Disclaimer: The Xi-Files belong the Chris Carter and 10-13 Productions, no infringement intended.

Spoilers: Detour, Jersey Devil, Anasazi, Demons, Red and the Black

Summary: Mulder ends up in the hospital after an unexpected respiratory attack. When he discovers what happened, he must make the most important decision of his life.

Author's Notes: Originally written in 1998 and then refurbished in 2000, hopefully it isn't too disjointed. Melanocarpamine doesn't exist as far as I know. Other than that this story is pretty straight forward. Thanks to Kel for her medical info that made this a plausible scenario and not some figment of my imagination.

TO LIVE FOR

Chapter 1

J. Edgar Hoover Building
X-Files Office
Monday
9:37 a.m.

"Do I have to?"

"Yes, you have to. You've used all your sick days for injuries, you don't have any left for actually being *sick*, so this is to your benefit. Come on, it's not that bad."

He glared petulantly at her. "But, Scully, I never get sick." He paused at her raised eyebrow. "That didn't count, they were poisoning my water. I'm talking about a good old fashioned cold or something similar."

Dana Scully sighed loudly. "Mulder, the Bureau requires yearly vaccinations against the flu as part of your medical insurance, I can't do anything about it."

Her partner, Fox Mulder, returned her sigh. "I know, Scully, I know. I'm sorry for taking it out on you, I just *hate* needles."

"Men are such babies," she mumbled.

"What?"

"I said, at least it's not rabies. That's seven long needles, all very painful. Five in your arm, one in your gluteus maximus, and one more in the wound. This is just one shot to make sure you get through the flu season, that's all."

He pursed his lips, knowing that wasn't what she'd said. But he recognized this as a losing argument and decided to give in gracefully. "We'd better get going then, or we'll be late."

Scully grinned smugly. Point for her.

Washington Medical Center
Room 13
10:28 a.m.

"All right," the doctor looked at the clipboard in his hand, "Mr. Mulder, how are you doing today?"

He struggled to keep his tone civil, glancing at the man's brass nametag. "I'm fine, Dr. McCain."

The doctor didn't seem to notice his patient's disposition. "You're here for a flu shot, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Hmmm, let's see what else we can get out of the way for you." Back to the clipboard. "Well, you haven't had a tetanus shot in a while, you're due for one."

"Lucky me."

Now McCain gave him a disapproving look, finally realizing that his patient was less than thrilled. "I'll be right back with the required vaccinations and we'll get you out of here as soon as possible."

Mulder just grunted noncommittally as the white-coated man left in search of needles to gleefully poke him with. A few minutes later the doctor returned, tray of vials in hand. He set them on the stand next to the counter and rummaged around in a cupboard, emerging with a couple of disposable syringes.

He filled each one to their required amounts, then pushed on the plunger slightly so a thin stream of medication sprayed from the needle like they showed in the movies, despite the fact that Mulder had never seen someone do it in real life. More proof that the man was more interested in exacerbating an already disgruntled patient with dramatic flair.

"Ready?" he asked solicitously.

Mulder nodded and stared straight ahead, not wanting to watch the sharp point enter his skin. The first one was easy, only a twinge of pain as it entered his bloodstream. The second, however, hit like a rock, sending fire coursing through his veins. He gritted his teeth, straining to keep a set expression on his face. Damn, it hurt! He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a shot feel this bad. Perversely, he hoped Scully was getting the same thing.

Shocked that he could actually wish such a thing on his partner, he forgot about the pain, submerging himself in guilt instead. He vowed to be overly nice to her for the rest of the day to make up for it. She'd probably think he was up to something, but he had to alleviate his conscience. True, it had been just an innocent thought, but he couldn't help feeling terrible about it. Scully was his partner, his best friend, his... everything. He would die for her, would kill for her, would sacrifice everything for her.

Shaking his head to dispel the downturn of his thoughts, he glanced over at the doctor, who was diligently filling out papers on the ever-present clipboard. Dr. McCain looked up at his patient. "Well, Mr. Mulder, all done. Just give this to the woman at the nurses' station." He handed Mulder a slip of paper, illegible scrawling decorating its pink surface.

"Thank you," Mulder said absently, picking up his coat and heading out the door.

10:44 a.m.

"How'd it go?"

His head raised at the voice in front of him. He smiled widely. "Just fine. You hungry?"

Scully's mouth had practically dropped open when he smiled. She had expected him to sulk, to complain, even to ignore her. But for him to smile and ask her to lunch? Never in a million years. She couldn't help grinning back. "Yeah, I am."

"How's Mexican sound?" He stood from the uncomfortable plastic chairs in the waiting room.

"Sounds good. You buying?" she queried.

"Sure. I'll even let you order for me, to make sure I get something remotely healthy."

She was rendered speechless and immobile by her shock. Mulder was already out the door before she snapped out of it and caught up with him. As they walked to the car she stared at him, trying to glean any information from his expression. She was still staring when they got in the car.

His head lolled towards her. "What?"

She crossed her arms and the right eyebrow went upwards. "What are you up to, Mulder?"

His face took on a look of pained innocence. "Whatever do you mean? Can't I take you out for lunch without having an ulterior motive?" Scully opened her mouth to reply but he cut her off. "Don't answer that. Let's just say I want to show you how much I appreciate you and leave it at that." He turned back to the steering wheel and started the car, pulling out of the parking space.

Scully, for her part, was again shocked into silence. She knew Mulder appreciated her, depended on her, needed her. But he didn't voice it often. Sure, he showed her every day with little gestures, with a look or a touch, but he didn't say it out loud. Tears unexpectedly sprung to her eyes and she faced the window, struggling to get control of herself.

Mulder switched on the radio, fiddling with the dial until he found the Oldies station. Not his personal choice of music, but he knew Scully enjoyed it. He also knew that she was having difficulties right now, she was trying to hide her emotions from him. When he saw how much his words affected her, he made another promise - to tell his partner how much she meant to him more often. Besides, you never knew how long you had before you lost the chance.

His brows furrowed at his morbid thinking. He turned the radio up louder. 'Happy Together' was playing, one of Scully's favorites. He could see her body begin to sway back and forth in time to the music, still facing out the window. He had to do something. Suddenly he had a flashback to a forest in Florida and an insistence by him that she sing. He grinned wickedly. If she thought *she* couldn't carry a tune, just wait until she heard *him*.

"I can see me lovin' nobody but you for all my life. When you're with me, baby, the skies'll be blue for all my life," he sang along, his voice raising above the stereo volume. Scully shifted in her seat, turning to stare at him. But this time it wasn't suspicion on her face. It was surprise, soon to be replaced by a huge smile, her eyes widening at his attempt to harmonize.

He just flashed her a grin and kept singing. "Me and you, and you and me, no matter how they toss the dice, it had to be." His eyes kept darting over to meet hers, humor and something else that she couldn't recognize dancing in them

"The only one for me is you, and you for me, so happy together," she joined in, laughing as he faltered slightly. Together they sang the last verse, grinning like fools.

Ramon's Mexican Restaurant
11:09 a.m.

"It wasn't too bad, was it?"

Mulder swallowed hastily, almost choking in his effort to speak. "No, I just enjoy complaining about it. They gave me a tetanus along with it, said it was due."

She nodded, thoughtful. "Didn't you get one when that beast woman ripped you up?"

"Yeah. But that was almost five years ago."

"You only need one every ten years, seven if you're injured," she replied.

"Actually, I don't think we reported it, so it wouldn't be in my records. Things were a bit hectic, what with a wild woman roaming the streets." He took another bite of his Mexican pizza, mentally thanking Scully for not ordering anything *too* healthy for him. True, there were more vegetables than meat, but with the right amount of hot sauce it still tasted delicious.

"Hmm. That's true. Well, it won't do you any harm. Just think, only another seven years until your next one." She sipped her ice tea and silently reveled in the relaxing atmosphere.

"I thought you said ten years!" Mulder sputtered.

"With your luck? Trust me, the chances of you not getting injured in ten years is practically nil." She forked another slice of cheese quesadilla into her mouth.

Mulder's eyebrows raised. "Practically?"

She gave him a sly look. "Isn't it you who said 'nothing is impossible, just highly improbable'?"

J. Edgar Hoover Building
8:16 p.m.

They had returned to the office and finished the expense reports on their latest case, bantering back and forth about inconsequential things. Finally it was time to go home, the rest of the building mostly empty, the other agents homeward bound at a more reasonable hour. Mulder walked Scully to the parking lot, briefcase in one hand, a box of files balanced between his other elbow and his hip.

Once he reached his car, he set his briefcase on the roof and moved around to open the trunk. He dropped the box in the compartment, a large 'thunk' resounding in the empty parking garage.

"What have you got in there?" she queried.

"Nothing, just a few files to look over. A little light reading before bedtime," he answered.

"Do you think you're really going to have time to read all those before tomorrow?" Scully asked skeptically.

Mulder looked momentarily confused. "There's not that many."

"You took half the office with you."

His lower lip jutted out. "Did not." Then he grinned impishly. "Maybe a third. Besides, I read fairly fast, won't take me more than five or six hours."

Scully's mouth turned down at the edges. "Leaving you with four or five hours for sleep."

He ignored the disapproval in her tone. "Exactly. Hey, maybe I'll sleep in 'til seven and forgo the morning jog." He shut the trunk and unlocked the door, moving his briefcase from the roof to the backseat.

"Only *you* would consider seven hours of rest, 'sleeping in'. Well, try not to stay up too late. I'll see you tomorrow. And, Mulder, thanks for lunch, I had a good time." She turned to leave, hoping Mulder wouldn't read into her words as much as she had put into them.

"No problem, I had fun. Uh, Scully?" He swiveled around in a circle, peering at the deserted parking area. "Where's your car?"

"In the shop. Carburetor went bad. I'll call a cab," she tossed over her shoulder.

"Don't be ridiculous, I'll take you home." He moved around to unlock the passenger door, holding it open for her.

"Thanks. I wasn't really looking forward to having to listen to the cabby's scintillating conversation." She gratefully took the offered seat.

After joining her in the car, Mulder removed his tie and tossed it back with his briefcase. "Don't worry, I'll regale you with a conversation that will be both intellectually stimulating yet preposterously funny."

She looked at him. "I can hardly wait."

Dana Scully's Apartment
9:57 p.m.

Toeing off her shoes, Scully settled down on her bed, ready to finish the novel she had been trying to read for the past three months. Thinking back on her day, she smiled to herself. It had been relaxing and enjoyable, Mulder making her laugh and not talking about work. It was a rare descent into normalcy, one she found refreshing, as long as it didn't get too normal too often.

On the ride home, Mulder had told her a hilarious story about a case he studied at Oxford about an insane man who went to work naked one day. The tale was not only hysterically funny, but liberally smattered with psychological terminology and observations that proved to be very fascinating, as promised. If the FBI ever got around to firing Mulder, she hoped he would set up practice somewhere - he would be a wonderful psychiatrist.

When they had arrived at her apartment, Mulder walked her to the door, telling her this was a full service escort. He wished her a good night and she again requested that he try to go to sleep early. He promised that he'd think about it, then promptly yawned largely. It turned into a small bout of coughing and she had to pound his back to get him to stop. "Must have gone down the wrong pipe," he'd said. She'd shaken her head and asked him if he'd pick her up tomorrow morning. He'd happily agreed and declared he would pick her up by eight a.m. sharp.

Snuggling under the covers, she opened her book and began to read, knowing she'd be able to sleep in an extra half hour, since Mulder wouldn't get there until 8:30.

Fox Mulder's Apartment
11:21 p.m.

"Damn it, where did I put it," Mulder mumbled to himself, pushing aside various bottles and plastic containers. He was searching for the bottle of cough syrup he'd bought after suffering from smoke inhalation back in '93. Cough medicine didn't expire did it? Not that it mattered, since he couldn't find it among all the unopened pill containers issued after one injury or another. He went back to the couch, flopping down on it and bringing his hand to his mouth to stifle the coughs.

It just figured that he would have a reaction to the shots. At least that's what he assumed it was. Either that or all the flu shot did was *give* him the illness, not protect him from it. Well, he could live with it until tomorrow. Scully probably had something he could take. He reached over to the coffee table and picked up the file on the top, flipping it open and scanning through it.

Tuesday
2:16 a.m.

He was only halfway through the pile of folders and slowing down fast. He couldn't concentrate on what he was reading, couldn't keep from coughing long enough to read more than a paragraph at a time.

"I *cough* give up," he muttered. He dropped the file in his lap onto the floor with the rest of the cases he had already browsed through. Next, he dug around in the cushions and found the remote, switching on the TV to the Sci-Fi channel. They were having a 'Monstervision Marathon' and the current episode was one with William Shatner, where he was an astronaut attacked by something in space and affected physically by it. Mulder couldn't help thinking back to Colonel Belt. This was eerily similar.

He laid back and tried to let it carry him off to sleep.

4:33 a.m.

"This isn't *cough* working," he groaned. He had lain there for over two hours, and while his coughing had abated some, it hadn't decreased enough to allow him to slumber. He would have to get up soon anyway, he might as well go for a jog and get in to work early.

He lurched off the couch and stumbled wearily into the bedroom, digging in his dresser for a pair of sweats. Sliding them over his boxers, he then grabbed his running shoes and shoved them onto his feet, not bothering to untie them first. He scooped up his keys on his way out the door.

Forty-five minutes later and he was in the middle of his normal circuit, his gait smooth, his breathing easy. This was exactly what he needed. He had just passed the deli that marked his halfway point, when suddenly he gasped. He couldn't breathe, couldn't take in any air at all. He bent over and put his hands on his knees, struggling to draw air into his aching lungs. Spots began to swim in front of his eyes and he swayed unsteadily. Finally, right before he felt that he would pass out, a delicious taste of oxygen swept down his throat and he gulped furiously, taking in as much as possible. It was too much. He started coughing, harsh and painful coughs, his body doubling over, his arms wrapping around his ribs in an effort to quell the tremors. He fell to his knees, his lungs ready to burst.

It seemed like hours before the coughing subsided and he was able to stand again, though in reality it was only ten minutes at the most. He decided to walk the rest of the way home, feeling lightheaded and not willing to take the chance of another asthmatic attack.

It took him more than an hour and a half to get back home, as he had to stop several times to catch his breath. When he reached his apartment, he threw the keys on the table and stripped himself of his clothes on his way to the shower. He turned on the water, waiting until steam was rising before moving to stand under the hot stream. He let it pour over him, rinsing away the dull ache in his chest, the slight dizziness in his head. After washing himself thoroughly, he switched off the water and dried off quickly. He dressed and shaved in a matter of minutes, his body on autopilot as his mind tried to come up with a reason for the breathing episode this morning.

He came up blank. Only thing he could think of was an adverse reaction to the flu shot. He'd ask Scully about it when she got to work. He took his briefcase and walked out the door at a little past 7:30.

Dana Scully's Apartment
8:51 a.m.

This was getting ridiculous. She had expected him to be late, but this was pushing it. She had called his place only to get the machine, then she tried his cell phone, which answered 'The cellular customer you are trying to reach is either out of the service area or is not answering, please try again later'.

She glanced at her watch and thought back to the day before. Mulder had been exceedingly polite, going out of his way to be nice to her. He was always nice, but yesterday seemed a bit too contrived. She remembered the box of files in his hands and his vague answer to her question about its contents. With sudden clarity, it all made sense.

He had ditched her.

Disarmed her with mindless banter, put her at ease with the 'normal' act so that he could go traipsing off after some wild lead, leaving her to wonder and worry. She thought he'd gotten over doing that, after the thing with Dr. Goldstein. Apparently not. Well, this time she wasn't going wonder and worry. When he got back, she was going to give him a piece of her mind.

Snatching her purse off the counter, she hurried out the door, hoping she would be able to find an empty cab at this hour.

X-Files Office
9:14 a.m.

With one arm tightly wrapped around his ribcage, Mulder used his free hand to turn the pages of the file before him. He had given up trying to stifle the coughing, now he was just trying to keep his ribs from screaming every time he did cough. Not really seeing the papers in front of him, he absently ran his eyes over the words, filing them away in his memory so that he could access them later when his concentration was better. It was a simple case in Arizona, something about cattle mutilations in conjunction with crop circles. He suspected it was a hoax but he decided to take the case anyway, feeling that it would be a nice relaxing job. Both he and Scully could use a break and this seemed the perfect opportunity. He had already made the plane reservations an hour ago.

Finishing and closing the folder, he looked across his desk at the empty chair and again wondered where his partner was. It wasn't like her to be late. Dana Scully was punctual almost to a fault and always called if she was going to be even a minute late. He had tried her home number only to get her answering machine. Assuming that she was on her way, he had called her cellphone but he got a busy signal. That was ten minutes ago and he was starting to get worried.

For most people, someone being fifteen minutes late wasn't something to get overly paranoid about, but from past experience Mulder knew that in their line of work anything could, and usually did, happen. You're not paranoid if they really are out to get you after all. It was time to try the cellular again. He reached over to pick up his phone when suddenly the door opened violently and the angry visage of Dana Scully was standing before him.

"Scully?" His voice was filled with relief. "I was worri-"

"Where were you?" she demanded, not letting him finish his sentence.

Mulder was too taken aback by his partner's anger to formulate an answer. Scully strode into the office and tossed her coat and purse on her desk, her eyes staring intently on the closed file in front of him. "Where are you going?" her tone accusatory.

His eyes scrunched up as his mind attempted to uncover the reasoning behind the questions Scully was asking. "I'm not-" he began.

"Don't give me that! I called the airport and you have a ticket to Arizona in two hours! Did you really think you could ditch me that easily? After all that we've been through together, I can't believe you would go behind my back and-"

*Brrriiinng*

Both agents jumped in surprise as the phone rang shrilly. Mulder answered it with a shaking hand, his wide eyes never leaving his partner's. "Mulder." He thanked heaven for allowing his voice to remain steady. He listened a moment before replying, "We'll be right up," and hung up. He gathered the papers in front of him and mumbled, "Skinner wants to see us."

"Good. I'd like to see him too," Scully returned coldly. She whirled around and stamped out the door, not waiting for Mulder to follow.

He swallowed in a vain attempt to wet his parched throat but all that did was start another coughing fit. Holding it in the best he possibly could, he scrambled after Scully, almost forgetting to close the door behind him in his haste. He was already breathing heavily by the time he was a few feet behind his partner, no longer able to keep the coughs in. "Scully," he gasped.

"What?" she snapped, never turning around. She was angry because, despite her vow not to be, she had been worried.

He was having trouble breathing now, not getting enough air to continue coughing, just to wheeze ineffectively. Dizzy from the lack of oxygen, he staggered and leaned against the wall, barely able to gasp out, "Scully," again.

"What?!" she turned on her heel to glare at the man behind her. As she took in the scene before her, her anger melted away to be replaced by concern and fear. "Mulder?" She watched in horror as he sank to the floor, his legs unable to hold him. She jogged the few paces to his side, kneeling down next to him.

"Mulder, what's wrong?" She tried to keep her voice even.

"Can't... breathe," he managed to say between wheezes.

Scully ran her eyes over him, noting the heaving of his chest, the bluish tint to his lips. It appeared he was having some sort of respiratory attack. She ran back to the office and threw open the door, racing to get the phone and dialing 9-1-1. After the paramedics had been dispatched, she returned to her partner, who was still panting for air.

"Mulder, help is on the way, hang on." Resting her hand on his forehead, she detected a slight fever that would probably grow worse in the next few minutes. His glazed eyes held hers as realization dawned in them. "Forgot to... pick... you up... Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry for yelling at you. I should have known you wouldn't ditch me," she murmured, caressing his cheek.

"Got... tickets for... both of us."

Scully mentally slapped herself. When she had called the airline, she had only asked if there were reservations for Fox Mulder. She had not asked whether he was flying alone. She wallowed in guilt for a moment until a breathy voice pulled her back.

"Didn't feel well... forgot to pick you up," he repeated.

She was about to respond, but Mulder started coughing violently, his whole body shaking with tremors. His head leaned to the side as spots danced in front of his eyes, his chest agonizingly tight. The dry coughs became deep and wet suddenly as liquid welled up in his throat.

Scully watched in helpless terror as her partner began to cough up blood, pouring down his chin and spattering on the floor and walls. "Oh God," she whispered. The first thing that came to her mind was lung cancer and Cancerman, but she dismissed that idea quickly.

Finally the harsh sounds stopped and Mulder leaned back against the wall, exhausted. She could tell by his shallow breaths that he wasn't getting enough oxygen. His fever bright eyes caught hers in panic when his wheezing became silent. He couldn't breathe at all. Scully watched in terror as her partner lost his battle with consciousness, slumping to the floor, his chest unmoving.

9:37 am

Assistant Director Skinner glanced at his watch again. They were late. While he knew Mulder wouldn't particularly care to make his boss wait, Skinner was positive that Scully would. Making his decision, he grabbed his coat and headed down to the basement.

The hallways were bustling with agents going to and fro, carrying out tasks assigned by their superiors. Several of them nodded at him as he passed, others scrambled out of his way, too green to be anything but afraid of the AD. He got on the elevator and pushed the button that would take him down to the bowels of the Bureau. He heard a snicker behind him. Probably thought 'Spooky' was in trouble again and was about to get seriously reamed by Skinner. Let them think what they wanted, they wouldn't accept the truth anyway.

And the truth was, Skinner was worried about his agents. Over the past five years, he had watched them struggle and fight, growing closer together and closer to the 'truth'. And somewhere along the way, they had managed to ingrain themselves in his heart. He cared for them. About their well being, emotional and physical. He was headed down to make sure that they were all right. It wouldn't be the first time he showed up at their door unexpectedly. And most likely it wouldn't be the last.

Several stops later and he had the elevator all to himself, descending the last three floors in silence. Finally he reached his destination and the doors slid open into the dim light. The fluorescents were flickering, casting shadows along the hallway. He absently reminded himself to talk to maintenance about it when he almost ran into a stray file cabinet. Maneuvering past it, he saw another shape farther down the hall. But this shape was moving. At that moment, the overhead lights decided to come on fully, stopping their incessant half on/half off game.

After blinking furiously to adjust to the sudden illumination, he began to make out what the shape was. It was Agent Scully, leaning over her partner, administering rescue breathing.

Skinner came up behind the pair, not wanting to distract Scully from her ministrations. She looked pale, gasping for air between breaths for Mulder. He crouched down beside her and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Scully, you need a break. Let me take over."

Scully glanced at her boss, not even wondering how or when he came to be next to her. Instead she just nodded and scooted back, making room for him by Mulder's head. Skinner checked for breathing, but he could neither hear nor feel any sign of respiration. Wiping the blood from Mulder's lips with his shirt sleeve, he took up the task of making his agent breathe while Scully took full advantage of the respite, breathing long and deep. Eventually Skinner began to look a bit woozy. She checked her watch. Seven minutes. Jesus Christ. Mulder had been in respiratory arrest for seven minutes.

"Sir." It was all she had to say to get Skinner to move away. She went back to her routine of breathing into Mulder's mouth and constantly checking his carotid artery for a pulse. She was getting frantic, her professional demeanor beginning to fail as time drew on. "C'mon, Mulder, help me out here. Don't do this to me damn it, I *need* you." Tears escaped from her eyes and streamed down her cheeks, decorating Mulder's white shirt with tiny gray spots.

It was just approaching nine minutes since her partner lost consciousness when suddenly his body jerked. His head tossed back and forth and he was coughing again, the blood in his throat making a sick gurgling noise. It was the most beautiful sound Scully had ever heard. "Mulder? Can you hear me?"

His eyes were squeezed shut but he nodded slightly. The coughs had subsided into the harsh wheezing of earlier and Scully was worried that he might repeat the respiratory arrest. "Where the hell are those damn paramedics?"

Skinner watched all this with fear and helplessness swirling about in his brain. He had to do something. "They won't be able to get a gurney down here, we should bring Mulder up to the ground floor." He made a mental note to raise hell about it. True, the basement wasn't exactly the sort of place that was frequented, but it was disgraceful as well as dangerous the way the corridor had been made into a storage area.

Scully flinched at the sound of her boss' voice. Totally focused on Mulder, she had forgotten he was there. Biting her lip, she mulled over what he said. She didn't want to move Mulder, but at this point, there wasn't much choice. "All right. I'll get his feet." She moved around to his long legs, grabbing an ankle in each hand.

"Forget that, get the elevator," Skinner ordered. It would take too long to carry his limp form between them. He scooped up Mulder into his arms, only a bit surprised at how heavy his agent was. Scully understood immediately and jogged over to the elevator, pushing the button and praying that the car would arrive soon. Her prayers were answered when a high pitched 'ding' announced the car's arrival just as Skinner joined her.

They rode up the several floors to the first level in silence, Mulder's labored breathing seeming louder in the stillness. They reached their destination and Skinner stepped out into the bullpen. Activity ground to a halt as agents took in the sight of Assistant Director Walter Skinner carrying Spooky Mulder in his arms, the Ice Queen in tow. All could tell by the blood staining Mulder's pale face and the grim expression on the AD's, that this was serious.

Skinner ignored the stares, his own eyes searching the room for a responsible man. Then he spotted someone he knew he could count on. "Agent Gallagher, call security and tell them to have the paramedics meet us in the lobby."

Gallagher never hesitated. He sprung over to his desk and yanked the phone from its receiver, punching in numbers hastily. "Harry?... Yeah, it's Jack. Listen, are there paramedics in the building?... Great. Have them wait there, AD Skinner is on his way to meet them... I can't explain now, you'll see why in a minute." He hung up and called out to Skinner's retreating back. "Sir, the paramedics just showed up and are ready for you!"

Skinner didn't turn, didn't acknowledge Gallagher's words, but the agent knew that he'd heard. Scully, however, tossed a strained "Thank you" over her shoulder. Gallagher nodded and watched the trio disappear around a corner. Nobody said a word in the bullpen for a good fifteen seconds before erupting into cacophonous noise. Rumors began to fly, speculations abounded, and 'Spooky' jokes proliferated.

Jack Gallagher ignored it all. Instead of the impassivity everyone claimed was there, he had seen the anguish on Scully's face. Instead of the anger they said was radiating from Skinner, he saw only concern. And he knew that, despite wild rumors that Mulder was insane, the snide remarks that Spooky had finally lost it and gone berserk were incorrect. He had noticed the pain etched on Mulder's face, had heard the wet gasps. Before returning to the file he had been reviewing, he uttered a heartfelt prayer for the three agents headed for the lobby.

The paramedics recognized the man who needed assistance immediately and in a matter of seconds Mulder was moved from the AD's arms to the gurney. Scully moved to follow as Mulder was escorted to the ambulance, giving Skinner an inquiring look.

"Go with them, I'll follow in a car," he directed. As if Scully would let the ambulance leave without her inside. She turned and hurried to catch up with the EMTs. By the time everyone was on board and the vehicle was in motion, an IV had been started and an oxygen mask placed over Mulder's mouth. There wasn't much they could do except monitor his vitals and give him pure oxygen, make sure he didn't choke on his own blood.

Scully enfolded his right hand in her own and talked soothingly, not quite sure if he heard her. He was conscious, but whether he was coherent was hard to tell since his eyes were shut and he didn't say anything. "Mulder, I'm here, it's all right, you're going to be okay," she whispered over and over.

Then his fingers tensed and squeezed her hand, letting her know that he was listening. She looked at his face and found that his eyes were open, staring up at her with complete trust. Her breath caught in her throat and she had to stifle a cry of sadness at the look in his eyes. He trusted her with his life and she didn't know if she would be able to live up to that, didn't know if she would be able to help this time.

Washington General
10:11 a.m.

Skinner walked through the pristine hallways, his steps sure and strong. A far cry from the terrified man he had been during the drive over here. Following the ambulance was easy enough, not needing to concentrate on where he was going, just on staying behind the larger vehicle. His mind had been free to wander over the past five years up until that point and he had hit the steering wheel in anger.

How could the Fates be so cruel? Why did good people have to suffer so much, live with grief and pain so often? Mulder and Scully had been plagued by evil, hurt physically and mentally, torn from each other and threatened by monsters, both literal and figurative. Yet somehow they had emerged in one piece, a little worse for the wear, but still alive. And they had grown closer, closer than anyone had ever imagined. Together they were a force to be reckoned with and together they strove to uncover the truth.

Skinner thought of the relationship between his two agents and thanked God for letting them find each other. Mulder had a reason to live - Scully. And they both had a reason to keep fighting the unseen elements that tried to destroy them - each other. As long as they were together, they would make it through this, of that he was sure.

And so, with a renewed sense of hope, he had pulled into the hospital parking lot and strode quickly through the white hallways, managing to find the waiting room with only a minimum number of wrong turns. It was there that he came upon Scully, her tiny figure slumped in a hard plastic chair against the wall, her face buried in her hands.

He walked over to her and placed a palm on her shaking shoulder. She flinched slightly and swatted hastily at her face, attempting to destroy the evidence of her grief. "Sir," was all she said.

He sank into the chair next to her "Scully... Dana. There is no weakness in letting it out, no shame in facing your fears. I know how you must be feeling right now, but don't give up hope. Mulder has surprised us more than once with his survival skills and I have no doubt he'll do it again. Besides, he's too stubborn to die."

Scully smiled weakly at his attempt to raise her spirits. A frown soon took over. "I shouldn't have yelled at him, I should have known he wouldn't leave me. I heard him cough last night, I should have noticed something was wrong, then maybe I could've-"

"Should haves and could haves don't get us anywhere, just keep us from seeing the light up ahead. We don't know what is wrong with Mulder, we don't know if anything could have been done to prevent it." He took her hand in his own. "Don't blame yourself for this, Dana, don't let the guilt overshadow your hope."

Scully looked into her boss' eyes, seeing only strength reflected in them, coupled with an emotion she had never seen on his face before - caring. Yes, she had seen him kind, helpful, even friendly. But at that moment she knew that AD Skinner cared about her and her partner as people, not just as agents under his command. "Thank you, Sir," she whispered.

He nodded in acceptance and released her hand. "Now, give me an update on what the doctors have discovered so far."

Scully straightened in her chair, automatically going into 'report mode'. "Dr. Hana is the pulmonary specialist on duty and he said he'd never seen anything like it. Mulder's lung capacity has been reduced to half. Something is destroying his tissue, but we don't know yet if it's a chemical agent or a microbe. He may even have been exposed to an environmental toxin, such as carbon tetrachloride." She paused, taking a deep breath before she continued. "Hana said that it is more reminiscent of the late stages of tuberculosis, but the onset of symptoms was too fast. He's going to run a test anyway."

Skinner's brow scrunched up. "I thought tuberculosis didn't exist anymore."

"It's mainly prevalent in lesser developed countries, like in South America and parts of Asia. But it is also common in the slums of urban centers in our own country."

"How would Mulder have contracted it?"

"I don't know, he hasn't been exposed to any conditions in which it might prevail, but I can't be sure. However, I am inclined to believe that this is not TB." She looked at him knowingly. "I'd say it has something to do with a certain group of government officials and their grudge against Mulder."

Skinner grimaced. "The Consortium." It was the title they had given to the shadow government of which Cancerman was an integral part.

She nodded. "Right now he is on a respirator and they're giving him antibiotics, bronchodilators, and steroids in hopes that they will have some effect. More tests are being run as we speak."

"How soon can we see him?"

"I don't know, I'm still waiting for word from Dr. Hana." The tone of her voice implied that she would not wait much longer. Luckily, it was at that moment that the aforementioned doctor appeared from a room and headed toward them.

Scully was out of her seat in a flash, meeting Hana halfway. "Well?" she asked breathlessly.

"Agent Scully, perhaps you would like to sit down?" Hana gestured at the chair she had so recently vacated.

Scully swallowed the lump in her throat. Whenever a doctor told you to have a seat it was because they didn't want to have you collapse when they told you the bad news. Her mouth was dry and she couldn't seem to get her voice to work. Thankfully Skinner's was functioning perfectly.

"Just tell us." It was the tone he used to order his agents and it worked on the physician just as effectively.

Hana stood up tall, straightening his shoulders in an unconscious effort to appear confident. "Agent Mulder has suffered what we can only hesitantly categorize as an acute idiopathic pulmonary degeneration. We intubated right away on the basis of respiratory distress and gave him Sodium Bicarbonate intravenously. We did an arterial blood gas and found that his carbon dioxide is high, causing him to be acidotic." He realized that Skinner was staring at him with a confused expression. "Acidotic means that he wasn't getting any oxygen and couldn't get rid of his CO2. This causes his blood pressure to drop because his blood is too acidic."

When Skinner inclined his head in understanding, Hana went on. "An unknown toxin was found in his system and, while we are giving him antibiotics and steroids to fight it off, we are rather discouraged by the lack of response from the substance. We are testing all medications normally used to treat pulmonary patients such as Albuterol and Atrovent and a few others that show promise. Though his condition isn't primarily bronchospasm, he might as well have these drugs because the, if you'll pardon the term, *crud* in his lungs can act as an irritant. We administered Nitroglycerin and Primacor to decrease the pressure in his pulmonary arteries. A bronchoscopy showed multiple lesions, and we were able to obtain a biopsy. There was a copious amount of bloody, foamy drainage and we suctioned as much of the exudate as could. We took him up for a CT Scan, he should be finished fairly soon."

Scully was nodding as he spoke. She already knew all this and was getting angry with Hana for not getting to the point. She cleared her throat and gave him an icy glare.

The doctor swallowed and licked his lips, getting the message. "If there continues to be no change in the state of this toxin, then Agent Mulder's lung tissue will corrode until the respirator is no longer useful. If we *are* able to the stop the toxin, it has to be soon. At the rate that his tissue is being destroyed, it is a matter of days before he will never be well enough to live without the vent. If that is the case, then it is up to Agent Mulder to decide whether or not he wants the vent removed."

Scully gasped, bringing her hand up to her mouth, her head shaking back and forth. Skinner stared at her in concern. "Scully, what is it?"

She spoke so quietly that Skinner had to strain to hear her. "He'll want the respirator out, he won't want to live in that condition."

"It might not come to that," he offered in reassurance. God, he hoped that was true. He knew Mulder would rather die now than waste away hooked up to machines. A sudden image of Scully in a hospital bed, pale and thin, sprang up in his mind. Shaking his head to dispel the image, he turned his attention back to the doctor. "I don't understand. I thought people could lose an entire lung and still live out their lives?"

"True. People *can* lose a lot of lung tissue, but only if it happens gradually. This was so sudden, so immediate, that it is a major trauma to Agent Mulder's system, and his body is unable to compensate."

Skinner nodded at this logical explanation. "When can we see him?"

Hana motioned to Scully. "Since you are listed as his next of kin, you will be allowed to visit. Mr. Skinner, however, must remain outside of the..." He trailed off at the look the Assistant Director of the FBI was giving him. He sighed dramatically. "All right, you can go too, but you can only stay for ten minutes. Occasional visits every three hours is permissible but if you give me any reason to regret my decision I will personally have you removed from the hospital premises. Badge or no badge."

"Yes, Sir," Skinner deadpanned.

Dr. Hana snorted. "This way please."

6:32 p.m.

"The Arctic fox's habitat is one of the most inhospitable on earth. During the long winters, it lives in almost constant darkness; in summer the sun shines twenty-four hours a day, occasionally warming the air to just above freezing."

The sound of crinkling paper joined the blips and hisses of the room. Scully sighed and rubbed her burning eyes. She had been reading aloud for the past two hours, having begun after they had finally managed to get Mulder's temperature to drop. His fever had spiked at one hundred and four. The shivers that shook him kept the temp high, making his need for oxygen even greater and they'd had to resort to a cooling blanket to cool him down.

"The Arctic fox lives in a den or burrow dug into the side of a hill, cliff, or riverbank. In winter-" Her voice halted and she looked up from the magazine to stare at the monitors. Several of them were starting to change.

He was waking up.

Scully set the magazine on the table and scooted her chair closer to his bed. Her left hand moved to grip his, her other resting on his cheek, just below his twitching eyelids. "Mulder? You with me?"

His eyes slowly opened and searched her out. He tried to say something and that was when he realized there was a tube shoved down his throat. His eyes darted back and forth, his arms pulling against the restraints that kept him from carrying out his intentions. The feeling of being strapped to the bed was overwhelming, the choking of the respirator only added to his fear.

"Mulder, Mulder, it's all right. The tube is just to help you breathe, remember? The straps are there to keep you from pulling it out when you wake up. C'mon partner, I need you to calm down okay? Let it breathe for you. That's it." While she was speaking she ran her fingers lightly across his forehead in a soothing manner.

As soon as he stopped fighting the respirator she removed the restraints and pushed the nurse's call button. A middle-aged woman with her brown hair twisted up into a messy bun arrived almost immediately. Scully recognized her from her previous stay in this hospital during her battle with cancer. "Mandy, hi. Would you tell Doctor Hana that Agent Mulder has woken up?"

"Dana, I'm glad to see you're looking so well. I'll call the doctor right away." Mandy scurried out of the room to perform her task.

She turned her attention back to her partner. "We're going to leave the tube in until Dr. Hana says so. Until then, please don't fight it or they'll restrain you again." She could tell by the look in his eyes that he would do his best, though he wasn't happy with it.

Just then the doctor stepped in and came over to the bed. "Well, Agent Mulder, it's nice to meet the man who has so puzzled our labs. I'm Doctor Emile Hana, as I'm sure Agent Scully has told you. We're doing everything we can to treat your condition, though, since it has yet to be diagnosed, we are at a loss on what exactly the best treatment is. At least we have been able to control the fever, which is now down to a steady 99.2 degrees.

"We are going to continue with the antibiotics and steroids. We have seen some signs of improvement and hope that if we give them enough time, they'll have an effect."

Scully bit her lip and looked at Mulder. *Time* was something they couldn't afford.