Voices by Leyla Harrison Disclaimer: Insert standard disclaimer here. The characters of Mulder, Scully, Skinner and Margaret Scully aren't mine. Blah, blah, blah. They're the creation of Chris Carter. Blah, blah, blah. Rating: PG-13. It could be construed as a Mulder/Scully romance, but there's nothing really overt. Some references to earlier events in all three seasons, but nothing that gives anything away. ***** SCULLY'S APARTMENT 6:45pm Scully unlocked the door to her apartment, her purse slung over one shoulder and her suitcase in her hand. She pushed the door open and dropped the suitcase and her purse down by the door, then shut and locked the door behind her. It was sunset, and although the evening was just beginning, Scully had been awake for the last sixteen hours and she was exhausted. The remains of the reddish sunlight filtered in through her living room window and she stared at it for a few moments, then looked down at her suitcase. She really should unpack tonight. She never came home from a case without unpacking, first thing in the door. But her bedroom was calling her. Her bed, perfectly made as she had left it six days ago, with fresh sheets on it, was beckoning. Scully slipped off her shoes and left them by the door with her suitcase and purse and headed for the bedroom. Once inside, she slung her trenchcoat and suit jacket over a chair in the corner and surveyed herself in the mirror for a moment. Her hair was still pretty much intact, and she looked just like her normal self, but the dark circles under her eyes were evident from a distance. She was exhausted. She pulled the ribbed shirt off and tossed it on the chair, unzipping her skirt and aiming it in that general direction as well. She pulled open a drawer and removed a white t-shirt, a soft cotton t-shirt that Melissa had brought back for her from Santa Fe when she had been there years before. She unhooked her bra and released her breasts, which felt heavy and sore. Scully knew that she was going to get her period any day now. She could feel it. She pulled the t-shirt over her head and removed her stockings, then rummaged around in the drawers again for a pair of sweatpants, gray ones, ones she had been wearing since she was in medical school. It was the most comfortable outfit she owned, although she rarely slept in it. But Scully wanted to be as comfortable as she could. She was exhausted. There was a little bit of warm sunlight coming in through the bedroom window. Scully went to the window and pulled the shade down, darkening the room. Then she pulled back the blanket and the sheets and crawled into bed. God, she thought, this feels so good. She was asleep moments later. ***** Within about twenty minutes, Scully was deep in stage four sleep, the deepest sleep possible. An EEG reading would have read large amounts of delta waves in her brain. A few minutes later, she slipped into REM sleep. Her brain waves were almost identical to that of being awake. She was in what is commonly called paradoxical sleep. REM sleep is characterized as paradoxical sleep because heart rate, respiration, brain waves and sexual arousal are all increased dramatically. Scully was in the state of sleep where dreams occur. And she was dreaming. She was standing at Melissa’s grave, kneeling in front of it to put flowers down. During the course of her sleeping, Scully would pass from REM sleep to stage four a few times. Each time, the REM sleep stages get longer and dreams get more disorganized. The dreams that are most frequently remembered are those towards the end of the sleeping time; that is, the ones that are occurring in the longer REM stages and the ones that are more disorganized. The next dream was also about Melissa, but this time she was in a car with Scully, arguing with her about the importance of opening one’s mind to the concept of extreme possibilities. ***** The last dream was the most jumbled. In it, Scully was standing in the front of the J. Edgar Hoover FBI Building in Washington DC, in the middle of a terrific thunderstorm. The wind was whipping her trenchcoat, and the cold rain was pelting down on her face, plastering her hair down. A car pulled up, the passenger door opened, and Skinner was inside. "Get in," he commanded. "Where are we going?" Scully asked him, nervous. She sensed that he was withholding something from her. "Scully, get in the car," he commanded again. And then there was the screaming of an ambulance siren. Scully looked up the street and saw the flashing red and white lights of the ambulance. She looked back into the open door of the car. Skinner was gone. Mulder was sitting in the driver’s seat. "Scully, get in the car," he told her, his voice low and urgent. "We need to talk." The sirens of the ambulance were distracting her. ***** The jangling of the phone on the bedside table interrupted the dream. Slowly, Scully pulled herself up in bed and looked at the clock. 12:03am. She had been asleep for about five hours. She reached for the phone. "Hello?" she answered sleepily, her eyes closed again. "Dana Scully?" The voice was female, and impersonal. "Yes." "I’m calling from Georgetown Medical Center. You’re listed as next-of-kin for Fox Mulder. He’s been in an accident." Scully sat up, switched on the light and blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the light. "Is he OK?" she asked immediately. "It would be best if you could get down here as soon as possible." "What happened?" "It would be best if you could get down her as soon as possible." The voice repeated. Scully hung up, not wanting to hear anymore. She jumped out of bed and found socks and her gymshoes. She hurried back into the hallway and put on her trenchcoat, grabbed her purse and keys, and locked up the apartment. She refused to let herself feel the panic that had begun to rise in her chest. ***** GEORGETOWN MEDICAL CENTER 12:30am Scully pushed open the doors to the ER, half expecting to see what she had seen before: Mulder lying on a gurney with a gunshot wound; or in a warming tub suffering from hypothermia and a retro-virus that had no real known medical cause. But she saw none of this. Instead she saw the mostly empty waiting room and the small triage area. She hurried over the nurse in that area. "I’m looking for Fox Mulder; he was brought in a while ago," she said, flashing her badge for what she knew would be a quicker response. What else was she going to say? She knew nothing about what was wrong with him; all she knew was that his condition was critical. The nurse ushered her back into the treatment areas in the back. Georgetown Medical Center’s emergency room was arranged in a style that was similar to many other emergency rooms. Treatment rooms were arranged around the perimeter of the large room, with a specially allotted treatment room for psychiatric emergencies and one for sexual assault traumas. Those two treatment rooms were actual rooms, with walls and doors, to shield such patients from the activity of the other patients and to afford them some sense of privacy. The other treatment rooms were actually just cubicles, with curtains to separate one area from the other. In the center of all of the treatment areas was what was known as "the pit". It was an area for doctors and nurses to make phone calls, document treatment, and prepare medication. Georgetown’s "pit" was a nicely carpeted area, which was actually set up about two steps, so that it was actually above the rest of the emergency room. This allowed the medical staff to be able to see all the treatment room easily from any point in the pit. Scully noticed that there were two or three nurses in the pit, conferring with two doctors. The triage nurse brought Scully up into the pit and introduced her to the doctor who seemed to be in charge. "This is Dr. Young." "I’m Dana Scully," she said, showing her badge again. "I’m here about Fox Mulder." "I wasn’t aware that this was an FBI matter," Dr. Young answered. "He’s my partner," Scully answered. "I’m his next of kin." The doctor’s face softened a bit. "I see." "What happened?" Dr. Young flipped open Mulder’s chart. "As far as we can tell, he was driving along I-395 when his car was struck head on by another vehicle going about 80 mph. The police have taken the other driver into custody. He seemed to be under the influence." Scully’s throat was dry. A head-on collision. A high speed collision. "Can you tell me what Mulder’s injuries are? I’m also a medical doctor." "Mr. Mulder is suffering from head trauma. He’s got three broken ribs. We’ve established that he also has some injury to his right lung. The chest x-ray shows that it’s collapsed. His left lung is also punctured and we’ve inserted chest tubes on both sides. He also may have some internal damage to his spleen and his kidneys. We’re still trying to assess how serious those injuries are. I’ve got a neurosurgeon here," Dr. Young indicated the doctor next to him, "who would like to take him up to surgery right away." Scully nodded, her heart pounding. The nurses were giving her a look. Scully glanced down at herself and realized what a sight she must be. She was still wearing her sweats, her t-shirt, and a trenchcoat that wasn’t buttoned. She ran a hand through her hair self-consciously, which she knew was a mess from sleeping. "I’d like to see him." "We’re going to be taking him into surgery soon. It will have to be short," the neurosurgeon said. Scully nodded again. "He’s in six," Dr. Young said, gesturing. Scully left the pit and went to the curtained area with a six above it on the ceiling. She paused before opening the curtain. Mulder, she thought, damn it, you’d better be all right. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself, and opened the curtain. She was not prepared for what she saw. Mulder was lying on the gurney, his eyes closed. His face was bruised. A nurse was changing the gauze dressing on his head, under which was a nasty looking gash. She finished up and left, leaving Scully alone with Mulder. An IV dripped steadily into his right arm, along with a blood transfusion. Both bags of fluid hung on an IV pole above him. Electrodes were stuck to his chest, monitoring his heart rate. The chest tubes were in place. An oxygen mask was covering his nose and mouth. His face was gray. As everything began to sink in, Scully held back a gasp by putting the back of her hand over her mouth. He looked dead. Tears filled her eyes unexpectedly, and although she was Dana Scully, the woman in control of her emotions, she didn’t try to fight them. She stepped closer to him, afraid to touch him for fear that she would disturb the medical apparatus that he was hooked up to. But she did reach her hand out and touch his arm. His skin was warm. His eyes flickered open, although he looked dazed. Unsure exactly who she was. What was going on. Scully tried to muster a smile. "Hi," she murmured, her voice thick with tears. "It's me, Scully. You were in a car accident. Don’t try to talk, OK?" He didn’t nod. He blinked. "Are you in a lot of pain?" she asked. He blinked again. Oh, Mulder, she thought. She took his hand and squeezed it gently. "You’re going to be fine," she murmured. Mulder turned his head slightly from side to side. "You are," she insisted. "I’ve talked to the doctors. You’re going to have to have some surgery, but you’ve been in tight spots like this before and you've always been fine--" Mulder shook his head slowly again, then closed his eyes. "Mulder, don’t you fade out on me," she ordered him sternly, but her voice cracked. He didn’t open his eyes. Scully didn’t let go of his hand. ***** Mulder was still in surgery when the sun came up around seven the next morning. Scully’s legs were cramped from alternately sitting and dozing in the chairs in the surgical waiting room. She finally got up and went to the pay phone, dialing the Bureau and pressing the appropriate buttons to get transferred to Skinner’s office. She was surprised to hear his deep voice instead of his voice mail. "Skinner," he answered. "Sir," she said, clearing her throat. "It’s Agent Scully." "Yes, Scully?" "I’m at the hospital. Mulder’s...been in an accident." She could almost hear Skinner sigh heavily into the phone. "It’s not what you’re thinking, sir. He was hit by a drunk driver late last night." Silence for a minute. "What is his condition?" "He’s in surgery. He’s critical." Scully felt as if she was going to cry. She didn’t remember much of the rest of the conversation. ***** Scully? Are you there? Damn it, Scully, are you there? Scully, I’m here. I don’t know where the hell I am, exactly, but I’m here. I’m in this very dark place. You know, it’s funny, but Melissa once told me those exact words, when you were sick. When you were in the hospital. Scully, I’m so cold... ***** Scully was finally allowed to see Mulder around eight, when he was taken into recovery. "He’s not doing as well as we expected," Dr. Young told her. "His condition deteriorated dramatically in surgery. We’ve had to transfuse him with multiple units of plasma, but his hemoglobin is dangerously low. And his blood pressure is low as well. His oxygen saturation is low. Nothing we’re doing seems to help." Scully stood by his side as she listened to the doctor talk. Mulder did look worse. His skin color told her that. She was suddenly aware of how exhausted she actually was. She had long shed the trenchcoat but even though she was in her most comfortable outfit, her arms and legs ached and she wished that she was wearing something else. "We’re going to admit him directly into the intensive care unit." Scully nodded. She touched Mulder’s arm again, and squeezed his hand gently. This time he didn’t open his eyes at all. ***** She went back to his apartment. For a few minutes she just stood in the living room, looking around. Then she went to the couch and sat down. Mulder hadn’t been home in six days, either. But he hadn’t made it home last night like she had. She thought about the last time she had seen him before the accident. At the airport. "That was one hell of a case, Scully," he had muttered. "I'm going to go home and get some sleep." "Me too," she had echoed. "I'll see you in the morning," he had said to her. "Drive carefully," she had said as he turned to leave. "You too," he had called. What irony, she thought now. The few fish that remained in the tank were swimming around listlessly. One was dead, floating at the surface of the water. Scully flushed the dead goldfish down the toilet and fed the others. She looked around the room. For some reason, she knew that she was going to have to pack his things up. She knew that he wasn’t coming back to this apartment. ***** She went to her mother’s house. Margaret was understandably upset. She felt as if Fox were part of her family. She carefully watched her daughter’s calm and composed description of what had happened. "Dana, honey, are you OK?" she finally asked. Scully stopped talking and finally looked at her mother. She thought about everything that she had just said, about how she had related the details of the accident and of Mulder's medical condition. She realized that those details had nothing to do with the absolute despair that was washing over her. "He’s going to die, Mom," she said brokenly. Margaret shook her head. "The doctors--" "The doctors are doing everything they can. There’s nothing else they can do." ***** The nurses in the intensive care unit had brought a chair into Mulder’s room so that Scully could sit with him. It was a far more comfortable chair than the one she had slept in out in the surgical waiting room. Scully was just starting to doze off when she heard a soft noise, the sound of a throat being cleared. She looked up. Frohike was standing there. His face was filled with sadness. Scully felt an odd feeling of deja vu. "Hi," she said, standing up. Skinner and her mother had already been there and left. She was expecting another visitor eventually, but she had not thought about Frohike. Frohike came to Mulder’s bedside and looked down at his friend. "Is he really going to die?" he asked, his voice soft and sad in a way that Scully didn't think was possible from him. Her eyes filled with tears, the same tears that she had not yet allowed herself to shed. She nodded her head. "I think so," she said, her voice low. Frohike came over to her and took her in his arms. It was completely and totally unexpected, not to mention uncharacteristic, but she fell into his arms. She smelled alcohol on him. At that moment, she didn’t care. He was, under normal circumstances, someone that she would never dream of touching, let alone hugging. But she let him hold her. And she broke down and sobbed. ***** Scully was alone again with Mulder. She stared at his face, his closed eyes. She concentrated on the steady beeping of the heart monitor. "There’s so much I wish I could tell you, Mulder," she whispered, half expecting him to sit up and grin that goofy grin of his, and say, got you this time, Scully, didn’t I? But he didn’t. This was no joke. She was standing by his side, holding his hand. Is this how he felt when I was here? she wondered. Was he this scared? His blood pressure had dropped, as had his hemoglobin and his oxygen saturation. Scully knew that he wasn’t going to make it. She knew that. But she hadn’t given up on him. Not yet. Not when she still had to tell him how she felt. "You know, Mulder," she murmured, "I wish you could hear me telling you all of this. I wish I knew if you could hear me." She paused. "I have so much to say to you." Her mind felt numb, from the exhaustion and from the fear and from the sadness. "I love you, you know," she said softly. "I always have. And I know you would just love to hear that, wouldn’t you?" She knew he would. But it was time for the truth, and the truth was that she loved him. She hated herself for not having told him sooner. "I..." she struggled to find the right words, and then realized that there were none. How could she explain how she felt about him? How could she tell him how her life had been forever changed by him? "I love you," she repeated. She sniffled, wiping her eyes. "I wish you could hear me." ***** Scully? I heard you. I heard you loud and clear. And Dana? I love you, too. I wish *you* could hear me. ***** Scully was dozing again when she felt a light hand on her shoulder. She opened her eyes immediately. It was Dr. Young. She sat upright in the chair. "What's going on?" she asked. "He's passed away. I'm sorry," the doctor said softly, kindly. Scully stood up. The EKG had been turned off. All the machines were off. Mulder's body was still. He was dead. It was over. Slowly, the tears came. Once they started, they didn't stop. She couldn't stop crying. Looking at him made it worse. He was gone. The most vital part of her life had been cut off. Permanently removed. A nurse finally helped her out of the room, into the waiting room, where she would have more privacy. Not like it mattered. I don't need privacy, she thought through the haze of her tears. I just need you, Mulder. I need you. Always. END