the Police Officer arrived. When the man in blue announced his presence and settled himself outside the door, Mulder simply leaned forward and rested his head on her shoulder, allowing the comfort of her steady breathing and the pulse of her heart to lull him into a light, Scully scented slumber. <> Scully was stirring, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Mulder jolted, immediately awake himself, willing her into consciousness. "Hey," he greeted in a happy whisper as she opened her eyes, sky blue with shades of unease and confusion. He took her hand to offer reassurance. "Mulder? Where am I?" She asked in a daze. "Hospital. Do you remember what happened?" He saw her battle a bit further into consciousness, and could practically see the cogs in her beautiful brain reassembling themselves into normality. What had started in her eyes as anxious disorientation was quickly becoming the grimmest of expressions. Mulder watched as Scully's eyes became wide with apprehension. The grip on his hand tightened as her other hand went to the back of her neck, rubbing significantly at the skin there. Next moment, her features began to rearrange themselves into the kind of assertiveness you may see in a soldier readying herself for a lengthy combat. "Scully?" He was regarding her with increasing consternation. "You were attacked, weren't you? Tell me what happened?" "No, I wasn't. I had to stop myself." Her eyes rose to lock with his in the deadliest manifestation of their outlandish means of communication. "I was being summoned." As she continued to rub the back of her neck she added, "Mulder, I think the final stages have begun." *** July 23, 2012. Rural Virginia. "Skinner." "Scully's awake, and it turns out I wasn't wrong." "About what?" "About the shit hitting the fan. Where are you?" "I'm with the forensics team at your place-" "Forget the forensics, you need to head back north." "What? Mulder, I just got here. North where?" "Skyland Mountain." *** END OF PART 1 ***