See part one for headers.
See http://www.wonderhorse.net/authorspgs/fran58/stories.htm
for previous parts.

Achilles' Heel
Part Six
fran58@wonderhorse.net

It wasn't supposed to be like this.  He wasn't supposed to be
sitting alone in this hospital room.  Technically, he wasn't
alone.  Jo lay in the bed, pale and unmoving.  But Mulder felt 
alone.  More alone than he had in years.  The months after Diana 
had left, after the euphoria of discovering the X-Files had worn 
off, he had felt like this.  He'd had a hollow, dark heart in 
those days.  Without Diana to lean on, he floundered.  After a 
respectable period of mourning, he managed to get back on track.

He was floundering again, and he knew it.  He wondered if
he couldn't just stop and start over.  Extricate himself from
the whole New Light business.  His gaze turned back to the 
figure in the bed.  

No, he couldn't extricate himself completely. 

Mulder ran a hand through his hair.  It fell almost to his
shoulders in the back.  He should do something about that. 
Blowing out a long breath, he rubbed his palms on his
thighs, pretending not to notice how they shook slightly.  The
room seemed suddenly too warm.  Sweat pooled beneath
his arms and on his back, making his t-shirt sticky.  He
probably needed to eat.  It had been more than a day since
he'd had anything at all.  The thought of food made his
stomach pitch, however.  Maybe just something to drink.

Mulder stood slowly on shaky legs.  His blood sugar was low 
and a can of juice would do the trick.  Soda, if there was 
nothing else.  The room spun as he turned to leave.  He closed 
his eyes and blinked rapidly.  Cautiously, he moved toward the 
door.  Good, fine.  If he moved slowly, he would be fine.  He 
just needed to
reach the hall.

The hall outside Jo's room was no better.  The lights and 
sounds disoriented him and caused his head to swirl.  A few 
feet from the room, he stopped, struggling to maintain his 
bearing.  A bank of outdated orange chairs stood along the 
hallway to his right.  He made for them.  He would just sit 
down for a minute.

As he stumbled toward the chairs, a familiar face lurched
into view.  Scully.  What was she still doing here?  Surely it
had been hours.  Her brow was furrowed and she was
frowning.  What had he done now?

"Mulder?  What's wrong?"

"...just need to sit down."

"What's wrong, Mulder?  Are you sick?"  She put her hand
up to his forehead.  Her fingers were cool and soothing.  The 
floor suddenly titled out from under him and he felt himself 
sliding down the wall.

Scully was yelling.  The sound hurt his head.  Something
about an emergency.  That was all he remembered.

~~~~~~~~~~

If the world had been bleak before, it was now absolutely
dismal.  Mulder kept his eyes closed, not wanting to brave
the bright whiteness that would greet him.  He knew by
smell, sound and the feel of the mattress that he was in a 
hospital bed.  The last thing he remembered was stumbling 
away from Jo's room.

Mulder's mouth was dry and his tongue felt sticky.  He
wished he had the wherewithal to open his eyes to see if
anyone had left a glass of water for him.

Voices murmured nearby.  Outside his door, perhaps.  He
could just make out the ring of a telephone.  He must be
near the nurses' station.  The voices sounded good to him. 
There was something familiar about the cadence.  Or one of 
them, anyhow.  Mulder lay still, content to let the voices 
wash over him.

~~~~~~~~~~

"...and I'd like to see the notes from the doctor who is
attending him," she finished firmly.

"Are you a family member, Ms. Scully?"

"No."

The nurse shook her head.  "I know that you came in with
him, but Mr. Mulder really shouldn't have any visitors at this
time.  Maybe tomorrow -- "

"I think if you'll check your records, you'll find that I'm listed
as Mr. Mulder's physician."

"Okay..."  Adjusting her glasses, the nurse took a seat in
front of a computer monitor and pulled the keyboard into
place.  Bending forward slightly and pulling a lever on the
side of the chair, she lowered the seat with a thump.  

"Everyone is a giant here, except for me," she said glancing
at Scully.  "And you."  Scully watched as the woman's
fingers tapped across the keyboard.  "All right, then.  Fox
Mulder.  Physician is down as Dana Scully.  That's you,
huh?"

"Yes, that's me."

"I thought you said you were with the F.B.I.?"  The woman
looked up again.

"I am."

"You're an F.B.I. doctor?"

Scully forced a smiled.  "Not exactly.  I'm an agent, and I'm
also a pathologist."  The woman looked up in surprise.  "It
sounds stranger than it is."

"And Mr. Mulder has a pathologist down as his doctor
because..."

"We were partnered for several years.  Mr. Mulder isn't with
the Bureau any longer."  Scully kept her voice even.  She
didn't blame the nurse for being cautious, but she was
becoming impatient.

"Okay, *Doctor*.  Room 32."  The nurse pointed over
Scully's left shoulder.  "So close, if you weren't paying
attention, you'd fall right in.  As for information on his
condition... Well, that I can tell you."

Scully looked at her expectantly.  "Yes?"

"Your friend had a seizure, probably due to the high
concentrations of a barbiturate in his system."

"Pentobarbital," said Scully.

Surprised, the nurse said, "You know about his problem?"

Scully took a breath and said carefully.  "I know that he has
tested positive for that substance, yes."

"Then you know that a too quick withdrawal from
barbiturates can cause convulsions?"

"Yes."

The other woman continued.  "We figure it was either that, or
his body just gave out.  With those amounts we found in his
system...  well, the human body just isn't designed to take
that kind of abuse for too long."

"No, it isn't."

"He seems to be doing all right so far.  I expect that the docs
will want to keep him for a bit, and then recommend some
kind of treatment program.  It's going to get worse, before it
gets better."  The nurse flicked her eyes over Scully's
shoulder and then back to her face.  "The withdrawal
symptoms, I mean.  It's going to be rough for him."

"He may try to check himself out."

"They usually do.  We'll try to keep him here, though."

"Please do."  Scully said, her voice husky.  She turned to
make her way to Mulder's room.
                         
"Excuse me, uh, Doctor?"  

Scully turned back to the nurse.  "Yes?"

"He is going to need a friend right now.  How close are you
to him?"  She flushed a bit.  "I mean, are you a friend of
his?"

Scully glanced back at Mulder's room, unsure of how to
answer.

~~~~~~~~~~

Scully paused just inside the door of Mulder's room.  His hair and
the stubble of his beard were stark against his skin.  His arm
twitched periodically, but other than that, he appeared to be
sleeping.  She was loath to wake him.  His body had gone
through enormous trauma and needed to rest.  Perhaps the
nurse was right.  Tomorrow would be a better day.  Just as
she made up her mind to leave, Mulder stirred, opening his
eyes slowly.

Scully didn't move, letting him orient himself first.  Mulder 
rotated his head to the side and slowly propped himself up on 
one arm.

"Scully?"

"Yeah.  I'm here, Mulder," she said softly.

"Is there any water around?  I'm parched."

She moved over to the side of his bed.  There was a small
pitcher on the tray attached to his bed.  She poured Mulder
a half glass of water and handed it to him.

"No bendy straw?"  His voice was rough and he looked at her
earnestly.  "That's the best part, you know."

"Yes, I know, Mulder."  She was already unwrapping the
requested object.

"Thanks."
                                        
"Don't mention it."  Scully settled herself into the chair
nearest the bed.  "Do you remember what happened?"

"Not well.  I blacked out again, I guess."

"Like when you were in your apartment?"

"Yeah.  That's why we were in the car in the first place.  
I had some kind of seizure and Jo found me."

"So she put you in her car to drive you here?"

Mulder nodded.  "That's the way I figure it."

"Mulder," Scully hesitated, then began again.  "Mulder, you
know, she had been drinking.  Enough to impair her
judgment."

"Yeah."

"But you let her put you in a car?  Why wouldn't she just pick
up the phone?  And why didn't *you* suggest she call an
ambulance if you knew she'd been drinking?"  Scully's voice
was tight with restrained pique.

"You said it yourself, Scully.  Her judgement was impaired. 
And I was in no position to suggest anything."  Mulder put
his glass down too quickly.

"Mulder, I'm sorry, but I'm concerned."

"Yeah."  He laid back down unsteadily and sank into his
pillow.

Scully tried a different tack.  "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit.  My mouth is dry.  My hands are shaking, and I
have a wicked headache.  All in all, pretty much how I've felt
for the last few weeks, only worse."

"I think there are some things you should know," Scully said
quietly.  "About Jo, and a possible explanation as to why
you've not been yourself lately."  

Silence.  "Mulder?"  Scully rose from her chair and peered
over the side of the bed.  A small smile played briefly over
her features.  Asleep again.  Well, it was best, she thought.  
He was probably exhausted.  His skin was still too pale, and 
he was too thin, but she hoped that once the drugs worked their 
way out of Mulder's system, he would regain his former health.

She reached out and gently straightened the blanket that he
had pulled over his torso.  Tentatively, she rested her palm
on his chest and closed her eyes for a moment.  She let the
feel of his warmth and the beat of his heart fill her mind.  No
worries, no concerns.  Only this lifeline that kept her here, at
his side.

~~~~~~~~~~

He awoke again to the sound of wheels on linoleum.  Almost
immediately, he wished he hadn't.  He struggled into a sitting
position.  He needed water.

A glass sat half-filled on the tray near his bed.  Mulder
reached for it with one trembling hand.  He gritted his teeth
in an attempt to concentrate.  His head throbbed.

"Here, Mulder, let me get that."  Scully came into the room
and deftly picked up the glass.  "Lie back, okay?"

Mulder did as he was told.  He hadn't the stamina to do
anything but.  He sipped greedily at the straw Scully held for
him.

"God, I feel like shit," he mumbled.

"You don't look much better," Scully answered with a hint of
a sad smile.  "It will be a few days before you feel better.  It's
going to get worse, first."

"What is?"

Scully's mouth turned down.  "Hasn't anyone been in to talk
with you?"

"Talk to me about what?"  God, his stomach felt bad.  He
was glad no one had offered him breakfast yet.

"I'd better let the physician attending you explain it," Scully
hedged.

"Explain what?  Scully, come on.  Tell me what's going on." 
A sudden jolt of pain lashed up his leg into his abdomen. 
Mulder doubled over and squeezed his eyes shut tight. 
"What the hell was that?"

"I'm going to get your doctor, Mulder, just hang on." Scully
rose and set the water back on the tray.

Mulder's hand shot out.  "No, don't leave.  I need to know
what's happening."  Another spasm of pain rocked his body. 
He gripped Scully's arm more tightly.  "Tell me!"

"Mulder, let go.  You're cutting off my circulation."  There was
a note of alarm in Scully's voice.

With effort, Mulder released her arm.  "Please tell me,
Scully.  I want to hear it now.  From you."

"You're going through withdrawal, Mulder.  You have both 
dextroamphetamine and pentobarbital in your system.  The
first is an amphetamine, the second a barbiturate.  There is
more of the latter.  Just trace amounts, at this point, of the
first."

"Bull shit.  I'm not on drugs."

"No, not bull shit.  I've seen the test results myself."  She
hesitated.  "I think it started several months ago, at the
office.  The Bureau's lab found dextroamphetamine in the
sugar that you used in your coffee."

"It can't be," Mulder said.  He had gripped the side of the
bed in lieu of Scully's arm.  Scully gently pried his fingers off
the rail.  Once his hand was free, she placed a pillow in it.

"I feel like hell."

"I know, Mulder.  Just hang on.  Squeeze the pillow."
                                   
~~~~~~~~~~

The air outside was crisp and sharp, the moon full and
heavy.  Scully breathed in the night air.  It felt cold and fresh.  
Nearby street lamps cast pools of illumination on the sidewalk 
and splashed light into the now quiet street.  The hospital 
was only a block away, appearing bright and aggressive from 
where she stood, in relative darkness, sheltered by the shadows.  
She was reluctant to return so soon to its hard edges and 
antiseptic corridors.  She lingered a moment longer, then 
resolutely made her way toward the big building.

The sliding door whooshed open, sending a wave of warm
air out into the night.  Scully shivered involuntarily, suddenly
aware of how cold it had gotten.

Coffee.  Coffee would be good for her tired bones.  Between
her duties at the bureau during the day, and her tenure with
Mulder in the evenings the last few days, she'd has little sleep.

Scully made her way across to the cafeteria.  A line of
glowing vending machines stood on the far wall.  Scully
wound her way through an obstacle course of tables and
plastic chairs.  There were few people in the room at this
hour.  She fed the vending machine its requisite amount and
punched the selection for coffee.  It was an old machine,
with large, square, orange buttons.  She scanned the
choices, thinking she should bring something to Mulder. 
Tea, perhaps.  She dropped a few more coins into the slot.

Mulder was awake when she reached his room, staring at
the ceiling, covers thrown back.  His left hand twitched
against the starched bottom sheet.  Scully stood silently for
a beat, then walked into the room.

"Hey."

Mulder turned his head in her direction.  "Hey, yourself."

"I brought you some tea."

"Stomach's not so good," Mulder said, sliding his right had
over his mid-section.

"It's herbal, no caffeine," said Scully.  "Maybe you'll want it
later."

"Yeah, maybe."  Mulder's voice was thin and tired.  "They've
got me on something."  He nodded to the new drip bag that
hung next to the bed.

Scully set the coffee and tea on Mulder's bedside table and
turned the drip bag to read the label.  "Mmm, it's for your
stomach.  Is it helping?"

Mulder, staring at the ceiling again, gave a half shrug.

"It'll pass, Mulder.  Give it time."

"You keep saying that."  He turned restlessly in the bed. 
"Why are you still here, anyway?  Don't you have to be
somewhere?"

"Mulder, it's Saturday."

"Then aren't you missing an appointment with Skinner or
Ritter?"  The words stung.

Scully pressed her lips together.  "No, I'm not."  She sat
down in the chair near Mulder's bed.  "Do you want me to
leave?"

Mulder shrugged again.  "I don't know.  I don't know what I
want.  All the color's gone out of everything."  He sounded
deflated.  "I don't understand how this happened."

Scully spoke carefully.  "Someone was feeding drugs to you. 
It's the only way this would have happened, unless you were
taking them voluntarily."

"No."

"No?  To which part?"

"No to the whole thing.  Just no."  His left hand began to
twitch more violently.

"Then how did the stuff get into your system?"  Scully kept
her voice low.

"How the hell should I know?  Maybe someone was spiking
my water again."  Mulder jerked his sheet and blanket over
himself.

"Not this time.  Ritter checked that for me."  He scowled at her.  
"Mulder, think about it.  They fed you drugs to make you compliant, 
so you wouldn't question too closely information they gave you.  
New Light is just a front.  They want something from you.  Jo was 
sent in to play on your sympathies.  It was deliberate.  If it was 
the water, Jo would be affected, too."

"Maybe she was."

"She wasn't, Mulder.  I've seen her records."

"You what?  You had no right!"

Scully sighed.  "Maybe not, but I looked at them anyway. 
She had a high blood alcohol level, but nothing else."  The
words she had just uttered suddenly struck her.  Nothing
else.  She rose from the chair and went around to the foot of
Mulder's bed.  She had left belongings on the other room
chair.  Pulling the copy of Jo's file off the seat, she paged
through it twice.  A cold little ball settled in her chest.

"What is it?"  Mulder was struggling to sit up in bed. 
"Scully?"

She breathed out a huff of air and ran her tongue over her
lips.  "Mulder..."

"What is it, Scully?  Is there something wrong with Jo?"  His
concern touched her even as it made her stomach roil.

"No.  I don't see anything wrong, Mulder.  It's just that,
according to this," she waved the file.  "According to this, Jo
isn't pregnant."

Mulder scowled.  "That it can't be right.  Someone slipped
up."

Scully bit back her retort.  Instead, she said, "I'll get
someone to double check it, okay?"  She pushed him gently
back down onto the bed.  "You should rest.  Let me take
care of it."

Mulder lay back down reluctantly, but without complaint.  He
was pale, his flesh appearing sticky and unhealthy.

"Just rest," she murmured again, absently stroking his
forehead.  

Mulder closed his eyes.  "I'll try.  Promise me you'll check."

"I promise, Mulder."

He nodded, pulled the sheet up to his neck and rolled into a
ball.

Scully hesitated in the silence followed.  Slowly, she got up 
and walked to the window.  "What is it about her, Mulder?"

"About who?"

"Jo," she said.  She gazed out the heavy glass and watched
the lights burn in the night.

"I don't understand," he said.

Of course you don't, she thought.  Out loud she said, "You
seem to... draw in these... lost girls, Mulder.  Only, some of
them really aren't so lost.  Like Jo.  It's as if she saw you
coming a mile away, and knew just how to play you."

"It isn't like that, Scully."

"Are you sure?"  She turned from the window and walked to 
his bedside.

Mulder looked up at her, jaw jutting, lips pressed together.  
He didn't answer.

~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder squinted into the light

Marsh leaned toward the hospital bed.  "Jo's just anxious.  
That's all.  She's worried about you.  You know how she gets."

"If she's worried about me, why not just come by my room? 
We *were* in the same hospital."

"Yeah, except she said that they wouldn't let her."

"Who wouldn't let her?"

Marsh shrugged.  "The hospital?  Who else?  You?"

"Not me," Mulder shook his head.  "She could have come
anytime."

"Your partner then.  Maybe it was her."

"Scully?  How would she do that?  More to the point, *why*
would she do that?"

Marsh shrugged.  "She never cared for Jo -- for us -- much,
you know.  You said she was your doctor.  She could do
that, right?  Being your doc and all."

Mulder began to shake his head and thought the better of it. 
It was more movement than he could take.  "Even so, she
wouldn't have... tried to keep you or Jo from visiting."

"You're sure about that?  She strikes me as someone who
will go to lengths to do what she thinks should be done."

Mulder grunted.  "How would you know?"

"We went a round or two a while back.  It was just the
impression I got."  Marsh grinned.  "She's something else.  
I wasn't sure if I wanted to smack her silly or declare 
my undying devotion."

Mulder said nothing.  That Marsh and Scully had ever met
privately was news.  It sat uneasily with him. 

Marsh was bending over fiddling with Mulder's IV line and 
frowning.  "It looks like this is blocked up.  I'll get 
someone to take a look at it."

Mulder watched Marsh walk into the hall, thinking about 
what Scully had told him.  Was Marsh trustworthy?  Was Jo?  
Mulder yawned and stretched, trying to clear his head.  
He was getting sleepy again.  He wanted to stay awake, but 
found his eyes closing.

~~~~~~~~~~

There was no mistake.  

"I've had them re-check the results.  Same as before."  The
woman she had talked to earlier was again at the nurses'
station.  She had a colorful mosaic sweater of purples, greens
and browns thrown over her shoulders.

Scully nodded.  "Thanks.  I appreciate your thoroughness." 
The other woman nodded back and returned to shifting
a stack of files from one cart to another.

Scully walked slowly to Mulder's room.  Still sleeping, she
noted, relieved.  He wanted the news as soon as she had it,
she knew, but he needed his rest, she told herself, and he
would not be happy with what she had to say to him.

She walked down the hall, casting sidelong glances into
other patient's rooms.  She had been so focused on Mulder,
she had paid little attention to anything else happening on
the floor.  There was a small waiting room at the end of the
hall.  She paused briefly at the door.  Cushioned chairs lined
the walls and a mute television glowed in one corner.  Two
children were sprawled on the carpet, one reading by the
light of a table lamp, the other had formed a ring of toy cars
around a hapless plastic lion.

Scully moved on, gnawing absently at the inside of her
cheek.  She had received a letter the day before from
Mulder's attorney, informing her that she no longer had
Mulder's Power of Attorney.  Normally, this wouldn't have
alarmed her greatly.  Given the current situation, it did.

She could only think that the fact Jo had lied to Mulder about
her pregnancy was another strike against her.  Unless the
girl had honestly been mistaken, it didn't look good.  With
Mulder's Power of Attorney -- for Scully was sure Jo now
had that -- New Light would have access to Mulder's
finances.  As a scam, it wasn't bad.  Get what you could,
and get out.  That's what she would have done.

Scully found herself in front of the vending machines on one of
the lower hospital levels.  The sour cream and onion potato
chips looked tempting.  She shook herself.  No more junk
food.  She had given in too many times late at night like this. 
She rolled her neck and stretched her arms out to the side. 
She was stiff from too much inactivity.  She needed to get
back into her old exercise routine soon.

With that in mind, Scully took the stairs back up to Mulder's
floor.  She had been gone longer than she meant.  Visiting
hours would soon be over.  She strode past the waiting room
she had passed earlier.  It was empty.  Surprisingly, so was
Mulder's room.  Scully stood, blinking, for a moment, then
moved decisively to the closet.  Nothing.  Nothing in the bed
side table's drawers either.  Mulder hadn't come with much. 
It wouldn't have taken him long to dress and gather his
possessions.

There was a new nurse on nurses' station.  Scully had been
hoping the previous woman was still on duty.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am.  I don't know when he left.  There's been
no activity since I came on a half hour ago."  The nurse was
young and apologetic.  "Maybe he checked out?"

Scully blew out an impatient breath.  "Thanks.  I'll check." 
No point in mining for information when the source was
obviously empty.

~~~~~~~~~~

Exasperated, Scully slammed the car door and rammed her
key into the ignition.  God damn Mulder, anyway!  Where
was he?  The hospital had no record of his leaving.  His apartment 
was deserted, save for the congealed mess that made itself home 
there.  She had checked with the Gunmen, who expressed concern, 
but denied knowing anything.  She had even gone as far as to track 
down the whereabouts of Wilfred Fong's residence.  It,
too, appeared empty.  The landlord had let her into the
apartment on the strength of her badge.  It appeared that
Marshall DeYoung had been staying there, too.  There was
no sign of either.

Gone.  Mulder was simply gone. 

A long interlude passed while Scully sat in her car outside
Mulder's apartment, listening to the rain.  It often soothed her,
the sharp tapping as drops of water collided with the metal of
the car roof.  Not so tonight.  She had hoped, in vain, that
Mulder or Jo might return to  Hegal Place.  She stared
gloomily at the dark window of Mulder's apartment.  She had
searched it thoroughly for any sign of what might have
happened or where Mulder might have gone.  Or been taken. 
Ritter was running down some information for her, but she
hadn't heard from him yet.  At work, Skinner carefully avoided
them, pretending he didn't know that she and Peyton were
using Bureau resources.

She wondered if Mulder had left willingly.  Perhaps Jo had
persuaded him to leave the hospital.  Perhaps he had
left of his own accord, tired of Scully's interference.  Fed up
with her protectiveness.  The thought defeated her.  Long withheld 
tears stung her eyes.  She blinked rapidly, hoping to dispel them, 
but something had split inside her skull.  She cried, gripping the 
steering wheel with cold fingers and tried to swallow her sorrow.

End Six