From: Vickie Moseley <vmoseley@fgi.net>
Subject: [xfcreative] NEW:  Out of the Cold (06 of 25)
Date: Saturday, May 01, 1999 8:41 PM

From: Vickie Moseley <vmoseley@fgi.net>

Out of the Cold
by Vickie Moseley
vmoseley@fgi.net
disclaimed in part 00
part six of twenty-five

Portland Memorial Medical Center
February 7, 1991
1:15 pm

Mulder's fever was down to manageable levels, hovering at one
hundred, but the sun was high in the sky.  He could go without the
cooling blanket during the day, and that alone made his disposition
better.  Since he usually slept most of the daytime, his mother took
frequent naps herself, so that she could sit with him during the
night, when he was worse.  Both of them, mother and son, were
dozing when Bill and Jerry came to visit.

"Maybe you shouldn't wake him," Bill muttered to the nurse as she
led them into the room.

"Oh, it's all right.  He's been expecting you.  The doctor told him
this morning that you'd be allowed to visit for a little while.  He
was very anxious to talk to you," the nurse informed them with a
smile.  She was no more than twenty-five, very pretty, and Jerry
almost envied Mulder if that was who was taking care of him.  

"Fox?  Fox?  You have visitors," she called softly.

Slowly, Mulder dragged his eyes open.  He struggled in the bed and
the nurse helped him by raising the head a bit and adjusting his
pillows.

He was no longer wearing a full oxygen mask, but a nasal cannula
was still feeding him oxygen.  He had an IV in his right hand, drips
from two bags mingling in the line.  His left hand was bandaged. 
Monitor pads were strung like Lilliputian restraints to the machines
on the far side of the bed.  A small blue clothespin looking device
was attached to the finger of his right hand.  

Mulder smiled at Jerry, nodded to Bill.  "Hi, guys," he said.  His
voice was rough and not very loud.  He breathed deeply after just
saying two words.

"How are they treating you?" Jerry asked.

"Not bad," Mulder replied.  "Nice view," he said with what could
almost pass for a leer.

"I could see that," Jerry grinned and looked out the glass window
where the nurse was writing in a chart at the desk.

Bill shifted nervously.  "You're missing out on the paperwork, you
know," he said affably.

"What happened?" Mulder asked, sitting up straighter.  Jerry noted
with alarm that one of the monitors started to creep up into higher
numbers and glanced back through the window toward nurses
station.  Mulder followed his gaze.

"It's OK, LaMana.  I'm fine," Mulder assured him tiredly.  "Tell me
about the docks, Bill."

"I don't know what you saw, Mulder.  When we got there it was all
over.  The victim's name was George Drake.  He'd been a night
manager at the hotel where Paige and Crown were a lounge act. 
He was dead from loss of blood, just like the others.  And Crown
must have known she was caught and slit her wrists," Bill said
simply.

"She was murdered," Mulder insisted.

"Did you see that?" Bill demanded, annoyed.

"Yes.  No.  I don't know if I saw it or not, but it's true, Bill.  She
didn't kill herself," Mulder insisted, more emphatically.  Jerry
watched the one monitor climb higher on the number range.

"How, Mulder?  How could you have seen that?  You were
semi-conscious when we found you.  You weren't coherent or
responsive.  How did you see anything?" Bill asked, lowering his
tone as if speaking to a third grader who didn't want to eat his
lunch.

Mulder's eyes flashed.  His breathing became rapid and shallow, his
lips turning pale.  "Look, Bill.  I can't tell you more than I know. 
But I saw . . . a shadow.  It . . . attacked her.  She was frightened!"

"Mulder, she was frightened because you stumbled onto them.  She
knew she'd been caught, that she was going to jail.  She killed
herself, saved the taxpayers a bundle.  We should all be happy with
a job well done."

"It's not over, Bill.  It's going to continue," Mulder said
breathlessly and through gritted teeth.  

A shrill cry issued from the monitor Jerry had been watching and
Mrs. Mulder nearly jumped from her chair.  "Fox?" she cried out,
then noticed the other two men.  "Mr. Patterson, I presume.  What
is going on here?"

Before Bill could answer, the pretty, young nurse was in the room. 
"I'm sorry, but I'll have to ask you to leave.  Mr. Mulder has to
remain calm.  Your presence is endangering his health.  Perhaps you
can come back another time, when he's feeling better," she said
firmly, standing to the side of the doorway in clear indication of
their direction.

"We'll call later, Mrs. Mulder.  I'm sorry if we upset him," Bill said,
looking suitably contrite.

"I'll have to talk to the doctor, Mr. Patterson.  But I don't think
our experiment was successful," Mrs. Mulder said dryly.  "Good
day," she dismissed them both.

Jerry cringed as the door shut behind them, but Bill just looked
stoically on and shook his head.  Then he turned and started to
walk toward the elevators.

The two men were silent all the way to the car.  Jerry was frowning
most of the way, going over what his friend had said.  "You know,
Reno is the next city.  And tonight . . ."

"LaMana, give it a rest.  Mulder is out of his head with a fever.  He
was hallucinating on the docks.  We couldn't even call him as a
witness if there had been a trial, he's not credible.  We'll clean up
the details of the report, shouldn't take more than a couple of days,
and then we'd better be getting back to DC."

"Without Mulder," Jerry stated, then turned his head to look out
the car window.

"Without Mulder," Bill agreed sadly.  "He'll be out for a couple of
months, at least.  I've seen it happen.  Burnout, physically and
mentally.  Some guys never come back."

"Mulder's not like that," Jerry snapped.  "He'll come back."  The
car was silent for a few miles.  "Are you going to check with
Reno?" Jerry asked finally.

Bill shook his head and gave Jerry a sarcastic glare.  "Sure, why
not?  I'll just call them up and say, gee, you know that big press
release we sent out because we were certain we'd caught the
'Motel Murderer'?  Well, it looks like we were wrong.  We're
issuing an All Points on a 'shadow'.  Yeah, I like that, LaMana. 
Tell you what, I like it so much, I'm gonna let _you_ call DC and
tell them that's why we decided to spend a few nights in Reno,
looking for a possible victim."

Jerry met Bill's glare with one of his own, but then turned his head
and was quiet for the rest of the ride.

Portland Memorial Hospital
February 9, 1991
3:06 am

Mulder shivered in the darkness.  His body was shaking so hard it
was difficult to take a breath.  Something icy was being dragged
across his body.  The aftermath felt like fire.  Everywhere it
touched, he first froze and then burned.  It hurt his skin, the cold
caused his muscles to clench.  The muscles in his back were
cramping, twisting him and he couldn't relax them, he couldn't
even move.  Mulder was in the most horrendous torture and he
couldn't remember what he'd done to deserve it.

He could hear his mother.  Her voice was soft, gentle.  She seemed
oddly calm, considering she was witness to the anguish he was
engulfed in.  He wondered vaguely if she were a party to it.  Was
this her revenge at him for losing Samantha?  He had always known
of his father's anger toward him, but he'd always thought that his
mother felt only sorrow and love for her only remaining child. 
Could he have been so wrong?  Was she the torturer most
cruel, leading him to believe he was loved when she could later sit
by and watch him calmly delivered into the throes of agony?

He couldn't believe that.  He called out her name, hoping that she
would understand his pain and end it.  But all he got in return was
more cold, more fire.  Now the cold was smothering him, only his
face and head escaping it.  They, whoever they were who were
making him their sadistic plaything, figured out that there was an
oasis and put a stop to it.  The cold was being dragged across  his
face, down his neck.  He wanted to scream, but didn't have the air
to force his voice out of his lungs.  Something was pressing down
on him and breathing was almost impossible.

Mulder wanted to struggle, didn't want to give in without a fight. 
He wanted to open his eyes and face his tormentors, see if his
mother was trying to put a stop to the agony.  But his eyelids had
been fused shut, again by persons unknown to him.  The same ones
who were now trying to pry his mouth open, trying to choke him
with objects in his mouth, down his throat.  Something cold and
smooth, but hard and sharp on the edges.  It was being forced
deeper down his throat and he fought hard against it.  He gagged
and coughed, but the thing would not be dislodged.  He sobbed
against it, tried to call for his mother again, but knew his cries
would go unheeded.

"Is this really necessary?" Mrs. Mulder pleaded.  She was at her
wits end, but it looked like the night was far from over.  Her son's
fever had soared with the coming of night, and no amount of
antipyretics seemed to be able to bring it down to allowable levels. 
His lungs, still terribly congested, had begun to weaken due to the
stress.  The doctor's now feared that his heart might sustain
damage, along with his mind.  They were forced to take drastic
measures to deal with the situation.

The doctor had exercised extreme patience when he explained the
intubation would help her son breathe and would allow him to rest. 
But she'd been terrified as she sat and watched them fight with Fox
to bring the oxygen to his lungs.  He was not just sick anymore.  He
was wrestling with death.  

Morning was her only hope.  With dawn, he might be better.  The
fever would go back into its lair and leave him alone to sleep. But
for now, sunrise was still over three hours away.

The doctor broke through her thoughts.  "Mrs. Mulder, I'm sorry,
but yes, I feel it is necessary.  Your son is on the verge of
respiratory failure.  We are taking the burden off his lungs by
intubating him.  It's only for a while.  And if he would just relax and
accept it, stop fighting it so hard, he would feel better, too.  He
could sleep.  Right  now, more than anything we can do, he needs
rest, Mrs. Mulder," the doctor repeated tiredly.

The doctor and Mrs. Mulder had been through one argument
already during the evening, over the use of sedatives.  The older
woman had allowed their use once, but no more than that.  The 
doctor still didn't understand why the woman was so adamant that
her son not be given a sedative to calm him during his struggles. 
She kept referring to a childhood trauma, a time when he'd been
heavily sedated and for a rather lengthy period of time.  But that
was in the past, and his patient needed rest.  Rest he wasn't getting
at the moment.

"Please, let me do that," Teena Mulder begged the nurse who was
dutifully wiping an dampened cloth over Mulder's face.  The nurse
hesitated, she'd been witness to the last blow up between doctor
and mother.  Finally, after a reluctant nod from the doctor, she
moved out of the way and handed the cloth over to the older
woman.

Without breaking the slow gentle stride the nurse had set, his
mother took up the task, but in addition, she stroked his face
opposite where the cloth was touching.  "It's all right, baby boy. 
What say we count the stars?  Can you see them, Fox?  Just outside
the window?  See the big dipper, and Orion?  Can you find his belt
and his dagger.  And the rabbit and the lion and his hunting dogs?"

"Remember how you wanted a belt like Orion's for your birthday?"
she murmured.  "And see if we can find the twins.  Are they there? 
I can find the North Star.  See how bright it is.  If we look real hard
maybe we can see the Northern Lights.  Remember, Fox, you told
me once that they were like lasers in the sky."  

At first Mulder didn't want to listen, but gradually her voice cut
through to his mind and he began to relax.  Feeling her hand on his
face brought back a thousand memories of times when he was small
and his mother lulled him to sleep at night.  His perfect recall could
reach back to his toddler days.  

He'd been wrong before.  She wasn't the tormentor.  She was here
to help.  She was his mother and she loved him.  She'd stay by him,
protect him.  With her there to watch over him, he could slip into
the darkness and escape all the pain for a while.  

His struggles tapered off and finally ended.  Now that he wasn't
fighting the tube in his throat, the machine caught up to his shallow
breathing and deepened it for him, bringing oxygen to cells
beginning to perish from starvation.  The blue tinge that had
colored his lips began to change to a very pale pink--a much
welcomed improvement.  Even his heart rate slowed and settled to
a comfortable 60 beats a minute, his blood pressure 120 over 90
and holding steady.

The doctor put his hand on the old woman's shoulder.  "Good
work, Mrs. Mulder," he whispered in her ear.  He waited quietly,
watching his patient be drawn down into sleep.  He left them alone
for several minutes, making necessary phone calls on other patients. 
But half and hour later, he was back in Mulder's room.  

"I hate to interrupt, Mrs. Mulder, but I think we need to talk," he
finally spoke when he was assured that the patient was still asleep. 
Hesitantly, she looked at the doctor, then finally nodded.  She
followed him into the hall.

There was fire in her eyes when they stepped outside the room. 
"Why isn't he better?  He's been here for days now, and he's only
getting worse.  What are you doing for him?" she demanded and
accused.

"Mrs. Mulder, as I explained earlier, your son is suffering from a
resistant form of pneumonia.  We have him on a course of very
strong and effective antibiotics, but it is going to take some time. 
What has me concerned is his mental state.  He fights all treatment. 
Even during the day when he's alert, he seems to want to ignore
stated orders.  He's still concerned with work and what is
happening there.  I understand his position is important, but he is
sick and his only concern should be getting better.  Maybe if your
husband was here . . ."

"My ex-husband is on his way ," Mrs. Mulder spat out through
gritted teeth.  "But believe me, William will not be a help in this
matter.  In fact, I'm certain his presence will only upset Fox all the
more."

"Then we must sedate him.  I know you don't agree, but until he
rests, we will continue to have these episodes," the doctor said
forcefully.  "I don't know if you realize the gravity of the situation
tonight, Mrs. Mulder.  If he had gone into respiratory arrest,
cardiac failure would have been right on its heels.  And in his
current weakened condition, I am quite certain he would not have
survived resuscitation."  His words were cruel and meant as a
warning, but his eyes were sad and pleading.

She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, something her son
could not imitate now.  The doctor didn't need to try and frighten
her, she was terrified already.  She knew her son's life was in the
balance.  What good would it do to win a small battle only to lose
the war?  At this point, the only thing that mattered to her was her
son's continued survival.  

Finally, she nodded slowly.  "I give my permission," she said, and
without another word, walked back into the room and took up her
vigil.

The night nurse came in with the sedative, but since the patient was
still sleeping, she made her checks and left without administering it. 
Mulder slept on and his mother, feeling the effects of several days
and nights without any real rest herself, fell sound asleep in the high
backed chair next to his bed.

February 9, 1991
7:55 am

Jerry LaMana felt hurried and guilty as he ran through the lobby of
the hospital and to the bank of elevators.  He glanced at his watch
again, noting that if he could work it right, he could still make the
9:30 flight to Atlanta.  It had been an eventful evening, all the way
around.

He'd called the hospital, wanting more to find out how his friend
was doing than to impart any information on his own.  But the
nurse at the desk said that Mrs. Mulder was not available and gave
him the standard 'Mr. Mulder is resting' line that he'd gotten for
the last five days.  He didn't want to head home without saying
goodbye, and maybe to give Mulder a heads up on things in DC.

The minute he stepped off the elevator on the floor housing the
ICU, he knew something was amiss.  An older man, his face lined
with deep creases was standing at the nurses desk.  There was
something about him that looked familiar, the way he leaned against
the desk--it hit Jerry that this man looked a lot like Mulder.  As
Jerry walked up to the desk, he overheard the man speaking.

"I said I want the name of the best neurologist in this city, no, in
this state.  And I want it now!"

"Mr. Mulder, as we told your wife, Dr. Westholm is one of the best
neurologists on the Pacific Coast.  He called to say that he'll be
here about 8:30.  If you would just take a seat in the waiting lounge
. . ."

"I did not fly all the way across country to sit in a waiting room. 
I'll be in with my son," the older man growled.

"Only one person is allowed in his room at a time, Mr. Mulder.  I'm
sorry, but that is hospital policy."

"To hell with policy, I'm going in there now!"  With a stern look to
Jerry for no discernable reason other than he was standing there,
Bill Mulder marched off toward the patient rooms.

The nurse blew out an exasperated breath and shook her head. 
Then, noticing Jerry still standing there, she looked toward him and
narrowed her eyes.  "Can I help you?" she asked, and he was
almost afraid to give her an affirmative answer.

"I wondered if I could see Fox Mulder?"

His demeanor must have seemed suitably contrite, because the
nurse's glare softened.  "I'm sorry, unless you're immediate
family . . ."

"I'm . . . I'm his partner.  We work together," Jerry explained.  "I
have to leave today, I really wanted to say goodbye."

The nurse chewed her lip for a moment.  "He can't have visitors at
the moment.  I'm sorry.  But if you wait a moment, maybe I can see
if his mother will come out and see you."

In minutes, Mrs. Mulder came out, looking worn and haggard.  It
was apparent that she'd fallen asleep and hadn't had a chance to
freshen up.  She regarded Jerry coolly.  "Mr. LaMana, is there
something you wanted?"

"Mrs. Mulder, I'm sorry to disturb you.  I wanted to say goodbye
to Mulder, ah, Fox.  Is he awake?" Jerry took in the sad look in the
older woman's eyes and felt his own stomach drop.

There was a distinct crack in her icy veneer as she lead him over to
some chairs.  After they were both seated, she took a moment to
collect her thoughts.  "Mr. LaMana, Fox is in a coma.  He lost
consciousness earlier this morning.  He can't have visitors right
now, just his father and I."

Jerry felt cold all over.  "I thought . . . I mean, I'd hoped . . ."

"The doctors can't explain it at the moment.  It seems connected to
the fever, but now the fever seems to be coming under control. 
They're bringing in a neurologist to determine if there might have
been some brain damage from the fever."

"Mrs. Mulder, I . . . I don't know what to say," Jerry stammered. 
"Is there anything I can do?"

"Not that I can think of, no," Mrs. Mulder said with a sad smile and
a shake of her head.  "We're just getting through this one day at a
time right now.  Once he wakes up, and he's recovered sufficiently
to be moved, he'll be coming home for a while," she said
optimistically.  "He'll see you at the office when he's better and I'm
sure he'll call as soon as he can," she added.

Jerry looked guiltily out the window.  "I won't be in Quantico, Mrs.
Mulder.  I just got word late yesterday afternoon.  I've been
transferred to Atlanta."

"Oh, I see," she replied cryptically.  "Well, I'm sure you're quite
excited."

"I wanted to tell him in person, you see," Jerry tried to explain. 
"He knew I was being looked at for that position, and so it won't
be a complete surprise.  I've enjoyed working with your son, Mrs.
Mulder.  He's an incredible agent.  I know he'll go far.  He just
needs to take care of himself a little better."  Jerry was rambling,
but didn't know how to stop.

"Would you like to say 'goodbye' in person?"  Mrs. Mulder was
just barely holding on to her composure at that point.  Jerry wasn't
sure which answer would cause her to lose her balance.

"I'd like to tell him that I'll see him next time I'm in DC," Jerry said
carefully.  "If you think the doctors will allow it."

That seemed to relieve the older woman and she nodded.  "I think
we can arrange it," she said and motioned for him to sit down and
wait for her to return.

end of part six
Vickie

Come visit my web page, brought to you by the fabulous Shirley Smiley!

http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dimension/5821/index.html

Now featuring 'Out of the Cold':

"Bill Patterson stood in the door way, looking to Mulder just like
one of God's avenging angels.  His thinning hair and dark rimmed
glasses lead to the confusing image that this man was a scholar, a
teacher.  Mulder alone knew the truth.  This man was the Marquis
de Sade, with a badge and gun."

Out of the Cold, part one, by Vickie Moseley



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