BACCARAT PIECE: RICKETTSIAE By Sean Spencer seans13@hotmail.com CATEGORY: SRA RATING: R WARNING: Non-explicit consensual sexual relations between members of the same sex. KEYWORDS: Mulder/Skinner, Slash SPOILERS: None SUMMARY: A forest summer investigation leads to unexpected and unpleasant consequences. DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner and Dana Scully are the properties of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Television. No copyright infringement is intended or implied in their use in this work of fiction. AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is dedicated to Kristina who keeps hounding me to do some slash Muldertorture and she suggested this scenario. But this is relatively mild. I just can't torture the poor guy too much, especially with all the REAL pain and suffering I've seen in my years of hospital work. ....................... August 15, Friday 6:08 p.m. When Assistant Director Walter Skinner got home, he tried not to frown upon seeing pieces of Fox Mulder's luggage on the living room floor. He already promised himself that he wasn't going to harp about neatness anymore. It was a mantra sometimes. I will tolerate sunflower seed shells; I will tolerate sunflower seed shells, he would sometimes say to himself when he would see the tiny ever-present bits. It was one thing he learned about living with Fox Mulder. Wherever the agent happened to be, sunflower seeds followed. They had an ongoing relationship (it was more than an affair now) for more than two years and had been living together for three months. In fact, for Walter Skinner and Fox Mulder, everything was new. The whole apartment in Crystal City, Virginia was new. They moved in less than two months ago and they just finished unpacking the last of the boxes two weeks ago. Everything was neat and was in its place most of the time but right now, Skinner almost stumbled over Mulder's garment bag, which was untidily blocking the front door. Because a garment bag was bigger than a seed shell, Skinner felt he had every right to get mad this time. He didn't need to tolerate something that was essentially blocking the front door. He angrily wrestled with the bag and debated on whether he was going to bring it upstairs or order his lover to bring it up himself. Because he was already holding it in his hand, Skinner folded and brought it upstairs to their bedroom. Fox Mulder was curled up on the king-sized bed over the bedcovers, snoring away. He hadn't even gotten out of his clothes. As Skinner put down his briefcase and the hated garment bag, he could see that Mulder's shirt had hitched up out of his trousers, which revealed a strip of bare smooth skin just above the visible waistband of his underwear. Skinner didn't have the heart to disturb the younger man. He knew that Mulder just came from Churchtown, Georgia where he and Scully yet again investigated sightings of strange lights in the nighttime sky and fried treetops. Skinner signed the 302 himself when Scully came to his office earlier this week. There seemed to be substantial evidence this time, because even Scully was excited by this particular case before the two agents left for Georgia. Mulder placed only one call from Churchtown. They were rationing those calls because it would be difficult having to explain to Accounting why Agent Mulder was calling his empty apartment every night. Also, Scully sometimes filed their expense report and they had to hide their calls from her, too. Sometimes, when they were missing each other, Mulder would hunt for a pay phone but this was occasionally unpleasant because Skinner could hear Mulder's small change dropping on the floor as he tried to keep up with the long distance charges with coins. Calling surreptitiously from pay phones with loose change instead of phone cards was very difficult, to say the least. Skinner quietly unpacked Mulder's luggage for him. The muddy jeans, socks and the state of the hiking boots confirmed the AD's suspicions that Scully and Mulder did another round of serious hiking through the woods. With distaste, Skinner held the hiking boots away from him and went down to the kitchen where he placed it on the utility area floor. No way was he going to clean this up for Mulder. The agent would have to do that himself. As he heated up the dinner that Mrs. Jackson left for them, Skinner smiled when he heard Mulder shuffling around upstairs. It meant that the agent was now awake. After a few minutes, once Skinner was setting the table in the dining room, Mulder finally came down. "Mmmhhmm..." Skinner smiled as he felt the younger man hug him from behind and then kiss his neck. He turned around and saw that Mulder was freshly showered. They kissed properly but briefly and sat down for dinner. The AD refrained from asking about the case in Churchtown. After all, he was going to receive a report by Monday. He didn't want to put his lover on the defensive; that sometimes happened when they talked about cases at home especially when it was another case where the X-files team didn't come up with a set of concrete evidence. Instead, dinner conversation centered on their plans for the weekend. Because they just moved into the apartment, trips to the cabin by the lake were kept at the minimum for the moment. The apartment had to be fixed the way they liked it, spending time putting up the picture frames and rearranging furniture. Skinner ironically thought how much easier it was rearranging furniture when two men lived together. He still had memories of being directed by Sharon his ex-wife to move a couch here or there then having to do it over because she was unsatisfied with the result. They made love that night. Skinner thought that this part of their relationship would slow down once they were living together and were available for each other seven days a week. Instead, quite the opposite happened. It seemed that as they became more familiar with each other through living together, the more they wanted each other. It was luxurious waking up anytime and being beside each other and reaching for each other without worrying the Monday morning deadline was near. Skinner preferred them making slow sweet beautiful love in the mornings just before work. Sometimes, it was difficult having Mulder in the office, the desk separating them and Scully a few feet away when he knew that Mulder's lips were swollen from the kissing they did just a few hours ago. It was Mulder this time who was wickedly creative and it was Skinner's turn to groan and cry out as Mulder worked his magic. When they finished afterwards, Mulder curled up to him and Skinner lovingly enfolded him and kissed him thoroughly until they both fell asleep. ............................ August 17, Sunday 3:42 p.m. The first inkling that something was wrong was on Sunday afternoon. Mulder just finished hanging the painting in the living room. Afterwards, he complained that he was beat, which Skinner thought odd because putting a nail on the wall and making sure that the painting wasn't crooked certainly wasn't strenuous for a man in his early thirties. The agent took a nap on the couch in the den as Skinner finished hanging more of the paintings. At first he was annoyed. Skinner thought that Mulder was trying to escape the mindless but still necessary chore of making a home for them together. But all was forgotten when Mulder asked the older man to massage his legs for him. "Maybe, I did too much running in the woods," Mulder sighed as Skinner put the agent's legs on his lap and proceeded to knead the calf muscles. They ate dinner, which Mulder didn't finish either, still saying he was tired. But everything went well after that, when they watched the Sunday night movie in bed. After some cuddling and kissing, Mulder conked out as Skinner watched the late night news. ......................... August 18, Monday 4:57 a.m. Mulder squirmed out of Skinner's tight embrace. It was still dark but he felt quite hot. At first, Mulder thought it was because of the air-conditioning, but the resultant chill he felt after getting out from Skinner's arms meant that the airconditioner worked. When he snuck out of bed and walked to the bathroom, the agent noticed that the achy sensation of his legs was back. He didn't bother turning on the light when he drank from the tap. He felt slightly better when he got back under the thin sheet. .......................... August 18, Monday 7:00 a.m. Once Skinner's alarm clock rang, he promptly turned it off and carefully got out of bed. He changed from his pajamas to his workout clothes then went to Mulder's study where he spent his requisite half hour on his machine. As he did his morning exercise, Skinner carefully mapped out his day in his head. It was a start of a warm summer day and it would be nice to go back to the cabin this weekend just to catch the last few days of summer. Once he did his half-hour, Skinner went back to the bedroom and took his morning shower. As he dressed, he noticed that Mulder was still buried under the covers. It was already quarter to eight and Mulder should begin getting ready for work. As a matter of fact, Skinner already heard Mrs. Jackson puttering downstairs in the kitchen, whipping up breakfast for them. Skinner was tying his necktie and walked over to their bed. He sat on the edge and carefully stroked Mulder's back through the bedsheet. "Fox, time for work," Skinner said adding ironically, "We do need your paycheck, you know." Mulder groaned heavily and turned onto his back. Even in the weak morning light that was filtering through the curtains, Skinner could see that the younger man's cheeks were flushed. The AD frowned and put a hand on Mulder's cheek. "I don't feel too well," Mulder muttered. "I'm thirsty. Maybe I've got the flu." Skinner filled up the water glass and hunted in the medicine cabinet for the thermometer and the bottle of Tylenol. In that brief time he was in the bathroom, Mulder fell asleep. Skinner woke him up again to stick the thermometer in his mouth and waited a few more minutes. In the meantime, Skinner put on his suit coat and checked his briefcase to ensure that he didn't forget any files for work. "Well, it's one hundred," Skinner sighed as he shook down the thermometer. "Here...take this." The agent grimaced as he sat up and drank the water. He asked for another glass and thirstily downed it as well. He huddled under the thin sheet again and almost immediately fell back to sleep. He didn't even acknowledge Skinner's brief goodbye peck on his cheek. "Fox isn't going to work today, Mrs. Jackson," Skinner said as he drank the coffee she poured for him and dug into the Belgian waffles. "He has the flu. Please make sure he stays in bed." "Not again," Mrs. Jackson clucked in dismay. "Wasn't it just last month that he had a bad cold?" "Well, he does travel around a lot and gets run down sometimes," Skinner admitted. Mulder did have a tendency to always come down with whatever virus was going around the Hoover. Skinner reminded himself to tell Scully that Mulder wouldn't be in for work. As usual, he pretended for Scully's benefit that Mulder called him with the news that he was sick yet again. Ironically, Scully was now used to it and didn't bother Mulder. The agent informed Skinner a few weeks ago that his petite partner was currently preoccupied with her own love life. "I'll make sure he eats something and drinks lots of fluids," Mrs. Jackson reassured him. Although she only knew him for the three months that the two men had been living together, she had grown quite fond of Mulder since he responded more to her mothering ways than the AD. After all, she was sixty and there weren't too many years between her and Skinner. However, the agent just had this way of bringing out her maternal instincts and Mulder lapped it up like a cat with a bowl of milk. Skinner left the apartment promptly at eight o'clock, his mind already geared to the set of meetings he was going to have that day. .................................... August 18, Monday 11:13 a.m. Mulder woke up and groaned at the harsh noon time summer light that filled the bedroom. He had a fierce headache but what was more pressing was his full bladder. He really needed to empty it but just moving on the bed made him too aware of every aching muscle. Because he couldn't wait any longer, he stood up and weaved to the bathroom. God, the bathroom was cold! He shivered as he urinated and after washing his hands, he grabbed Skinner's dressing gown that hung on the back of the bathroom door and shrugged into it. Mulder went back into bed and gathered up the comforter at the foot of it. He then arranged Skinner's numerous pillows around him, trying to create a warm nest. He was freezing as he huddled under the thick covers. For the next few minutes, Mulder shivered under the blankets, his teeth chattering. He didn't even hear the knock on the door. Suddenly he felt a cool hand on his forehead. "Fox?" It was a voice filled with concern and for a moment, Mulder crazily thought that his mother was beside him. She shouldn't be here, that was all that filled his mind. She'll find out about Walter and me. "Fox, you're burning up," the voice said again. Then Mulder realized it was Mrs. Jackson. He felt someone tugging at the blankets, trying to wrestle the covers from under his chin. "Fox, you have to get out from under there. You'll just make the fever worse if you stay under there." "I'm c-cold," Mulder muttered, wishing that they would just leave him in peace with the comforter. He shivered violently this time, but Mrs. Jackson was insistent on pulling off the covers from him. "Fox, come on, drink this," the voice said yet again, quite persistent in waking him up. Mulder opened his eyes which were stuck together. "Come on, it's watered down juice. And you have to take two more of the Tylenol." It was the juice that roused Mulder. He really was thirsty. He painfully sat up and drank from the straw Mrs. Jackson held for him. He gagged at the pills but he was able to take that, too. He started to get back under the covers. "Uh-uh, Fox," Mrs. Jackson stopped him. To his dismay, she threw back the comforter. "Let's get you out from all those layers. You need to cool down and you won't be able to do that if you don't listen to me. I'm going rub you down with alcohol; I promise you'll feel better." "But Mrs. Jackson, we've only kn-known each other for thr- three m-months," Mulder mildly protested as she tugged at Skinner's dressing gown which was tangled up all over him. He shivered again as the cool air in the room assaulted his fevered skin. "Nonsense, Fox," Mrs. Jackson mildly admonished as she tried to make head and tails of Skinner's robe. "On our first meeting I saw all of you, remember? Now help me take off your T-shirt. Don't be a baby. Your fever is probably close to a hundred and four. We have to get it down fast." The housekeeper didn't need to take his temperature. Years of experience with taking care of people made her an expert on people's temperatures. She wrung out the washcloth into the basin beside her and rubbed down Mulder's skin, making sure that the dry one followed each pass of the wet cloth so that he wouldn't be unnecessarily chilled. Mulder felt a tear escape from under his eyelid which he brushed away angrily. He hated feeling so weak like this, but Mrs. Jackson was being so kind. He wasn't used to all this mothering attention on him; it made him feel decidedly peculiar. He hoped Mrs. Jackson didn't see him tear up or was just being polite by ignoring it. She rubbed down his arms and legs and torso and then his back. He did indeed feel better after that and the chills were banished within a few minutes. This time Mrs. Jackson took his temperature, which was back down to ninety-nine. By the time he was in a fresh T-shirt and under a new sheet, he fell into a restful sleep. Mrs. Jackson woke him up again at three o'clock, insisting that Mulder drink some more of the watered down juice. It was just sweet enough but not tart so as not to sting his mouth. The fever was controlled but he still didn't have an appetite. He shook his head at the soup she offered him. ...................... August 18, Monday 7:03 p.m. Walter Skinner was surprised when he saw that Mrs. Jackson was still in the kitchen playing solitaire. She should have gone home hours ago. "I didn't want to leave Fox alone," Mrs. Jackson explained. "His fever was very high at noon, but it's been down the rest of the day. He doesn't want to eat, but he was able to keep down the juice." "You should have told me you were waiting for me," Skinner said, embarrassed that the housekeeper was on overtime. After all, she was sixty already and she did need her rest, too. Taking care of Mulder wasn't part of her job description. "It's no bother," she said as she gathered up her purse. "It was my bowling night, but with my scores these past few weeks, I didn't need the grief of my bowling group. He just stayed in bed and did as I told him." The housekeeper left and Skinner went upstairs to check on Mulder. The agent was still flushed but ever-diligent Mrs. Jackson left a small pad by the nightstand where she recorded Mulder's temperature and the hour it was taken. Skinner marveled at that. He never would have thought of recording his lover's temperature. Apparently, it took years of practice to achieve efficient bedside manners. The agent's temperature was mostly ninety-nine the whole day. "Fox," Skinner sat on the bed and gently stroked Mulder's hair. The younger man's skin wasn't as hot as it was this morning and so far the fever seemed controlled. Mulder cheek was bristly already. After all, he didn't shave this morning. "My head hurts," Mulder muttered as an eye opened. "I had a headache the whole day." Skinner put a cool washcloth on his forehead and Mulder was able to tolerate watching some television. Skinner successfully coaxed him to eat the soup and crackers and was gratified that Mulder finished all of it. By the time they slept that night, Mulder claimed that he felt better and might be able to go to work within two days. ..................... August 19, Tuesday 3:41 p.m. "Sir, it's your housekeeper at line 4," Kimberly's filtered voice said over the intercom. Skinner looked up from the papers on his desk. "She said it's urgent." Fox, Skinner thought. He punched in line 4, unconsciously clenching his jaw. "Walter, Fox's temperature has been rising since noon; its now one hundred and four and staying there," Mrs. Jackson said calmly. "I've given him all the Tylenol he's allowed to have and the alcohol rubs but his fever is steady. I think he needs to go to the hospital. He's awake and looking daggers at me right now. Fox, you do need to see a doctor. I don't think you have the flu..." For a moment, Skinner heard his housekeeper and lover bickering in the background. Finally, Mulder's voice got on the line. "It's just the flu, Walter," Mulder had that tell tale whiny tone that Skinner had come to recognize as a definite sign of illness in the agent. "I just have this headache that won't go away and aside from the fever, I'm fine. I even ate a sandwich..." "Don't listen to him," Mrs. Jackson's voice abruptly got on the line again. "He ate a BITE of the sandwich, Walter, then gave up. He hasn't been drinking as much, either. Now, Fox, don't call me a tattletale...it's for your own good." Skinner didn't want World War III to break out at home. Mrs. Jackson after all was a treasure and he didn't want the two to be at odds with each other before the day was over. "I'm going home," Skinner said. "Please wait for me, Mrs. Jackson." "I will," Mrs. Jackson replied, somewhat with relief. Kimberly was surprised to see Skinner emerge from his office, briefcase in hand. "But, sir, what about your four o'clock?" she asked. "Please reschedule it, Kim," Skinner said tersely. "The-the kitchen...it's flooded right now, burst pipes and the-- neighbors below are complaining." "Oh," Kimberly said, nodding in understanding. That was indeed an emergency if she ever saw one, especially since the AD just moved in a few months ago. Skinner drove home, thankful that the rush hour was yet to start. Fortunately, the two people at home hadn't turned into combatants. Instead, he found Mulder moaning in bed, holding his head and Mrs. Jackson patting his back and alternately rubbing the back of his neck. "See, I told you not to stand up to go to the bathroom," Mrs. Jackson commiserated with him but was still somewhat righteous. "I was willing to hold the bottle for you. You're too sick to get up. Oh, Walter, I'm glad you're back." The housekeeper took him aside and with low tones told the AD that Mulder's temperature was now one hundred and five. She mentioned that the agent might have a serious infection, one of which was meningitis although his neck wasn't stiff. Then Mrs. Jackson mentioned that she noticed that both of Mulder's palms were turning bright pink. "I've never seen anything like that but it could be just from the fever," she continued to whisper to him. "He's also been complaining of muscle pains the whole day. No, I won't go home until you call the doctor and I know what he has to say. I want to know if my suspicions are correct." Skinner sat by Mulder's bedside and helplessly rubbed the moaning agent's back as he dialed Dr. Cormier's number. Fortunately, it didn't take long before the discreet doctor was on the phone. Skinner described the younger man's symptoms and was alarmed when Cormier's tone of voice turned intense when Skinner mentioned the rash on Mulder's palms. "Mr. Skinner, when was Mr. Mulder last out of town?" Cormier asked. Skinner heard a squeaky creak as the physician seemed to sit up suddenly in his chair. Cormier knew that Mulder did a lot of traveling around the country. "Last week, uh--Friday, he came from Georgia," Skinner said. Thankfully, Mulder seemed to fall into a restless sleep. But he really was burning up. "Did he sustain any insect bites or tick bites?" Cormier's crisp tones queried. "Was he ever in a forest setting?" "He didn't mention any bites but, yes, he was in the forest investigating...something," Skinner stated, suddenly recalling Mulder's muddy boots. "I'm not sure, Mr. Skinner, but from what you've told me, Mr. Mulder might have Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever," Cormier voiced his suspicions carefully. "I'll be sending over an ambulance. I'm afraid that he has to be admitted." Skinner whispered a numbed yes. He put down the telephone and his forehead creased. He was familiar with the disease by name only. He really never paid attention to the usual health bulletins that was on the news every summer. "I'll pack his things," Mrs. Jackson said, efficient as always. She threw open the closet and was able to pack some clothes for the agent. She didn't know what the doctor said, but from Skinner's stunned face, she knew that the agent was bound for the hospital. Skinner knew that Mulder was going to be admitted in Baltimore. Cormier's services didn't come cheap but the specialist was even more of an expert in subterfuge than they were. More than ten years of caring with utmost discretion for homosexual men in the DC area had allowed Cormier to build a practice that employed close-mouthed ambulance drivers and private nurses. The doctor likewise was connected with various hospitals. So if a DC patient needed to be admitted, he was brought to either a Virginia or Maryland facility, anywhere except near the patient's place of residence or employment. After all, the last thing certain top government officials needed was for the press to hound them out of office. Mrs. Jackson left after packing. She admonished Skinner to call her if he had any news. Skinner nodded. He had that tell tale clenching of his jaw, which meant that he was very tense. He should have known that this wasn't just an ordinary flu. Mulder felt unwell since Sunday and it was now Tuesday. Skinner felt that he should have paid more attention to what the younger man was feeling. He should have been more vigilant because Mulder never did ordinary things; in the same vein, he never had ordinary illnesses. Although Cormier's voice was calm and professional, Skinner hadn't missed the undertone of alarm that the doctor had. Skinner waited for the ambulance, helplessly stroking Mulder's fevered back. Mulder briefly woke up. "Fox, honey, did you get any insect bites in Churchtown?" Skinner asked urgently in case Mulder fell asleep again. Skinner's chest tightened when Mulder nodded sluggishly. "Where?" "On my leg, Thursday, I think...can I have water?" Mulder asked. Skinner gave him half a glass. The younger man fell asleep again and carefully, Skinner inspected Mulder's legs but he didn't find any marks. .................... August 19, Tuesday 5:24 p.m. Cormier's ambulance men were well trained and shortly after they arrived, they did an efficient physical examination and called Cormier to report on the patient. Then after inserting an intravenous line, they gently strapped a feverish Mulder to the stretcher. "We'll take good care of him, Mr. Skinner," the tall black paramedic crisply said. "But it would be better if we take him to the ambulance by ourselves. You can follow in your car. The ambulance is in the basement so as few people as possible will see him. Please give us a head start of ten minutes before you go down so that people won't see you together. Do you have a cell phone? Please give us your number so that we can call you anytime we're in the ambulance if there are new developments." Skinner numbly followed their efficient directions. Mulder was conscious but so sick that he was past caring about what was happening to him. The paramedics left with the stretcher- borne Mulder and Skinner closed the door and waited the ten minutes. He removed his glasses and tiredly pinched away the tears. ......................... August 20, Wednesday 1:30 a.m. Skinner stood up from the chair and stretched out his back and neck. He was exhausted, but he forcibly shook his head to keep himself awake. Mulder was under the cooling blanket, fast asleep. The monitors which Skinner learned to read in a short time showed that Mulder's heart rate was unusually fast and his temperature still hovered at one hundred and three. The rash that started on the agent's palms now involved his forearms and new ones had popped on his feet and ankles. The agent rallied somewhat when he was in the emergency room. Apparently, getting adequate hydration by IV in the ambulance revived him and he balked at the ER when they wanted to insert another IV and catheterize him. Skinner had been firm when Mulder pleaded with him to back up his wishes but by this time, the AD was too anxious for Mulder's sake and painfully turned on the younger man, insisting that he take their ministrations to the letter. Mulder was furious, staring accusingly at Skinner's seeming betrayal. The AD refused to look him in the eye, understanding that Mulder's illness was the one talking. A lot of vials of blood was drawn and Mulder had to keep still when they did the spinal tap. By the time Cormier came a few minutes later, Skinner was glad that Mulder did get that additional IV line. Within the hour that they were in the emergency room, the younger man didn't feel well at all. Cormier informed Skinner that most likely Mulder had a severe case of RMSF because symptoms appeared so early. The next 48 hours were crucial if the patient was going to show an adequate response to the antibiotics. Skinner quickly learned the acronym; from the time that the ER personnel discussed Mulder's case, they had been saying RMSF right and left. Skinner awakened from his reverie by a small voice. "Walter...you there?" Mulder moaned. "I'm here, Fox," Skinner said, moving over to Mulder's side so that the agent could see him. "Can you turn on your side? The nurses said that you should change position as often as possible." With gentle handling and prodding, Mulder turned. He asked for another drink of water. Once he had his fill, Skinner heard him muttering something. "What, what is it? You want something?" Skinner asked, fluffing a pillow at Mulder's back to prevent him from rolling onto his back again. "I said, I hate catheters, I hate catheters," Mulder snapped tiredly. "I hate catheters, I hate them!" Skinner had to smile at that one. Maybe Mulder was feeling better if he was expressing his distaste so fervently. "I hate catheters," Mulder muttered as if in a litany. "I got UTI when I was shot in the leg, when I was in Alaska, when the green bugs got me and Scully, and when Deep Throat died. I hate catheters...I'm thirsty, can I have another drink?" Skinner sighed as he let Mulder have another drink. He never knew that Mulder had that many hospitalizations already, all within the few years he was in the X-files. "I told you I hated it but you still let them put one in me," Mulder apparently wasn't finished with his pet peeves. The agent's voice cracked in the end of his statement, near tears at being so sick. It seemed that up to now, he was resenting Skinner's nonintervention on that matter. "Fox, I didn't have a say in all this, you know," Skinner said patiently, allowing Mulder to vent his frustrations. If all goes well, they would be at each other's throats by tomorrow. That was certainly better than having a silent Mulder, the one that scared Skinner so that afternoon when the paramedics wheeled him away to the elevator. "Walter, can you turn up the lights so I can see my hands?" Mulder stared with morbid fascination at his rash. Skinner humored him and turned the lights back down when Mulder finally fell asleep again. ......................... August 20, Wednesday 6:05 a.m. The shuffling of crepe-soled nurses' feet woke up Skinner a few hours later. He saw them on their morning rounds. The agent was still asleep and from the temperature monitor, Skinner could tell that Mulder's temperature was still one hundred and two. From the records, Skinner saw that Mulder spiked to one hundred and four again as they slept. "Sir, we think it would be a good idea to give him a sponge bath," a nurse whispered. "It could help with the fever and make him feel better. Would you tell him that in a little while?" Skinner nodded, his mind too foggy to really think of a response. Once the nurses left, the AD went over to the sink and splashed water on his face and gargled his mouth out. "Baby...Fox?" Skinner stroked Mulder's cheek, noting with a grimace that Mulder was still hot to the touch. "Sleeping," Mulder muttered. He tried to bury his head under the covers but with the IV's, he only succeeded in jerking one hand painfully. It was sufficient to wake him. "Bath time, the nurses said," Skinner announced. He didn't know if he would be able to go to work today. "How do you feel?" "Headache's much better," Mulder admitted. "Hey, it's all over my arms and legs now." Indeed the rash was more extensive. When Mulder was undressed for the hated sponge bath, there was more of the rash everywhere. With Skinner's assistance, the bath was accomplished in short order. The linen change and a shave and brushed teeth and combed hair did much to improve Mulder's disposition. "Walter, please go to work," Mulder muttered before he curled up to sleep again. "I'm feeling much better." The AD reluctantly left. He was late for work that morning having to go back to the apartment to change. He was glad that Scully was out of town or else her concern for her friend and partner if she found out about the RMSF might just complicate matters. Kimberly asked about the water damage and at first Skinner looked blankly at her until he remembered his hasty excuse yesterday. "The pipes were fixed," Skinner fibbed and hurriedly closed the door between them. Fortunately, the meetings and the papers went smoothly today. .................... August 20, Wednesday 3:16 p.m. "Ray Cormier on the line, sir," Kimberly called. The doctor never gave his title when he called at the office. "Mr. Skinner, Mr. Mulder developed a worrisome cough this morning," Cormier announced. "On X-ray, it's confirmed my suspicions that he has pneumonitis, which is a common sequela of the disease. His fever's still up there, I'm afraid, but his spinal fluid doesn't show any signs of spread of the infection. We'll continue with the antibiotics. And his bloodwork does confirm RMSF. We have to keep our fingers crossed that all will go well." "Thank you, Dr. Cormier," Skinner said, tiredly pinching his eyes yet again. The lack of adequate sleep was starting to tell on him. He continued with the papers and signing where all signatures were due but when the words started to blur together, he knew he had to stop. Resignedly, he stood up and decided that he couldn't work like this. "Kimberly, I have to see if...the water damage..." words failed him. He couldn't think of what to do with water damage since that never happened to him before. But Kimberly only nodded in understanding and said that she'll rearrange his meetings yet again. Apparently, his assistant was familiar with the devastating effects of water damage and the fact that it could take up a lot of an AD's time. Maybe it wasn't so bad that he thought up the excuse of burst pipes, Skinner mused. Just how far could he stretch this water damage story, anyway? .................... August 20, Wednesday 4:22 p.m. Mulder painfully turned on his side and unsuccessfully tried to contain his cough. Each spasm of his chest sent an accompanying dull and unpleasant jolt to his stomach. The resident who had checked him said that his liver was enlarged. Everything just felt so uncomfortable: he was so hot, he was thirsty, the previous ache of his muscles now involved his chest and abdomen, the rash frankly looked gross, the damned catheter was still in there down there and most of all Skinner wasn't here. He knew that Skinner had to go to work to avoid raising people's suspicions but Mulder wished that their lives weren't so complicated. The agent tried to cheer up by telling himself that things weren't so bad this time. Okay, when you got shot in the leg, you and Skinner weren't together yet and you had to stay at Dad's house of horror. When the green bugs got you and Scully, Skinner wasn't there yet, too and you were worried about Scully. When you were in Alaska with that damned retrovirus, Skinner came but you were unconscious then. So how come you're sick again and Skinner's with you but you still miss him? The circuitous logic just went on and on in his fevered mind. Mulder winced as he tried to find a comfortable position. His back still hurt from the lumbar tap they did yesterday. All they did was poke him and stab him with needles. If they weren't drawing blood, they were fixing his IV's. If they weren't fixing his IV, they were stabbing the tubings with all sorts of medicines. They kept shoving food at him when he didn't feel like eating. It wasn't an exaggeration to say that different colored jellos appeared before his small bedside table at least five times since this morning. He never knew jello came in so many sickly colors. Then they came around and ask with false cheer if he felt any better. Mulder tried to feel lucky that it hadn't gotten into their crazed medical skulls to pull out his catheter and then reinsert it according to some equally crazed medical lore. He was glad, however, that Skinner did not suggest that they call his mom. That was one thing he didn't need right now. In the back of his mind, he dreaded her rebuff yet again. Why should she see her son, her only remaining flesh and blood, her only remaining child, her precious first born if he was still alive? Let the hospital take care of him; after all, isn't that what hospitals are paid to do? Just tell me when he's dead and wrap up his body to go. If he said those exact same words, maybe his mother had those exact same words etched into the genetic make up of her own brain. The deranged one-way imagined musings continued to short circuit through his fevered gray matter. Suddenly the door to his room opened quietly then he heard the familiar gait of leather on linoleum then there was that achingly familiar whiff of aftershave. The beloved feel of the soft lips brushing on his hot forehead briefly brought a weary smile to Mulder's own lips. "I'm back, Fox," Skinner whispered. It was enough for Mulder to feel comfortable again. Mulder drifted off to sleep soon after. ......................... August 21, Thursday 2:58 a.m. Somehow, it was asking fate too much to give Mulder an easy time. By one o'clock, the nurses were worriedly hovering at his bedside. At first, it was a subtle thing. Skinner noticed Mulder's night shift nurse dropping in more frequently. Then there were two of them looking at the monitors, whispering to themselves. When Skinner opened a weary eye, he gave a start when he saw that there were three of them now. "What is it?" Skinner asked worriedly. "Is anything wrong?" "His blood pressure's dropping, Mr. Skinner," the most senior-appearing nurse informed him. "Although he's adequately hydrated, with adequate urine output, his BP continues to drop. We've already called Dr. Cormier and the resident is on her way." A chubby short bespectacled girl about Scully's height came in and Skinner realized with dismay that this was the resident physician that the nurses were waiting for. She couldn't have been no older than the copyboy in the copyroom at the Hoover. However, the nurses seemed to be deferring to her as she leisurely looked through Mulder's chart and asked the right questions. "Mr. Mulder?" Skinner tried not to wince when she stood on the half stool to get an adequate look at Mulder. She was that short and looked like she should be in high school. But she seemed to know her stuff and just patted Mulder on the arm gently. Mulder woke up at her insistent but gentle tapping on his arm. "I'll just examine you, please," she said. Mulder made no complaints with her gentle ways however and even fell back to sleep as the resident listened to his chest and palpated his abdomen. She then crisply ordered the nurses to start some new drip as she delicately put Mulder's gown to rights and replaced the blanket over him. "Mr. Skinner, there are signs that Mr. Mulder might be slipping into early septic shock. I've already informed Dr. Cormier of my suspicions even before I came here and my physical examination just confirmed it," she still stood on the stool which almost had her eye level with Skinner. She may be small and looked like she was still in high school but she knew what to do. "We're changing his antibiotics right now and the dopamine drip you heard me order is to keep his blood pressure at adequate levels to avoid heart and kidney damage. "So far, all the abnormality we see is the low blood pressure. His vital organs are still functioning quite well and are seemingly unaffected. He is quite strong so we are optimistic that he will overcome this temporary setback. Dr. Cormier is on his way right now and will see Mr. Mulder shortly." The whatever drip was started. The little short resident waited at Mulder's bedside, calmly writing down whatever mumbo jumbo was needed in the chart. Because she didn't seem unnecessarily worried, Skinner sat back down and almost fell asleep again. "Mr. Skinner, his blood pressure has bounced back to normal with the drip," the resident informed him again. When a rumpled Cormier finally made an appearance, he and the resident discussed Mulder at length. Skinner didn't miss Cormier's thanking her for raising Mulder's BP so soon. Cormier essentially agreed to the resident's management of Mulder and informed Skinner that the antibiotics were being shifted to a stronger one. However, it will take another 48 hours to take full effect and in the meantime, Mulder will need all the supportive measures available. ......................... August 21, Wednesday 10:02 a.m. The rash looked ugly, the previous pink rash now hemorrhagic in appearance and ulcerated in certain areas. Mulder was turned to different positions much more frequently but what troubled the staff was his bouts of somnolence alternating with restlessness and occasionally delirium. Although the spinal tap was negative, Cormier was considering the presence of encephalitis, which wouldn't necessarily show up in spinal fluid. The AD decided to forgo work, not bothering to inform Kimberly. Mulder always wanted Skinner by his side. Everyone just humored him. His blood pressure steady at 110 systolic was enough for now. The nurses wheeled in a stuffed chair that could be pulled out into a bed for Skinner and he never left Mulder's side except for bathroom breaks and short meals. "Dad, I don't want..." Mulder muttered. "Dad, I don't want to go with you." Shit. Skinner's ears pricked at that one and goosebumps raised the few remaining hair that he had. He stood up from his chair and wildly looked at the monitors, which all seemed okay in his layman's opinion. "No, Dad, I won't go..." Mulder's eyes were shut but he continued to talk. Skinner's stomach tightened and he swallowed convulsively. He was familiar with the belief of dead relatives who came back to claim a dying one, but this was the first time he ever witnessed such an event. Desperately, Skinner shook the younger man's shoulder to bring him out of his stupor. Unmindful of all the tubes, Skinner roughly shook Mulder again. "W-what, Walter, you're hurting..." Mulder seemed to get out of his trance and indignantly looked at his lover. "Who were you talking to just now?" Skinner wanted to know. "No one, I was sleeping...water?" Mulder licked his dry lips. Skinner sighed with relief and held the water glass for him. Skinner was restless as Mulder fell back into a fitful sleep. He couldn't sit still. All his thoughts were focused on the few seconds when Mulder seemingly talked with his dad. It was a clich, Skinner knew but at that moment, his heart literally felt like it was in his throat. It was at that moment that he fully realized what it meant if Mulder really turned for the worse and he died. Two years and a few odd months only. That was how long he and Mulder had been together. Skinner knew that the two years were the happiest he'd ever been and as far as he knew, the happiest for Mulder, too. Was fate telling him that it was all that was allowed for the two of them? ....................... August 21, Wednesday 1:05 p.m. "Fox, can you drink more water?" Mulder wasn't aware of who said that. He kept his eyes tightly shut; maybe they would go away if he pretended to sleep. He was just SO tired and wondered why people kept bothering him. "Baby, come on, this will help your mouth." Baby. No one ever called him that his whole life except for Walter. Was that Walter talking? Maybe he could tell Walter to tell the others not to bother him. Walter never hurt him. His Walter always made things right. "Fox...honey?" That was Walter all right. Mulder opened his eyes. His eyelids seemed so heavy. When the image stopped swimming before him, he first saw the plastic straw then the water glass held by a large hand connected to a strong arm then he saw Skinner's face. Mulder stared at Skinner's face for a moment before he took a sip. He took another sip of the water. Then he looked at Skinner's face again. "You need sleep, Walter; your eyes are red." Mulder slumped back down. Skinner rearranged his pillows for him, fluffing it up and then told him to lie down on his back this time. Then the bottom part of the bed was bent then the head part was raised. It was better because this time. He wasn't slipping down to the bottom of the bed, which happened when only the head part was elevated. "Your head still hurts?" Mulder shook his head. "Your mouth?" Mulder smacked his lips experimentally. It hurt to open his mouth. Like he had the mumps or something. He nodded. "They said that your salivary glands are affected. You look like a chipmunk." Alvin. Alvin was a chipmunk. He sang. Christmas songs. With his brothers. Squeaky. Mulder felt Skinner's cool hand stroking his forehead then his cheek. It felt nice. It was always nice when Walter was with him. "Is it hard to breathe?" He shook his head. "Would you like some music?" Everyone around him was concerned for his physical well being. They turned him like a log on the bed, swabbed his mouth and eyes, bathed him, put something on the ulcerated parts of the rash, measured his urine every hour on the hour, pumped fluids into him and recorded the beeping monitors religiously. But Walter was the only one who thought of music. When he nodded a yes, tears leaked out of his eyes. Skinner brushed it away. Then music filled the room and it was classical but that was okay. Mulder fell asleep again. ................. August 22, Thursday 5:41 p.m. Mulder was silent the rest of the afternoon. When he wasn't sleeping, he just lay there on the hospital bed. There was some trouble when his IV line went out of vein and an intern experienced difficulty with reinserting the line because most of his veins were used up. Skinner forced himself to keep calm when it was Mulder's fourth needle stick. Mulder was so weak he couldn't even flinch, but the AD knew that it hurt from the way the younger man would shut his eyes each time the intern poised another IV catheter against an elusive vein. By the sixth needle stick, Skinner was climbing the walls, because Mulder had frank tears in his eyes. The AD knew that the pain must have been too much because Mulder may cry a lot when they were alone together but never when there was a stranger in the room. When the now sweaty intern made a callous remark about Mulder's tears, Skinner had enough. "Will you call someone else?" Skinner roared. "I'm sure there's someone in this damned hospital who can do it right!" The intern scurried away. Skinner rubbed his bald head in frustration. He didn't like yelling at them. The last thing he wanted to do was to antagonize the staff, but the intern's last remark was too much. Again, the chubby bespectacled resident, Skinner couldn't remember her name, appeared at the door. She had additional equipment with her, some sort of ointment. "We're just going to look for veins, Mr. Mulder," she said as Mulder's arm tensed when she applied the tourniquet. "I won't stick any needles until I'm sure there's a suitable vein." She applied the rubber tourniquet from one arm then the other, occasionally tapping on Mulder's skin so that a vein would stand out. "I'm just going to put some ointment to numb the area," she explained. Skinner sighed with relief. This one seemed to know what she was doing. Within a short span of time, the IV was started again without so much as a peep from Mulder. "You okay?" Skinner whispered to him after the resident left. Mulder feebly shrugged his shoulders. The AD lightly stroked his forehead, which soothed him into sleep. .......................... August 23, Friday 7:28 a.m. Thankfully, Mulder's fever effervesced a few hours ago and hovered at the one hundred mark. He slept restfully the whole night. Now Skinner waited until the agent woke up. "Walter, can you turn on the TV?" Skinner looked up in surprise. Mulder's voice was stronger and this was the first time he asked to watch television. "Only after you eat, Fox," Skinner wondered if he could get away with it. "And it's not jello. It's chocolate pudding." That seemed to catch Mulder's attention. Skinner smiled at him when he saw the agent look at the pudding with anticipation. "Feeling better?" Skinner asked. "Yes," Mulder answered hoarsely. His voice was largely unused most of yesterday. Skinner fed him some of the pudding before Mulder turned away his head when he had enough. "Now can I watch television?" Skinner chuckled, the first laugh he had for a long time. He turned on the television to the morning show. He pretended to watch along with Mulder but he made surreptitious sidelong glances at the agent. Mulder seemed alert throughout the show but still not up to making his usual snide television commentaries. But for Skinner, it was enough. ..................... August 23, Friday 5:07 p.m. Skinner was dead tired as he went over the papers requiring his signature. Although he hated to leave the hospital, Mulder told him he had to go back to work. Skinner arrived very late at the Hoover and his day was packed with all the meetings Kimberly rescheduled. The last one almost gave away how tired he was. The two agents in the meeting threw confused glances between them when Skinner asked about a point that was brought up in another meeting. Skinner covered up by snapping a question back at them. With all the backed up work, he wasn't sure what time he could go back to the hospital. He called the hospital every few hours to ask about Mulder. Frankly, he didn't know what he would do tomorrow once Agent Scully came back from out of town and found out her partner and best friend was in the hospital. What fabrication this time could they use, to explain Mulder's confinement in a non-local hospital? Skinner forced himself to drink another cup of coffee and went back to his desk. After a while, Kimberly knocked and stuck her head in and said her goodnight. The AD was barely aware when she left. The words on the paper were starting to run together. He removed his glasses, went into his washroom and slapped water onto his face. Then he turned on all the lights in his room and looked out the window. By the time he got back to his desk, he was more alert. .................... August 23, Friday 6:34 p.m. Mulder hissed and tried not to squirm in pain as his catheter was finally removed. He was feeling better and his mind wasn't wandering anymore. When he asked if the damned thing could be removed, he was surprised when they complied. They stopped at the IV, however. They said he still needed a lot of IV fluids and the antibiotics were given through the IV. He didn't see one bowl of jello the whole day and that was another thing that improved his disposition. He had to be helped with the food still, but he found that his appetite was improved despite the funny feeling on one side of his face where his salivary gland was swollen. And he only coughed occasionally now. When Mrs. Jackson visited with a new book, it was even better. She asked beforehand if she could bring soup for Mulder and the staff said it was okay. Mulder was able to sip it through a straw but he still couldn't finish all of it. He only had one IV now, instead of the three that he had a few days ago. Maybe he could try his luck. After all, they did remove the catheter when he asked. "How about a wheelchair? I've been here in this bed since I got here," Mulder tried to sound casual. "You're not dizzy, woozy?" the nurse asked as she pushed back his gown back over his thighs. "No." "I'll just take your blood pressure then if it isn't low, I'm sure we can arrange for a wheelchair for you," the nurse smiled back at him. When the nurses weren't up in arms against him, Mulder knew he still wasn't fully recovered. All his experiences with hospital confinements made him all too aware that by the time he was leaving, they didn't want to see hide nor hair of him. The nurse came back with the wheelchair and Mulder grinned widely. Then when she got his bag from the closet and started to look for regular clothes, Mulder's grin got even wider. She wanted him to wear the whole works down to his underwear and socks, not just throwing together mismatched clothes. Instead, she helped him into a T-shirt which was tricky because of his IV, then he put his own boxers and sweatpants. By the time he was on the wheelchair in regular clothes, with only one IV bottle hanging over him, he would have turned cartwheels for her if she had asked. She stopped at the shoes however and he didn't mind. She wheeled him to the hospital corridor where she parked him against the window but could still keep an eye on him from the nurses' station. It was visiting hours so there were a lot of people passing through, people that kept Mulder distracted as he watched them. They were too polite to look too much at his rash. Mulder continued to watch the people with the detachment and bemusement of the recently ill. He was there by the window for almost half an hour and was starting to feel fatigued, but he saw Skinner at the end of the long corridor. Mulder saw that Skinner looked over his head, not even noticing his lover on the wheelchair. Mulder was struck at how tired Skinner appeared, quite haggard in fact. The familiar tendrils of guilt started in the agent's mind again. Mulder smiled to himself again as he watched Skinner enter his room. In less than a moment, he saw Skinner frantically dart out. The AD demanded Mulder's whereabouts from the nurses. They calmly pointed to Mulder by the window, and Skinner sheepishly thanked them. "You thought I was a goner, Walter, didn't you?" Mulder grinned at the AD. Mulder thought he'd never forget that frantic look on Skinner's face until the day he REALLY died. "Not if I can help it," Skinner said. He was also smiling widely. For a few minutes after that, Skinner wheeled Mulder around. Both of them were more than glad that Mulder was on the way to recovery. END OF BACCARAT PIECE: RICKETTSIAE Rickettsiae - Order of obligate intracellular organisms that are neither bacteria nor viruses. Feedback much appreciated. ------------------------------------------------ "A beacon in the night." Mulder in reference to Skinner Nisei ------------------------------------------------ If you want to see real Baccarat figurines you can take a look at www.the-forum.com/glass/baccarat.htm to give you an idea of what Skinner gave to Mulder. However, there are no fox figurines at that site. It's probably a limited edition.