Disaster Flight By Humbuggie (c) 2001-05-07 Story: Mulder and Scully are on their way back to Washington. But this cannot turn out to be a normal flight. Can it? Spoilers: The story takes place before season eight, basically ignoring that entire season. There are no particular spoilers. Type: Lots and lots of MTA, Angst and MSR at the end. Or what did you expect? :) Rated R Disclaimer: Do I need to remind you these characters aren't mine? Unfortunately they belong to CC and 1013, but hey, I don't care. Background: I came up with this story on the way to the Chicago-fanfic writers gathering. It started out as a "simple flight" but ended with ... well, you'll see. Anyways, I'm dedicating this story to all the gals and guy that I met over there. Oh yeah, and a special note to Sally Bahnsen: It's your fault Mulder's suffering this much! :) Can anybody fly this thing? Before my head explodes, Or my head starts to ring. We've been living life inside a bubble. (Coldplay) Disaster Flight 1 The British Minister of Foreign Affairs just loved Japanese restaurants. They were his favorite. He was known for taking his foreign and national guests over there, to offer them the best Sushi one could get. But this time he didn't feel so pleased when the American FBI-agent came to see him, basically invading his privacy during a meeting. "You must be joking," Farrell muttered under his breath when the agent walked in. For days he had been able to ignore the man's presence in the city of London. He knew of course why he was there and he basically wanted to avoid the reasons behind his visit. Those were the orders he specifically got when the FBI arrived in London. "Will you please excuse me for a moment?" Farrell said to his party, moving his feet from underneath the low wooden table. "This won't take too long." Before he however could retreat from the table, the agent already got rid of his shoes and invited himself to take place at the square table. There was a spot across Farrell and he acted as if he had a right to be there. The three other guests seemed annoyed, but not as much as Farrell who wondered why his security guard hadn't stopped the agent from coming in. "I heard they've got some great Sushi blowfish here," Mulder said, picking up one of the pieces of raw fish on the small wooden platter before him with his fingers. He put it in his mouth and chewed on it with a smile on his face. Farrell just watched in strange awe as the agent did so, wondering why this agent had the nerve to come here and disturb his meal. Farrell disliked the agent's grin but knew that he had done this to himself. Had he given the agent the chance to come to his office to explain his tale, would this have happened? The other guests quickly started making way, muttering excuses to Farrell, who was trying to save face. He apologized and tried to keep them there, but they left. Then it was just the agent and he. "Why are you doing this?" Farrell asked. "Are you willing to put your job on the line, Agent Mulder?" "You left me no choice, sir," Mulder said, taking a second bite out of a second piece of Sushi. He hadn't eaten all day. This time he ate something indefinable but nonetheless good. It tasted strange in his mouth though. "I've been trying to get a hold of you for two days," Mulder said, wiping his fingers on a napkin. "You basically told me off when I tried to make an appointment. You've neglected all my messages and refused to cooperate. So I just made some inquiries and thought that we might discuss this case over Sushi and sake." "You have a lot of nerve, Agent Mulder," Farrell said as he tried to keep his posture. Of course he had known the agent would not give up. He had a reputation for stirring trouble. He always got what he wanted. At least, that's what his inquiries told him. "You have too, sir." Farrell lifted an eyebrow. "Explain." "You know that there was a UFO in this country and that there have been ten abductees. I left the file at your clerk's desk. I asked you to read it. You have medical reports. You have eyewitnesses explaining what they saw. You know that this is not the first time this happened. Yet you ignored my file and chose to bury your head in the sand. I'm sorry sir, but you sound a lot like my own government and I'm quite fed up with this. I was asked by a member of Scotland Yard to investigate this and that's exactly what I have done. These were my discoveries and conclusions. I had no choice but to force you to listen and talk to me." "So you decided to stalk me and interrupt my lunch? Do you have any idea who you dismissed just now? Do you know what consequences this could have to your career?" "I don't know and I don't care sir. I've been threatened before and I'm still at the FBI, aren't I? I have to be on a flight within a couple of hours and this was my last option. But the choice is still yours sir. You choose to listen or not. But I will walk away knowing that I did everything I could to explain this to you. And I guarantee you that I will discuss this further with the Prime Minister if I have to." Farrell turned red. "Don't threaten me, Agent Mulder. I know about your reputation. I talked to one of your superiors. I know that you're a UFO-chaser being paid by the FBI to pursue this ludicrous hobby of yours. You came here to convince us that there are UFO's hovering over England. You want me to believe that this is the truth while at the same time you think that you know best. I'm sorry but I'm not allowing you to tell me what to do. This is my country and you don't belong here." "If it's your ego talking, I would say that you shouldn't have to worry, sir." Mulder's voice sounded calm and controlled. "I'm just here to ask you to do help these people and to be aware of what is going on. I don't care about appearances and political or public face. But I do care enough not to want to cover this up." "Next thing you're going to tell me that I should inform the people of my country that aliens have taken and tested some of ours? That sounds almost as ridiculous as most crop circle-theories." Mulder smiled. "Actually sir, this has been happening for quite some time. But it's the first time there has been a mass abduction in your country; at least that I know of. These people are not faking it. Their reports are similar. There have been signs of physical and psychological torture. They didn't know each other. This was not a setup from their side. What will it take you to realize that?" "So what do you want me to do then?" Farrell asked, finishing his sake. "I want you to be aware and help them. Guide them and support them in their traumas. Talk about it. Don't bury the truth. And I want you to take contact with the US Government and discuss this with them. You have to work together. That's why I came to you. You have the connections to spread the awareness. If you talk about it, then my government will too." "I'm sorry. I can't promise this. It sounds too crazy." Mulder took the last piece of Sushi in his mouth and chewed on it. "I guess there's nothing more I can do then," he said as he moved away reluctantly, shifting his feet from underneath the table. "Thanks for the Sushi." "Is that it then?" Farrell asked. "Are you going to leave me alone now?" "Yes, sir. But I'm promising you this. One day it's going to be out in the open. They are here and they won't back away." "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Farrell said impatiently. Mulder shifted his feet away and stood on his socks in the middle of the room. He turned to grab his shoes, only to slip on the slick floor. Going off balance the agent hit his right foot against the brick wall. A sharp pain struck him as he banged up his toes. "Damn it," he muttered as he sunk through his knees and grabbed his foot, rubbing the two smallest toes through his socks. Sharp pain struck him as he was hardly able to stand up straight. "You okay?" Farrell asked impatiently. "Yeah." Mulder shook his foot as if he could shake away the pain. There was a strange, numbing sensation to his two smallest toes. "I'm okay." "Good." Farrell put on his coat and walked over the register where he paid for his meal. "Goodbye, Agent Mulder." The man left the restaurant without saying another word, looking angrily at his so-called security guard who had screwed up. In the morning he would replace him with someone else. Farrell got in the car and rubbed his stomach. There was a nagging sensation down there. And why the hell was it so hot in this car? "Turn up the Airco," he ordered and leaned against the leather. Within a few minutes he was feeling even worse. His stomach seemed to be exploding. Damn, he thought. He shouldn't have eaten so much fish. Mulder stayed behind with a hurt foot and the knowledge that there was no way he could convince anyone of the truth. He felt depressed. When he walked outside, he felt a strange sensation in his stomach, as if something hurting from the inside. He shook his head and ignored the feeling. Then he felt the warm sun burn on his face and realized he was ready to go home. Scully was waiting for him at the airport. 2 "Where did you go Mulder?" Scully asked, startling him at the check-in counter. He hadn't heard her approach him. He turned and smiled. "I just had a little chat with Farrell." "You didn't." "Oh yeah." He grinned. "It didn't really have impact though. I guess they can be as stubborn here as they are back home." Great, Scully thought, remembering how difficult it had been to calm Mulder down when he started to realize slowly the British Government was not about to accept the theory of alien abduction. The last few days he had been arguing constantly with her about it, and then, earlier in the morning, he had left her a note at the hotel saying he was going to meet her at the airport. Of course she had suspected him to pull a stunt like this, but she never thought he would actually go through with it. Farrell had enough power to get both of them fired if he wanted to. He was a politician with worldwide influence; one that could be considered a dangerous opponent. "Don't worry Scully," Mulder smiled, "I don't think Farrell is going to take the effort to complain. Who knows, I might even have gotten through to him." "Why is it, Mulder, that you always manage to piss people off?" his partner sighed. "By the way, are you okay?" "What?" Mulder turned around and blinked as if he hardly noticed her. "Are you alright?" she repeated. "You were limping. And you look like you're warm." "Yeah, I am," he waved away her gestures. "Just banged my foot. Shouldn't have been so careless." Scully frowned but he ignored her and placed his ID and ticket on the counter. Scully did the same. "I'm sorry, Agents," the person running the counter, said, "we're overbooked. It seems that we might have some trouble arranging seats for you. Would you mind taking another flight?" Scully shared a glance with Mulder. They both shook their heads at the same time. It had been a very long week and both of them longed to be at home. "No, we want to be on this flight," Scully said, leaning a bit forward. "We have another case in the morning and it's imperative that we're back in Washington." "Of course," the woman nodded. "Let me see what I can do for you." She picked up the phone. Mulder listened to her as she spoke briefly with someone else about the seats. Then she hung up and looked at them. "I can offer you the T-seats, if you are interested." "T-seats?" Scully asked. "Yes, ma'am." The woman turned her computer screen so that they could see a map of the aircraft. "They are the seats usually preserved for women and infants, but there are currently no reservations for them. You should be comfortable and have a lot of leg space." "Sounds good," Mulder said, almost grateful for small coincidences. At least then he would be able to rest his still-aching foot. And perhaps there would even be some room for a nap. "Great," the woman said, and booked and printed their boarding passes. Then she went through the luggage procedure, tagging the two suitcases and putting them on the band that would ship them to the luggage compartment. "There you are. Your flight leaves at gate 20." "Thanks," Scully said, taking the boarding passes in one hand, and her carry-on bag in the other one. Mulder turned and followed as they immediately made their way through security and the gate. Mulder still limped and felt extremely grateful when they finally stood on the moving walkway. At least then he could rest his foot. Mulder knew he probably bruised or broke his toes. At least it felt that way. But the nagging uncomfortable feeling to his stomach and the heat inside the airport upset him more. He wished he could stay at his hotel and sleep off whatever was bugging him. It was too busy at Heathrow. Too many people were rushing through the crowd. The moving walkway was crowded as well. Suddenly a child, forcing itself past him as he stood waiting on the walkway, bumped into him, sending him off his feet. Scully stretched out her hand to stop him from falling but couldn't stop the fall. If Mulder had not been on the walkway, he might have been able to stay on his feet. Instead, he lost his balance and landed on his ass on the walkway; the kid on top of him, hitting his foot against the side in the process. "Hey!" he exclaimed in pain, pushing the boy off him. He got up quickly as the end of the walkway was in sight. Scully's hand moved underneath his elbow as she helped him up. "You okay?" she asked. "Yeah." The agent exclaimed a curse and another one as his right foot ached even more. The boy hadn't bothered apologizing. It felt like they would burst out of his shoes. He got up just before the walkway ended. Then the agent stepped onto steady grounds and simply stood still, limping as his right foot didn't seem to respond anymore. "Let's sit down for a second," Scully said, practically forcing her partner to move with her to the first gate they saw where dozens of chairs were occupied. But there were a few empty seats as well. "Take off your shoe, Mulder," she ordered. Her voice betrayed she wasn't in for an argument. Mulder untied his shoe and pulled it off, hurting his toes in the process. He examined his sock. At least there was no blood. That was something. Scully's hands moved now and she took off the sock, trying not to hurt him. It was clear his toes were swollen. His small toe turned a darkish red. The one next to it seemed to have shades of blue. There was definitely something wrong. "I think they're broken," Scully said. "Can you wiggle them?" "No," the agent said, biting away the pain. "Why didn't you tell me it hurt that much?" she asked. "Didn't you realize this could have happened?" He lifted his shoulders. "There's nothing much you can do about it now, is there? I thought I would be alright until we were in Washington. But it hurts like a bitch, Scully." "I know," she said sympathetically. "You're right though; all you can do is tape them and endure the pain for now. I'll tell you what. Why don't we find a doctor here who can help us and get that foot back in your shoe? I'll make sure you get some painkillers so you'll be comfortable enough. That should do the trick." "Do we have enough time?" She glanced at her watch. "We still have another hour. Why don't you wait here and I'll get someone." "Okay. I'm sorry," he muttered, unable to look her straight in the eyes. He was angry and embarrassed with himself. This was his punishment for literally putting his foot in. She smiled. "Don't worry about it Mulder. You've given me headaches before." He grinned painfully and watched her leave. A young girl sat beside him and stared in awe at the different colors his toes had. "Does it hurt?" she asked. He smiled. "A little bit." "I broke my finger once." The girl showed him her thumb, which seemed a bit crooked. "But it's okay now. My mommy gave me ice cream for the pain. You should ask your wife ice cream too." Mulder smiled, thinking of Scully as his wife. "I will," he promised the girl and leaned back, as he felt very fatigued and out of this world. His foot ached painfully and he wondered if that's why his stomach felt so upset. 3 Scully kept promise and returned with a doctor, a nurse and a wheelchair. Embarrassed the agent allowed them to move him to a small cubicle near the exit where he was helped up on the table. "It looks like a clean break," the doctor said, pointing at the little toe. "The other one seems badly bruised but not broken. I'm going to tape them, and we'll help you back in your shoe and on the plane. But I do want you to see another doctor and get X-Rays taken. Even small toes can cause headaches and a lot of pains. If you want though, you can have your foot checked out here, in London." "No," Mulder said, glancing at Scully. "We need to catch that flight." "Fine," the doctor said, not unfriendly as he started to tape the toes very carefully. Even the slightest of gestures caused the agent to wince though, and he actually felt grateful for the painkiller given to him. Then his foot was carefully put back in the wide shoe. "There you are," the doctor finally said. "Now, why don't you hop on that wheelchair again and we'll get you on that plane." "No thanks," Mulder said, sliding carefully off the table. "I'll walk." "No Mulder," Scully said. "Do what he says. I don't want any more accidents." Mulder cursed under his breath and got reluctantly in the wheelchair, feeling very embarrassed when a Heathrow assistant came to wheel him to the aircraft. Finally they arrived at the correct gate. The assistant wheeled him to the entrance of the plane, where he slid out of the chair and limped to the T-seats reserved for them. Scully was right after him, carrying their bags. "Careful," she said as he slid in the chair near the window. With a sigh of relief he slipped into the seat. Scully put the bags in the overhead compartment and sat next to him, taking in his features. "Everything alright Mulder?" she asked with a hint of concern. "You still look very pale." "I'm a bit dizzy," he admitted, "but I guess it's the medication." "Probably." She smiled reassuringly. "All you have to do now is sit back and relax. We'll be home before you know it." I hope so, Mulder thought, but something told him this was going to be a very long flight. It was just one of those feelings he had. To be continued -- Disaster Flight 2/4 4 A woman and a man arrived. They stood out of all the other passengers. The woman paused at the seats behind Mulder and Scully's, glared at the seat number and then at the man by her side. "You are in row 34," she said to the man who resembled her very much. He was probably her brother or a family member. "No," he said with a stubborn look on his face, "I'm staying with you." Both Scully and Mulder listened to the argument, unable not to hear it. Scully turned around a bit to see the man's face. He seemed very angry at the situation. The woman looked apologetic at the agents, realizing they overheard the argument and then glared back to her brother. "No Mac," she patiently said, "we were lucky to still have these seats. I'll talk to one of the attendants, okay? I'll see if we can sit together." Mac reluctantly moved on and took the seat assigned to him. His eyes glared back and forth to his sister, who took the seat next to another woman and looked apologetic. She moved back into the aircraft and spoke to her brother for a brief moment. Then she came back and smiled apologetic at the agents and the woman next to her. She was attractive, with blonde hair dancing on her shoulders. "I'm sorry," she said, "my brother is very dependent of me." "Perhaps I can switch places," the other female passenger offered. The woman's face lit. She was willing to accept the offer instantly. But then a flight attendant intervened, telling the both of them that there would be arrangements made for the two when everyone was seated. Mulder relaxed, forgetting about the incident almost instantly. He had other things to worry about. Before long, the pilot's voice announced over the intercom they would be taking off in less than fifteen minutes. The flight attendant returned with the good news that there were seats available for the man and woman in row 26, about eight rows behind Mulder and Scully's. The woman got up and lifted her bag out of the compartment above. Mulder got up to offer her a hand and nearly sunk through his knees. The pain his foot was so bad that he could hardly stand up straight. "Sit down Mulder," his partner ordered with a glance at him. "That's an order." She had been reading the airline magazine. "Yes ma'am," he muttered and shifted his leg so that it could relax. He closed his eyes and tried to forget about the pain, but it came up badly now. The painkiller was wearing off. The agent tried to sleep while Scully read her magazine, but he couldn't concentrate. With closed eyes he listened to the noise all around. Behind him there was chatter and laughter. Before him the attendants were preparing for take-off. In Business Class champagne was being offered to the passengers. "Would you like anything to drink sir?" a voice asked him. He opened his eyes and asked for some water. Scully ordered a diet soda and looked at him. He didn't look back but concentrated on what was going on outside. They were fifteen minutes late. As the plane finally started to taxi to the strip, he felt like crap. His toes seemed to burn inside his shoes. The pain was tremendous now. And his stomach felt all upset. In a few hours he would be home though, he thought. Just a few hours and then Scully could give him hell about ignoring such an injury and not taking care of it properly. He knew she was keeping that part for last. Finally the plane was ready for take-off. Mulder glared outside as the machine started to make speed and lifted into the air, taking a relieved breath as he always did when the aircraft was good and well starting to make height. Within a couple of minutes the aircraft would be balancing at 30,000 feet, at least according to the individual screens they could manipulate themselves. There was a small remote control and about ten different channels with entertainment. But the agent didn't feel like watching the video screen. Sleep would be the best thing right now. With cheery voice a female flight attendant announced that there would be a general feature film and lots of entertainment during the flight. The screens ahead would explain how to use the video system. Then she went through the classic emergency procedures, told them they would get a small dinner at first and a snack later on, and that there would be tax-free products offered during the flight. It would be a busy flight. "So," Scully said, sipping her drink. "Are you happy with the way things went in the UK?" He was surprised by her question and looked at her. Even though she was no longer pissed that Phoebe Green had offered this case to him, he knew he had to tread very carefully. His former girlfriend would forever be a sensitive subject. "Yes and no," he responded. "I guess I'm still wondering why it is so difficult for some to accept we are not alone." She blushed. "Maybe because there are other things to look for first." He sighed, and then smiled. "I don't feel like going into the argument of alien abduction with you once again right now, Scully. I'm going to write that report I promised Skinner and he can go on from there." "So you're disappointed?" "At Farrell, yes. He shouldn't be burying his head in the sand." "But you understand why?" "Of course I do. That doesn't mean I have to accept it though. I've had experience in persuading non-believers. You should know that." She laughed out loud. "You still haven't convinced me." "Only because you happen to be passed out every time we see a UFO." She stuck out her tongue. "I only have your word that there are aliens out there, don't I?" "I know." He sighed quasi-upset. "I guess I'll have to take photos next time." She laughed again and concentrated on her magazine again. Mulder wondered how in the world she could so easily wave away everything she had ever seen. She had done it several times before and it still amazed him. He remembered how difficult it had been to persuade her to come. It had taken him everything to persuade her to take the first flight out to the UK. Even Skinner had been easier in giving his permission and sign the note they needed to book the international flight. At first it had seemed like a silly case; there had been UFO-sightings over Southwest England. There had been abduction claims. It had been standard procedure. Everyone at Scotland Yard laughed it away. And no one wanted to investigate. There had been suggestions in the newspapers, yet no one really believed it. Mulder however had carefully gone through the details Phoebe had sent by email and had instantly considered the trip because there was massive evidence about UFO-encounters. The strange lights hovering over Southwest England had reached the news and people had instantly started suggesting that there were aliens involved. Mulder too had read the newspaper reports, at first trying to get the drama out of it, and base his findings on the facts, which was a difficult thing to do when no one had actually made an official report. But when Phoebe had explained that there were ten people admitted to several hospitals with similar symptoms the agent had seen before, Mulder had no longer hesitated and decided to go out there. Scully had radically refused to go at first, using her recent touch of the flu as an excuse to decline. She had been too weak, she said. She was still recovering. But when he came to see her that night to discuss it with her, she had questioned his motives to go. Had they anything to do with Phoebe? Was he rushing into this case because she was the one asking him? He had difficulty that night to stay calm. It had been six years since they had last seen Phoebe. There had been nothing more but the occasional email. There was nothing to be jealous of. Yet Scully reacted with the fury of a jealous wife. He had finally managed to persuade her, still wondering if she only came to keep an eye on him and make sure he didn't get involved with Phoebe again. That morning, before the flight to Heathrow, he too had felt sick, tired and dreaded the flight out. His suspicions that she had passed the flu onto him increased when he ended up throwing up breakfast and lunch on the flight out, spending the entire trip shivering with fever. He too had the flu, or at least a version of it. And Scully was angry because he hadn't said beforehand he wasn't well. Fortunately enough the flu or whatever it had been seemed to subside easily. Phoebe and Scully took him too a doctor who gave him antibiotics. Within a day he was up and about again and the investigation started. An investigation of nearly a week in the UK had proven that there was indeed alien activity and that the victims all might have been abductees. At least, that was Mulder's finding. The stories matched, the versions of what happened added up, and there were a lot of scared people that he spoke to. They were traumatized, telling him about events that happened to them during a nightly abduction. They were no relatives or friends. They had never seen each other and could not have compared the stories. It was the genuine thing. Scully had done a lot of the interviewing and had gone through the medical tests with several doctors. She saw results she had seen before; proof of long-term weightlessness and scars over their bodies. But there was no chip embedded in the back of the neck, and no other implants over the rest of their bodies. And the biggest frustration had been to get the Minister of Foreign Affairs to talk to them about it. They bumped into several walls but Farrell's had been the worst, and he was the one they needed. There was nothing left for them to do about it now. The only way of doing something was by going through Skinner's office, hoping that the Assistant-Director would be able to do something. Mulder didn't hold his breath though. 5 It was a Sunday evening and the flight was fully booked with tourists on their way home. Scully had fallen asleep in her seat, with the headset still on. Her small private screen was playing 'Chocolat' but he knew she didn't listen to the voices anymore. Mulder felt isolated and bored in his seat. He wasn't able to see what happened behind him. Just before him sat the Business Class passengers. Behind him sat Economy. He seemed to be somewhere in between. All he could do was watch the screen and hope that time passed quickly. An attendant offered him another glass of water and he finally and reluctantly fished the small package of painkillers from his jacket pocket. He was freezing cold and had kept it on. He swallowed two tablets and closed his. When he opened them, the world seemed to be swaying. He wondered if painkillers could work quickly. About half an hour later, the attendants came around with plastics cups of champagne. He accepted one against better judgment. In the morning he had hardly eaten any breakfast. There had been four pieces of Sushi in total for lunch, and now, late in the afternoon with the painkillers in his empty stomach, the champagne seemed to be burning a hole through his stomach. He closed his eyes again and tried to sleep. Suddenly a flight attendant asked him what he wanted to eat, waking him up. Scully was awake too by now. The empty champagne-cup was gone. He chose the chicken and clicked the tray down. He shifted his foot, trying not to move it too much. Scully selected the salmon and starting eating, taking off her headset. Eating only half of the 'fantastic' airline-food, Mulder finally managed to catch a nap. He could feel Scully's glare before he dozed off. His nap took only twenty minutes though. Suddenly he opened his eyes with a startle, wondering where he was. His head spun. The champagne had not done him much good, as he felt sick to his stomach. Stupid, he thought. Should have known better. The agent groaned as he made his way out of his seat. There was enough space for Scully to remain seated. He limped the few steps to the lavatory that was the closest to him. There was another passenger in. He groaned even more when he realized lunch was struggling to find a way out. He could feel Scully's eyes pierce in his back. She probably had the worry-look on her face, he thought weak. Finally the small door opened and he slid inside, locking it. Behind the closed door he rested his face against the cool glass for a second, staring at his own very pale features. His stomach was struggling indeed. Something was about to explode inside of him. And then it came. He leaned over the bowl and closed his eyes as lunch came out. His stomach was releasing the painkillers, champagne and bad lunch. "Damn it," he muttered as the cramps calmed down. "Damn this." His face felt too warm. His entire body was sweaty. He turned and splashed ice-cold water in his face. His stomach was still rummaging and he didn't have anything on him to take to sooth the pain. He felt like crap and the flight was only an hour and a half on the way. Fatigued he waited for a few more moments, finally leaving the small compartment to return to his seat, limping as well as he could. A male flight attendant stared shortly at him. He ignored him and sat down. Cold sweat rested on his face. Everything seemed to be hazy and confused. And his toes were playing war inside his cramped shoe. "Mulder?" His partner was all over him now, placing her hand on his forehead. It felt cool and comforting. He was tired of being a big boy. He wanted to be pampered and taken care of now. "Yeah," he muttered, opening his eyes with difficulty. "You're sick." Her remark sounded funny in his ears. He nearly laughed out loud. "Yeah," he said again instead. "I am." "Your stomach?" "Yeah. Stomach, head and even my throat aches because I threw up, I suppose. Everything hurts. Can't you just shoot me now and get it over with?" She smiled worried, surprised that he admitted to feeling this crappy. "Is it the flu again? How long have you been feeling like this?" "Don't know. Since I arrived at the airport." "Let me check if they have medication on board. I'll be right back." She left him before he could utter another word and figured that he couldn't care less. If he was lucky, he would simply pass out and wake up in D.C. And then he would get home and sleep it off. But no such luck. Suddenly he startled as behind him a few passengers started to argue loud. At first he thought they spoke another language, as their sounds seemed strange in his ears. It took him a while to realize they had Irish accents. And he knew one of the voices. It came from the woman who had been sitting behind them for a few moments. He opened his eyes tired and listened to the voices. Scully had disappeared to talk to one of the attendants. She probably didn't even notice the argument. The discussion was clearly hearable throughout the entire plane. Even from his seat, about eight rows before theirs, Mulder could hear what they were saying. The woman was clearly trying to calm down her brother. Several other passengers were disturbed by the incident. Some of them were discussing the uproar. Annoyed Mulder got out of his seat, stretched out his limbs and looked behind him, resting on one foot. He felt frustrated. The noise seemed too loud. The sounds echoed inside of his head. The last thing he needed right now was on-board fighting. He held on tight to the seat behind him where two people were watching the small television screens with headsets on. They hadn't even noticed. A lot of people were watching the movie, but others had turned to take a look. The two noisy passengers were obviously not bothered with the fact they were stirring up the entire Economy Class. At least the man wasn't. The woman seemed upset. Two flight attendants walked over to them and tried to calm them down. There was an American one and a British one. The British one spoke the most. She had a pleasant voice and seemed to have experience with situations like this. Suddenly the man got up, stared at the two attendants and said something that was hardly recognizable. It sounded like 'fuck off' but from the distance he was at, Mulder couldn't understand it. "Please sir," the British attendant said again, louder this time, "You need to calm down. You are disturbing the other passengers. Why don't you sit down and just relax?" The man, still standing up straight, turned red. He was a young man, Mulder saw. He couldn't have been over thirty years old. His sister seemed upset with the argument. She seemed rather nice, Mulder thought, wondering how she would be able to calm him down. Clearly she had been put in this position before because she didn't loose her cool. Her voice sounded calm and soothing when she spoke to her brother. Suddenly the man sunk down on his seat again and buried his head between his hands, rocking back and forth as if he were a kid. He muttered words under his breath that no one really understood. His sister put her hand on her brother's head and said, "It's okay Mac. Just relax." The man did as he was told. The woman patted him on the head and then excused herself for a second, walking to the front of the Economy Class with the British attendant. Mac looked up with a jerk and followed her with his eyes as she made her way forward. Mulder sat down again, realizing he had other things to worry about. But the British attendant and the woman chose the small passageway between Business and Economy to discuss what was going on. At the same time Scully came back from the Business Class where she had received medication for his stomach. She had two tablets and a glass of water in her hand. "Here," she said, glaring at the woman talking to the attendant, "take this and you'll feel better shortly." He did as he was told and swallowed the tablets. His stomach was still fighting a war but the pain had subsided a bit. At the same time Scully spoke, he strained himself to listen to the conversation going on next to them. The woman went about to explain that her brother had been institutionalized for three years in London and that they were now on their way to Washington for further testing and new experiments. He would be admitted into another institution again for at least a year. That was the only reason why he was released from the London hospital. Mac was a schizophrenic with three personalities. Medication was supposed to keep him calm but the flight had him upset because their parents had died in a crash. Mac had never liked flights, she continued, but she had hoped that he wouldn't stir things up. Unfortunately she was wrong. All she could do was use medication and hope that he would stay calm until they arrived in Washington. Great, Mulder thought. A psycho on board, a busted toe and an upset stomach to deal with. What else could go wrong? "What can we do then?" the attendant asked. "Do you want to force him to take that medication?" "If needs be," she said. "If he stays calm, I won't have to do it. But if he stays this way I'm afraid we're just going to have to. But then I will need your help." The attendant went on to say that she didn't appreciate this and that it was the woman's responsibility to make sure her brother was calm. If she transferred him without doctor's assistance, she shouldn't be surprised this was happening. The woman agreed but said that she had a doctor's letter giving permission for this move. Mulder didn't want to turn around again and look at Mac. He wasn't interested. He was hurting and it was their responsibility to take care of a psycho passenger. He was not going to deal with it and neither was his partner. Scully seemed satisfied that he had taken the medication. The agent closed his eyes again and tried to sleep. His head started to hurt even more, alongside his abdomen and burning stomach. Perhaps this time the flu really was coming back in full, hitting him at his weakest spot. He felt warm and exhausted and at times it even felt as if he was floating. He had the strangest sensation of weightlessness. "Thanks Scully," he slurred just before falling asleep. His partner patted him on the hand and covered him with two blankets to keep him warm. With the pillow stuck between his neck and the wall he tried to make himself more comfortable. Then he just faded away for an hour or so. It was too late to do something about his ill situation, and he should be concentrating on just making it through the flight. But his last thought was with the woman, wondering how much that girl had suffered through her brother's illness. When had her parents died? How long had she been put in the uneasy position of nurse, parent and confident to her brother? He felt sorry for her, perhaps even more than he did for himself. -- Disaster Flight 3/4 6 Peace had returned to Economy and Mulder woke up feeling a bit better. The throbbing in his foot had subsided to a nagging itching that reminded him of the pain. He actually felt a bit hungry. The crew passed with chocolate chip cookies or chocolate. Scully refused to get anything for him though, claiming that chocolate was the last thing he should be eating right now. The attendant did promise to find a dry biscuit and some tea for him. "You seem a bit better," Scully said, placing his hand on his forehead again. "If you want, I can give you a few more tablets in a few hours." "We'll see," he said, "they make me feel very drowsy." "Drowsy?" she asked surprised, "that's odd. You've taken them before and they didn't give you any side effects. How long have you been feeling this tired, Mulder?" "I don't know," he said. "To be honest, I felt fine this morning. But the aches started when I took a cab to the airport." "Your stomach actually aches?" "Yeah. And I seem to have trouble keeping my balance," he said tired. "It's like I'm 'out there' somewhere. I even have difficulty seeing you straight." "That's odd. Does your stomach hurt on the outside too? Do you feel sore?" "I don't know." "Let me take a look." Before asking his permission, Scully lifted her partner's T-shirt and touched his chest and abdomen. He didn't wince when she touched and pressed the skin. It didn't hurt. He did feel the pressure underneath her hand though and told her so. Her hands were cold on his warm skin and actually gave him goose bumps. When her fingers went lower towards his abdomen, he grinned. "Be careful Scully, there are people watching." She smiled but ignored his wisecrack. Her eyes still looked worried. "I'm not so sure you've got the flu," she said as she moved up to touch his neck and throat. "You are warm but not feverish. What did you eat this morning?" "Just some toast. You were there, remember?" "It can't be that then. And for lunch?" "Nothing much. I forgot to eat, to be honest. But I did have some Sushi Farrell was kind enough to share with me." "Sushi? What sort of fish did you eat?" "I don't know." She frowned. "You don't know?" "Yeah. It was standing on the table and I ate it." "Great." "What is it?" Mulder asked nervously. "I think you might have food poisoning, Mulder. You've got the symptoms for it. How much did you eat?" "Not much; just a few pieces." "Well, then you might be lucky yet. I do hope so. I want you to rest for the rest of the trip. Once we touch down in D.C. I'll take you to an ER and have you checked out. They can look at your toes at the same time." "I'm sorry," the male agent said reluctantly. "I couldn't have known, could I?" Scully relaxed a bit and her voice sounded less tense when she said, "that's right. It's not your fault. But I'm worried, Mulder. You've already been very sick. You seem dehydrated and ready to drop at the spot. I don't want to have you passed out, okay?" He patted her hand and tried to smile. "I always bounce back, remember? I'm fine now, honestly. I think I puked most of it out." "Your body probably already digested it, as you should know," she answered. "But thanks for trying to sooth me down. I'll try not to act too worried. Alright?" "Sounds good enough," he said fatigued, blinking, as there were two of her sitting before him. She smiled and his jacket closer over him, tucking him in with the blankets again. "I'll be right back," she said, leaving her seat to talk to the attendant who had helped her with the medication before. She had to tell her what she suspected, hoping that there might be more medication on board to help her partner. Mulder closed his eyes, pushing the blankets off him. He was warm all over. Then the noise started again. Mulder sighed, unable to ignore it. The flight attendants felt annoyed as well; he could tell by the way they looked. The agent finally got up again and looked behind him. Brother and sister were back in the argumentum phase. Mac's hands were moving as he made gestures alongside his shouts. It was obvious his sister couldn't calm him down. Mulder looked for Scully but she wasn't anywhere near. Then he decided to go for a walk to the back lavatories and take a better look at Mac. Limping to the back of the aircraft, he passed the two and glared at the man's face. Mac looked back in anger. Mulder saw something on the man's lap and suddenly realized what the argument was about. Mac had kept a knife from his meal package. It was a metal knife, small but efficient enough as a weapon if falling in the wrong hands. And his sister was trying to get it away from him. "Stop acting like a fool, Mac," Mulder could hear her say. "No one's going to hurt you. Just give it to me and stop this silly argument. If you don't listen to me, I'm going have to give you those drugs again that make you feel bad. You don't want that, do you? Remember what Doctor Walters said. You should concentrate on what makes you feel good and not try to worry so much. So why don't you give me this knife?" The woman's voice sounded quiet but her brother's didn't, when he said, "No Sylvie, I'm not listening to you anymore. You're just here to bury me in another hellhole. I can't take this anymore!" Mulder stood still behind them, listening to the conversation that was being held in a louder voice by Mac and the calm tone of Sylvie. But she was slowly losing her patience and calm, and Mulder knew there was about to be a blowout. He grasped one of the seats as dizziness swayed over him. He felt lightheaded and insecure of himself. The plane seemed to be swaying too. He nearly lost his balance. The agent blinked his eyelids and turned to face the attendants. The tall, male attendant stood near him. He was discussing with the others near the lavatories how to deal with this. But they probably weren't aware of the knife. The British attendant wasn't amongst them. Mulder wondered if she was talking to Scully upfront. Slowly Mulder limped to the back, drawing the two attendants' attention. "My name is Fox Mulder," he said, showing them his badge, which he always kept in his jacket pocket. The metal of his gun leaned into his hip. Somehow that gave him a safe feeling. "I'm an FBI-agent," the agent said, rubbing the sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket. "I think you should know your troublesome passenger has kept a knife from his meal. You have a procedure for these kinds of situations, I'm sure. I would just suggest that you isolate this passenger before he arms anyone and make sure he takes his medication to keep him calm." The attendant's look was a disturbed one. He obviously didn't like these kinds of situations. He was the only male attendant on board and would have to act, even though he didn't want to go into a fight with a passenger. He frowned as if he was trying to remember the procedures to handle this. For now Mac seemed calm again. His sister sat quietly beside him, with closed eyes. She was asleep as if nothing had happened. But it would be just a matter of time before it would start again, and they had to avoid that at any cost, before someone would get hurt. "Can I be of help?" Mulder asked, swaying on his feet. The attendant smiled and stretched out his hand. "I'm Tom. Thanks for the offer but you look like you're not capable of standing on your feet yourself. Are you ill, sir?" "Just an upset stomach," Mulder responded. "My partner gave me some medication. I'm doing fine. Just tell me how I can help." "We'll handle this," Tom said, raising his hands. "It's our duty to make sure all of our passengers remain safe and you are amongst them. Please return to your seat and we'll perform the necessary precautions." Mulder nodded, reluctant not to be involved. He felt that there was more to do than simply calm down this passenger. He wouldn't feel okay as long as Mac wasn't isolated and calmed down. The last thing he wanted right now was yet another problem to add to the list. And where was Scully? The argument seemed over for now since brother and sister were sitting quietly next to one another. In fact, Sylvie was too quiet. In a flash, as he approached their seats, Mulder saw a small empty box lying on the tray. It had been filled with tablets before but now it was empty. The agent glared at it in surprise. They were most likely Mac's pills. Then he saw the sister's quiet form as she rested with her head against the small window. She wasn't sleeping. She was unconscious. Before her stood an empty glass. Mulder just knew she had taken medication her brother should have taken. Somehow he managed to get her to take them. Or he had forced his sister to drink the glass meant for him. Mac turned and saw Mulder's glance. The agent stood a few seats away from him but there was knowledge now between the two of them. Mac knew he was on to him. The decision had to be made now. Mulder stood still. And then he saw Scully. He saw her returning to their seats. She looked up confused, not spotting him at first. Then, when she saw him in the back, she moved towards him, using the small corridor leading her past Mac. And she didn't know he was a danger. Mac moved up the moment she came closer. Scully stopped, spotting something in his eyes. Instinctively Mulder grabbed for his gun, placing his fingers on the cold metal, just as Mac moved with the stretched out knife. In a flash the agent thought he was going to try and hurt Scully, since she was the closest. But Mac moved backwards suddenly with a smooth gesture. With a second smooth move he slashed the knife towards Mulder's abdomen. Surprised the agent backed away, feeling the blunt blade graze underneath his jacket. It tore through the cotton fabric of the agent's shirt. "Mulder!" he heard Scully shout and then her gun was held up in Mac's direction, ordering him to drop the knife. Mac turned his attention towards her and smiled sarcastically. "Shoot me," he ordered as if he wanted her to kill him. Scully didn't move. "Drop the knife sir," she ordered, as she took in the scenery. Mac's knife danced dangerously in his right hand. He stood still in the corridor, half leaning on his seat. Behind him slept his sister. Mulder knew his partner wasn't about to shoot. If she missed Mac, the consequences would be disastrous. And when they shot from a close distance, the bullet could run through him and kill someone else as well. Mulder touched his abdomen and glanced at the cut that had tore up his shirt. There was just a little blood and a stint of pain where the blunt knife had grazed his skin. Scully looked at him, as he seemed to have difficulty standing on his legs. "You alright?" she asked. "Yeah. It's just a scratch." "I don't mean that." He blinked his eyelids forcefully, shaking off the dizziness that threatened to come and push him into darkness. Why was he so damned tired? He could hardly stay awake now, while it had been so difficult before to find sleep. "I'm fine." Scully concentrated back on Mac. Her professional attitude was what seemed to calm Mac calm. But the man was ready to fight to the death, a manner she did not like. There were two guns pointed at him and basically he could never win. But he was fearless and would not hesitate to take others into death with him. He was that desperate. "Drop that knife Mac," Mulder said with shivering voice, deliberately using the man's first name to draw his attention. "We don't want to shoot you and risk the lives of all these people." Mac's eyes lit furiously for a moment and then there was acknowledgement. They were opponents and someone would have to cave in. "I'm not going to another hospital," Mac said, waving the knife around in the isle. He was no threat to anyone right now. Yet he seemed the most dangerous man on the planet for now. One false move and it could all go to hell. That was all Mulder could think about. 7 Passengers sat frozen next to him and stared at him. But somehow, despite everything, most of them remained calm. Some of them actually listened fascinated to what he was saying. "Calm down," Scully said, forcing Mac's attention upon her. "Violence has no use; you should know that. Look, we are going to put down our guns and we're going to talk about this. Just don't do anything rash, alright?" To put deed to the word, Scully turned around and gave the gun to the blonde attendant standing behind her. Mac seemed comforted by that. Mulder did the same, giving the male attendant his gun. Now they were both unarmed, opposing a crazed guy with a blunt knife. Tom moved but was stopped by a gesture from Mulder. "Stay back." The agent spoke calmly, assuring the others with the tone of his voice he was in control. Scully couldn't help but admire her partner's strength in the matter, despite the fact he was very sick. His pale face was sweating. He trembled. Yet he was in control. "Drop the knife and we'll talk about it," the male agent said, using his profiler skills to calm the man down. "This has no use, Mac. You can't go anywhere. We're 30,000 feet high and you won't be able to jump out of a window and run. We are not going to kill you. Whatever you do, we will stop you." "Fine," Mac said. "Stop me. Kill me. I'm not going back there or to any other hospital." "It's for your good." Mac's head shook, pointing at his unconscious sister. "She tried to drug me," he muttered. "She thought I didn't know she wanted to keep me quiet but I saw it and switched the glasses. No one in this damned airplane is stopping me and I'll take others down with me if I have to." "Your sister only wants what's best for you. She's worried about you," Mulder said, trembling. He felt like crap again. His stomach seemed to be exploding on the spot and he wiggled on his left foot, trying to get his weight off the right one. "Are you sick?" Mac suddenly asked, ignoring the agent's words. "Yeah, I guess so." "What's wrong with you?" "I ate something bad." Mac smiled. "Like what?" "I don't know. Fish." "So even cops get sick, huh?" "I'm not a cop." "What are you then?" "FBI." "I could have guessed," Mac said. "I've never met anyone of you but I know you like to butt into things that aren't your concern. Serves you right if you get hurt then." With a small gesture Mac waved at the agent's abdomen. Surprised Mulder looked down, noticing trickles of blood that found their way through the white cotton. He was bleeding from the cut he thought wasn't so bad. Scully frowned, waiting impatiently to make her move. Mulder saw she was just about ready to scratch Mac's eyes out. Great, Mulder though, I'm just adding to my injury list. Another three to four hours and I might end up with a broken neck. The agent blinked his eyelids and stretched out his hand. "Look," he said, "give me the knife before you're hurting anyone else. Your sister needs help." "She's asleep. She'll wake up with a headache, like I always do whenever she wants me quiet. Do you know what it's like to live your life doped up, Agent? Serves her right. Perhaps now she'll know what she does to me." "My name is Fox Mulder," the agent said, putting a name on him to get the patient to connect. It was a routine gesture that had helped him before to connect with serial killers. Only in this case he wasn't arguing with a serial killer, but with a patient that needed help. "And yes, I don't know what it's like, but that's not the point. You have an illness that needs treatment Mac. There is a reason for those drugs." Mac smiled. "There's always a reason for anything, is there? That's what they've told me my entire life." "I'm willing to discuss things with you as long as you put that knife away. I give you my word that you won't be arrested or locked up. We're going to talk about this and then move on from there." Mac smiled bitterly. "Do you want me to believe that crap, Agent Mulder? All I know is that you get off this plane a free man. And you have someone by your side. And I? I'll be spending years of my life in the institution my lovely sister selected for me. She thinks that I don't know what those tests are about. Did you know that London released me? I was declared sane and healthy, even though she claims the doctors agreed to this treatment. I was okay. And what does she do? She drags me on the first goddamn flight out to Washington to expose me to further tests. She just wants to get rid of me. She has her own life, you see, and I don't fit in it." "Okay," Mulder said, as he leaned on the seat opposite Mac's. The two were very close to each other now. "I believe you. But Mac, have you ever wondered though what your sister is worrying about? Do you know what impact you have on her life? Look at her Mac. She seems very nice, doesn't she? Shouldn't she be asked what this is about?" "I've asked her. I'm tired of it. I want a life without her." Scully's heart broke when Mulder's expression spoke of hurt and personal experience, drawing Mac's attention. "You don't mean that," the agent shaking said. "You can't possibly know what it's like without her. Be very grateful that you still have her and that she cares for you." Mac hesitated and for the first time he didn't seem so sure of himself. Mulder knew Mac would give up. There was a good chance of getting him to give up the knife and perhaps he would even have calmed down, had it not been for the groan coming from beside him. His sister was waking up, startling her brother. Suddenly Mac turned around, waving the blunt knife towards her as she opened her eyes and brought her hand to the side of her head. "Stay down!" Mac shouted, his voice sounding higher than before. Mulder cursed silently as Mac forgot all about the agent and raised the knife, forgetting everything the agents had said to him. Despite his injuries, Mulder moved forward, grasping the patient's right hand in which he held the knife. Scully moved at the same time but Mulder was faster. The force knocked Mac off his balance and he shouted as the agent forced his hand open and Scully grabbed him by the neck. The knife dropped and ended up against one of the seats where it could do no harm. There was no weapon anymore but the patient was still strong enough by own strength to fight back. In a second he pushed the female off him. Scully fell backwards, hitting her head against one of the seats. She stayed down for the count. Mulder shouted her name as his fist came down on Mac's face, but it wasn't hard enough to knock the patient out. Instead, it only pissed him off even more. Mac threw himself over the agent, basically pushing the agent on the floor. From the corner of his eye Mulder noticed that passengers and the blonde attendant were taking care of Scully, who was already coming to. Mulder knew he didn't stand a chance against this healthy man. His hands reached for Mac's face, trying to push the man off him by forcing his face backwards. Mac's hands were around the agent's throat as he entrapped Mulder on the floor. Mulder heard shouts and screams around him, but couldn't see what was happening. He couldn't breath. With a last effort he forced his hand loose and hit the man above him once again. Mac groaned and let go. Mulder used the moment to push Mac towards Tom, the flight attendant who held his gun. Fortunately the strong man seemed to understand and used the barrel of the gun to knock Mac into oblivion. The patient went down for the count. There were more shouts in the cabin and someone screamed. A baby was crying. But in a few moments the tension left the cabin. The passengers were relieved. There was clapping and cheering as everyone tried to catch a glimpse of Mac lying on the floor. Scully moved up, holding the back of her head. Mulder looked at her as she approached him, hugging her for a moment in relief. "You okay?" She nodded and looked down in disgust at their attacker. "Let's lock him up in one of the lavatories and let the police handle it in D.C." With gathered forces, two male passengers transferred Mac to one of the lavatories, which they blocked from the outside with one of the heavy food carts. Tom was attending to Sylvie, Mac's drugged sister, who was trying to wake up. It would take a while for the drugs to take off, but she seemed to be all right. He ordered for her to be moved to the First Class where they could monitor her. "What a mess," Tom muttered under his breath as they moved Sylvie. He stopped, still holding the girl in his grip, and looked at Mulder. "You did okay, Agent Mulder. Thanks for solving this." "Any time," Mulder muttered, holding desperately onto one of the seats. His stomach really felt like it was on fire now. And he felt sick, nauseated and ready to just drop on the spot. He rubbed his forehead and stared at the sweat that came off on his hand. Scully held her hand out to him. "Let's get you seated, shall we?" she said. "You look like hell." "Yeah." Mulder quivered as he moved. His legs slipped from under him. What the hell was wrong with him? This didn't feel like the flu or food poisoning anymore. "Mulder? Focus on me. Come on." "What?" he looked at his partner dazed. He hardly recognized her now. He felt disoriented and had to focus to remember where he was. And he looked extremely pale, bathing in cold sweat. Scully felt a shiver run down her spine as she watched her partner struggle emotionally and mentally. She had a grip on him despite a splitting headache and a bump the size of an egg to the back of her head. "Can someone help me?" she asked desperately. Several people moved. She allowed two men to slide arms underneath her partner to move him like that. "Move him to First," the British attendant said, then turning to the other passengers. "Is there a doctor on board?" She spoke loud enough to get people's attention. No one responded. "I am a doctor," Scully said, "but I could use some help." Mulder blinked and stared at her over his shoulder, trying to get her attention. Fear struck him for the first time. He needed help and he knew it. "Scully?" he asked in a tone of voice that seemed slurry and confused. "Right here," she said, following them while trying to comfort him. "You'll be okay." Suddenly the agent's legs seemed to have a life of their own. They wouldn't listen to him anymore. He let himself slide and leaned heavily against the man who were moving him. His head sunk forward, causing Scully to nearly panic "Don't pass out on us, Mulder. Come on. Just a little bit more." It seemed to take ages for them to reach First Class. Then Mulder's brain could no longer cope with what was going on and he closed his eyes and let things pass. -- Disaster Flight 4/4 8 Scully panicked. It didn't happen a lot but this time she really panicked. She had never seen her partner like this before. Usually, when he became sick, he was a pain in the ass. But this time she dreaded his quietness. He had simply passed out. They had moved him to two adjoined seats in the nearly empty First Class. They had wanted to move the couple there to Business Class, when the man said he was a doctor and could help. And so there were two doctors examining the unconscious agent. Mulder vaguely became aware of voices as his deep slumber made way for consciousness. There were persistent voices disturbing his deep sleep, and reluctantly he stirred when a familiar hand touched his face. The first thing he became aware of was the cold sweat on his face. And then he remembered how he had gotten there and why. "What's going on?" he muttered, blinking his eyelids. "Glad to see you're back," Scully smiled, resisting the urge to hug her partner. "You passed out on us." Mulder groaned, realizing that he was still somewhere at 30,000 feet and not on steady ground, in his own bed. The look on his partner's face disturbed him. It wasn't as simple as a stomach flu or food poisoning anymore. There was something else. "Are you thirsty?" she asked. He nodded. She put her hand in his neck and helped him to sit up, causing him to blink his eyelids forcefully to fight off the sudden dizziness. "Careful," she said, putting a plastic cup with cold water to his mouth. He drank two sips and gratefully let her help his head down again. "What's wrong with me, Scully?" he asked, dreading the answer already. Scully looked aside at a man in suit, brown hair and glasses. "I'm doctor Wilkins," he said as he leaned forward so that the agent could see him. "I'm here to help your partner find out what's wrong with you. We need to examine you in order to determine the cause of your illness." Mulder licked his dry lips. He felt like he hadn't drank for days. He nodded. "Go ahead." Scully made way for the doctor who knelt by the agent's side and did a thorough exam of his vitals; taking the agent's pulse and going through the routine check-up. Scully watched and commented when he spoke. The examination had to happen manually, since there was only a basic First Aid-kit on board. With the help of Scully the doctor lifted the agent's shirt and started to examine the torso, just as Scully had done an hour earlier. Mulder winced when he touched the very tender spot where his stomach lay, right about the scar where the knife had grazed his skin. "That tickles," Mulder remarked. "Tickles? It doesn't hurt?" "No. Your fingers seem to tingle on my skin. I'm not hurting." "When did you last eat?" "I had a bit on the flight, which came out, and before that, breakfast. And I ate some Sushi but I would call that more or less a snack. I thought it was the flu. I had a mild form of that a couple of days ago, just like Scully. God, I'm tired." Mulder's voice seemed to die away, causing Scully to shake his shoulder. He blinked his eyelids and looked at her. "You can't pass out on us again," she ordered with a raw, strangely emotional voice. "We need to know what's happening." The doctor frowned. "You've been dizzy constantly? Did you feel like you were floating at times?" "Yeah." "What about speech? Did you feel like you couldn't express yourself? Was your speech slurry?" "Yeah," Mulder whispered. "And it's so damned warm. I feel like I'm burning up." "Your partner told me you were nauseated since you got on board. Have you felt sore or stiff?" Scully paled as she made the diagnosis in her head. "Yeah," Mulder confessed, glaring at his partner. She frowned even more but didn't seem angry with him, just more upset. He wanted to grasp her hand and tell her it was going to be okay. "This is not just a food poisoning, is it?" Mulder asked trembling. "I'm afraid it's not, Agent Mulder," the doctor said, straightening his glasses. "I've seen this a few times before. I need to know what sort of Sushi you had; what sort of fish you ate. Do you remember?" Mulder frowned. "I don't know. It wasn't exactly my meal. But it can't be the Sushi. I just had a few bites." "Basically that's enough," the doctor responded. "If you ate more, you might have been off much worse." "So it is food poisoning?" Scully asked hopefully. The doctor shared a glance with her and then looked back at Mulder. "We'll be right back," he said. "No!" Mulder grabbed the man's wrist and stopped him from leaving. He didn't have much strength, but it was enough to hold the man in his grip. "I need to know. Don't talk about my condition behind my back. You can fix this, right? You can give me medication, and then I'll be up and about in a flash. Right?" "I'm afraid it's worse than that, Agent Mulder," the doctor continued. "Like I said; I've only seen this before in Japan. I used to work there as a medical doctor before moving back to Washington. It happens more there, but usually this doesn't occur in Europe." "My god," Scully whispered, knowing what he was going to say. "It's puffer fish poisoning, isn't it?" The doctor nodded. "I can't be a hundred percent sure. We would have to run tests for that. But all the symptoms are there, and I'm afraid this is the case." "Puffer fish?" Mulder asked confused. "Blowfish, Agent Mulder." "That can't be. Isn't it against the law to serve that fish?" "No," the doctor said. "It isn't. It is still served in a lot of countries, with all the risks attached to it. Blowfish is a delicacy. Certain parts of the fish can be harvested and served, and is actually quite good. But other parts are poison and can be life threatening." Mulder stared at the doctor in shock. "Are you saying I might die?" The doctor didn't respond. "I don't know enough about this sort of poisoning, I'm afraid. I do know that you are still up and about, while it can cause death within an hour if digested in larger volumes. In your case, the symptoms slowly took over your body. I think there might be a large possibility you'll be just fine. I'm going to consult with doctors in the US." He glared at his watch and turned towards the British attendant who had been in the compartment all along and was now looking very pale as well. "How long before we touch down?" "Another hour or so." "Can you get us connected to Washington D.C.?" "Of course." The attendant got up and waved at one of her colleagues, asking her to take the doctors to the cockpit. Scully now held Mulder's hand and tried to comfort him, stroking his face. "It will be okay," she said. Mulder smiled faintly. "Serves me right for screwing up the Minister's lunch." Then he jerked. "Oh sweet Jesus, he might already be dead." "We'll check Mulder. Just relax and try not to worry. I will be right back." Reluctantly Scully let go of her partner's hand and moved with the doctor towards the cockpit. They had to find a cure instantly. If not, it might already be too late. That thought she just couldn't grasp. "Don't worry," the attendant said, "I'll stay with him." Scully nodded and watched as the pilot made connection to D.C., only to be transferred to a hospital specializing in poisonings. She watched and listened as Doctor Wilkins compared notes and findings with someone on line. She couldn't hear what the other person was saying, but she got enough out of Wilkins' answers to know they were screwed. Then a hard knock on the door behind her shook her up. She turned around and looked at brown-haired attendant. "What is it?" she asked startled, believing her partner had already died and they were too late. "We need your help," the young attendant simply said, "your friend is having seizures!" 9 It took them all they had to calm Mulder down. He was nearly unconscious as his body convulsed uncontrollably and couldn't understand a word they said to calm him down. Suddenly a last jerk came and the seizure was over. Scully didn't let go of his left wrist though. She wanted to hold him as long as she could, fearing that he would not make the end of the flight. "Do you have Neostigmine on board?" the doctor asked the blonde attendant as he let go of the agent's right wrist and leg. Mulder sighed deeply, unable to move much. He just let it happen. "No," she said. "We haven't." "What about Atropine?" She shook her head. "Can you administer a saline-IV?" "No. We just have basic medical equipment." The agent seemed to slump into another unconsciousness and his body relaxed, making the doctor sigh deeply. Scully looked at him. "It was blowfish, wasn't it?" "I'm afraid so." Scully bit her lip, forcing back the tears in her eyes. This was not a good time to go weak, but she felt so damned helpless. Nothing was going to help her partner. They were 30,000 feet above ground and the clock was ticking away. They all felt it. "All we can do is calm him and make sure he's comfortable," the doctor said. "I'll ask the pilot to arrange medical care the moment we get off board. If we can administer Atropine and fluids quickly, he might be okay for now. The specialist I spoke to is willing to come over with the Neostigmine, which has been used to treat patients with this sort of poisoning before. I cannot lie and tell you it's a miracle cure. The results varied, but it's the only thing they can do. Basically, there is no cure to treat TTX, as this sort of poisoning is called. Your partner was very fortunate that he didn't eat much of that Sushi. If he had, he could have been killed within the hour. The problem is that he should have been treated instantly when the first symptoms occurred. The longer we wait, the more dangerous it gets. The symptoms will increase because we are unable to treat him right now." The doctor stopped. "I don't want to lie to you, Agent Scully. His life is in danger at this very moment. Seizures and unconsciousness are serious symptoms. This will not pass by itself. We must try to keep him awake and alert for as long as we can." Scully nodded and bit her lip. "My god," she whispered. "How could this have happened? I must contact London and tell them about it." The doctor nodded. "Let me do that. Just give me all the details. Why don't you stay with your partner? He knows you and he'll be comforted by your presence." Scully smiled faintly. "I feel so helpless," she whispered as her lip trembled. She was tired and upset, and all her medical knowledge could not help in this case. Her partner was going to die because he wanted people to listen to him; because he wanted to do his job right and cared about people. And his death would be senseless and useless. The doctor and attendants retreated and left her alone with her partner. She stroked his face and watched him sleep. Even in his sleep he felt warm and sweaty. Suddenly he stirred and blinked his eyelids. He looked at the ceiling for a second and then sighed deeply, as if he realized he was still on board. "Hey partner," she whispered, sitting down next to him. "Hey." He turned his face to face her. "I'm dying, aren't I?" "No, you are not." He smiled. "You're a bad liar, Scully. I knew I shouldn't have taken this flight. I had this feeling things would get seriously screwed up." Over the loudspeakers came the captain's message that they were starting their descent and would touch down in ten minutes. Scully felt a bit lightheaded when they approached the city and started to maneuver for the right lane. "I don't know," she responded to his remark, "this flight resembles our lives, don't you think? It's always been a rough ride. But consider this; you get banged up all the time, but you never had blowfish poisoning before. Live dangerously, partner." He smiled, aware of her presence near him. "Is that a challenge, Agent Scully?" She smiled as well and leaned forward, kissing him softly on the lips. "It is." When she retreated her lips, there was a grin on his face. He touched her face. His fingers rested on her mouth, touching her lips. "Are you granted me a dying man's wish, Agent Scully?" "You're not dying, Agent Mulder," she said persistent. "And I'm just letting you know how much I care. After you get through this, I'm still going to kick your ass for not letting me know how much you ached." He lifted his shoulders slightly and slurred, "Look who's talking." "Hey, I admit to being a bad patient, but you are worse. Plus, you have the knack of getting yourself into trouble." He couldn't help but laugh. A raw sound seemed to escape his throat. He coughed, causing her to stare worried. It seemed to take a lot of effort for him to get out of that coughing fit. "Easy," she said. The coughing fit passed and he sighed deeply. "I'm a weakling, aren't I?" "No, you're not. You're holding on. That's what matters." "But I am going to die, Scully. We both know that I am. It's over. And it's so goddamn useless." "We're nearly there, Mulder," she whispered desperately. "You can't give up now. We're nearly there and you'll be fine. Doctor Wilkins will get help from Washington. They'll be at the airport when we arrive. As soon as you have the right medication, it'll be okay. But don't talk like that, you hear?" His fingers touched her face, carefully rubbing off the tears that streamed down her cheeks. She hadn't even known she was crying. She grasped his hand and kept it against her face. "You have to be okay," she whispered. "You have to." "It hurts, doesn't it," he whispered hoarsely, "not to be able to do anything. I know what it's like, Scully. When you had the cancer, I was forced to watch you die. I -" he stopped, coughing. Then he looked at her again with a look she had never seen before. "I don't regret anything. If I die now, I know that you'll move on. You have to." "No." She shook her head and put her fingers on his lips. "Don't do this to me. You have to hold on." He smiled, and she smiled back. "I will," he promised. "So you're up for that challenge?" "Of course I am." He pulled her face closer to his and their lips touched once again. His hand rested in her neck but his grip wasn't strong. He responded to her kiss at first. Then there was no more reaction. She retreated her lips, only to see that he was non-responsive and laid there very quietly. There was a change in him. This wasn't merely unconscious anymore. It went beyond that. She stared at him in shock and then she realized what was happening. "No," she muttered, rising up to feel his pulse. It was still there but very, very faint. "Don't do this to me, Mulder!" Her voice sounded persistent, worried and angry at the same time as she called out for Wilkins. Then there was no heartbeat. Scully cried out in anger and fury as she gave her partner mouth-to-mouth and Wilkins massaged his heart. Desperation poured out of her body through her tears. Both of them worked hard to keep the agent's heartbeat going until the plane finally touched down at Dulles Airport, and an ambulance arrived at the same time with a specialist on board to help save her partner's life. 10 "Atropine administered. IV started. Fluids running. He's dehydrated. Administer the Neostigmine!" From a distance Mulder listened almost in awe to words spoken by unknown people, wondering how in the world they could work so efficiently. They thought he was unconscious, but he wasn't anymore. He listened to their voices and was able to understand them. He had to open his eyes and tell them that he was awake. Somehow though he just didn't seem to manage to do just that. 11 "Mulder?" A very familiar voice made him believe that he had dreamt the whole thing. Her hands touched his face. For a second he thought she was lying in the bed with him and that they had become lovers. He opened his eyes as if waking up from a bad dream. His entire body felt numb and sore, as if he had fought a battle. He sighed and turned his head towards her, finally realizing she wasn't in the bed with him and that there was a strange beeping sound beside him. "Hey," he said fatigued, looking at her blue eyes. "What's up?" His voice sounded almost normal again, but raw, as if he had just run a race and was still recovering. She smiled relieved and reached for a cup filled with ice chips. Only then did he realize he was in a hospital. Damn, he thought, it wasn't a dream. It was very real. Eating Sushi had poisoned him, and his toes ached underneath the sheets that covered him. That disaster flight was something he would not easily forget. "I can never leave you alone, can I?" she said. "Even in a Japanese restaurant you get into trouble." "How am I doing?" he asked, realizing he was feeling better. "Pretty good, actually. You've had a radical treatment that has counteracted the poisoning. You're on the way to a quick recovery." She stopped for a moment. "I have to tell you, Mulder. Your heart stopped beating for a while. Your cardiovascular system went through hell. But we got you back." Her voice sounded emotional, he thought. He wondered what hell she must have gone through to get him back. He nodded, pressing her hand. "I'm sorry you had to go through this," he whispered. She smiled suddenly as tears sprung into her eyes. "Me? I wasn't the one poisoned." "You know what I mean." She smiled and kissed him softly. "Just don't ever eat Sushi again." "Cross my heart," he smiled, then realizing he wasn't the only one at that restaurant. "The Minister ... is he?" She frowned. "Yes, he is. He died within an hour in his car on the way to the way to a meeting. He had eaten a lot of it. His death has already been all over the news. The men that were with him at lunch were more fortunate. Two of them only suffered minor symptoms and were already released. Fortunately they made the link pretty quickly. The third one is still unconscious. He went through the wringer, just like you. The restaurant has been closed. They didn't know they were serving blowfish, apparently. It was a mix-up by their supplier who didn't bother to double-check what he was selling. The wrong transport went to that restaurant. They've been trying to track you down. The Japanese chef had seen you had eaten of that Sushi as well, but no one knew your name, except for Farrell who died before he could tell. Finally his bodyguard remembered your name and that you were supposed to fly out to Washington. He warned the FBI just as we called it in." "What about that guy, Mac?" "He's been placed under medical care. He's on medication again. Unfortunately for his sister there is not much she can do about it. He will always be this way. But the airline has decided not to press charges after I spoke to them. It would have no use. Sylvie was pretty upset though and thought your illness had something to do with him. I reassured her that it didn't, and she's coming over to see you tomorrow." "That's good," Mulder said relieved, remembering the woman's startled features. He felt sorry for her. "Don't worry about that though," Scully said. "Concentrate on getting well." Mulder sucked on a chip and groaned. "It feels like I've been doing a marathon. Will I keep on feeling this tired?" "For a while, yes. But you should be okay in a couple of days. Besides, now you can rest your foot properly." He sighed. "I'm already bored. If I remember correctly, you were going to give me hell on this. Are you still?" She laughed. "Do you want me to?" He grinned boyishly. "Live dangerously, right?" She put her hand on his face like he had done to her during those disastrous last minutes and leaned over to kiss him. When she pulled back, she asked, "Was that dangerous enough for you?" He smiled. "It's a good start." - The End - -- Happy is the heart of him who writes; he is young each day." -- Ptahotpe, c. 2350 B.C.