xfc: NEW! Victory Cap (2/3)
dee ayy
Victory Cap (2/3)
By dee_ayy
Disclaimed, etc. in part 1
__________________________________
He wasn't asleep. He was more or less pretending. His
head was pounding again, and he found that if he lay
quietly, with his eyes closed, and didn't move, it
wasn't so bad. He'd kept up the pretense through
checks of his vital signs, through IV solution
replacement.
But when he heard the unmistakable click of Scully's
ridiculously high heels, he reached his first dilemma.
He really was tired. He really could go back to sleep,
he thought, if he gave himself half a chance.
"Why is he still asleep?" He hadn't realized someone
else was in the room with his partner.
"Dr. Harriman has a busy day planned for him, and he
was up quite late last night. We just decided to let
him be." Busy day? Mulder wondered idly what that
meant for a second, but his head pounded worse when he
tried to think, so he tried not to.
"I don't understand, why was he up late? Was he ill?"
Mulder heard the nurse's smile in her voice. "No,
nothing like that. The chart notes make reference to a
baseball game."
"Oh, right. I can't believe he stayed awake." Mulder
heard the door open and shut, and assumed it had
signaled the nurse's departure. The coast was clear.
"Yanks won, Scully" he said quietly without opening
his eyes.
"How long have you been awake?"
"Ages."
"But the nurse told me you've been sleeping all
morning."
He dared open his eyes, managing only a squint. "Nope.
Can you turn off some lights?"
"What's the matter?"
When his request wasn't immediately granted, Mulder
covered his eyes. "Headache."
"Same as yesterday?"
"Worse."
Scully approached the bed quickly, and pulled her
partner's hand away from his face. "Look at me,
Mulder. Look me in the eyes."
He did, and when she finally averted her gaze, he
repeated the request. "The light hurts, Scully. Can
you turn it off?"
She turned them off. "Is it that bad, Mulder?"
Suddenly, it was. "Yeah."
"I'm gonna go put a call in to Dr. Harriman, Mulder.
It should be getting better, not worse." She left the
room.
+ + + + +
By the time the doctor finally appeared, forty minutes
later, Mulder was in agony. He'd been given the
analgesics that were ordered for headache pain, but
they hadn't touched it. At his insistence the lights
were off and the blinds were drawn, and still he hid
his eyes with his hand.
He was just lying there, quiet and still and in
darkness, trying to hold the pain at bay. Scully sat
by his side, and had her hand resting over his, but
she said and did nothing. She merely wanted him to
know that she was still there.
The doctor entered and was clearly surprised by what
he saw when he turned on the light. Mulder grimaced,
but said nothing. His color was bad, there was a thin
sheen of sweat on his face.
"What brought this on," Harriman wondered aloud.
Scully spoke in hushed tones for her partner's
benefit. "We don't know. He complained of a headache
when I arrived about an hour ago, and it has been
getting steadily worse."
The doctor turned his attention to the patient.
"Mulder, is it anything like what you were feeling
last week?"
"No. No voices. It just hurts."
"Where? Anywhere specifically in your head?"
"No. Everywhere. I don't feel good."
"I need you to open your eyes for me." Mulder did and
immediately regretted it when they were assaulted by
the doctor's small flashlight.
"Are you experiencing anything else? Any weakness,
tingling, loss of sensation?"
"Noooo," Mulder pleaded. "It just hurts. I'm gonna. I
think…" Before he could finish the thought, Mulder
vomited. On himself, on his bed, on the doctor. He
just leaned forward and up it came. The doctor leapt
back, and missed most of the fallout. When Mulder was
done he just slumped back against the bed, too tired
and in too much pain to care.
"We need to do another CT scan," the doctor decided.
+ + + + +
Having his head strapped to the table for the scan was
actually a relief for Mulder. The less he moved his
head, the less it hurt. Being strapped down gave him
one less thing to worry about.
Scully had come with him this time, an indication to
Mulder that she was really worried. He'd heard her
whisper "bleed" to the doctor, so he was fairly
certain they thought he was bleeding in his head. What
was causing it was the least of his worries. He just
wanted the pain to stop.
He cursed the doctor for holding off on shooting him
full of pain meds. No, actually, he cursed himself.
The doctor had offered to load him up, and like an
asshole he'd opted to try a lower dose so as not to be
knocked out. And when Scully tried to talk him out of
it, he'd only become more resolute. But it had been so
long since he'd been able to participate in his
medical care, he wanted to be the one making the
decisions--even the wrong ones.
He listened to the persistent whir of the machine, and
tried to let the sound comfort him. It didn't work.
+ + + + +
He was back in his room, in his freshly cleaned and
changed bed, and he felt somewhat human again. His
head still hurt, but it was just a bad headache, the
kind he'd normally walk around with for hours before
finally taking aspirin. They'd given him something for
nausea, too, he knew. He'd gotten a veritable pharmacy
of drugs already today.
He looked over at Scully, who was studying the floor.
She hadn't left his side, but they'd long ago run out
of things to say. It wasn't a situation for small
talk, or for catching up on what he'd missed. He
settled his gaze on her, and watched until she felt
him and looked up.
She smiled slightly. Wearily. She was worried; he
could tell. "How's your head?" she asked.
He shrugged.
"Why don't you try to get some sleep. I'll wake you
when the doctor comes in."
He turned on his side, facing her, and closed his
eyes. But he was fairly certain sleep would not come.
+ + + + +
He might have slept for a minute, but he was awake
when he heard the door open. He opened his eyes
immediately, and could tell by the look on Scully's
face that the doctor was coming in, so he turned onto
his back as she was standing up. The verdict was in.
"Well?" his partner asked.
The doctor allowed his face to fall into a look of
utter confusion. "I've had three colleagues look at
all the scans. From when he first came here weeks ago
up to this morning. It's not just me. None of us see
anything. They all look virtually identical. The one
we took today looks exactly like the one we took
yesterday. Same with the MRIs."
"So why does my head still. . . ." He paused, the word
that had been on the tip of his tongue suddenly gone
and forgotten; or never actually there at all. He
allowed his momentary frustration to show on his face,
and rephrased the question. "Why is it pounding?"
"Why was your temporal lobe going haywire before,
Agent Mulder? We just don't know. Symptoms. It's all
symptoms and we can't find a cause. There is one more
test, one more thing to look at, though, that might
explain the headache. Your white blood cell count is
normal, but it could be some sort of infection
starting in your brain. Or there could be an increase
in the amount of cerebrospinal fluid surrounding your
brain causing pressure."
"A lumbar puncture," Scully said matter-of-factly.
"Exactly. We can get a measure of the pressure and see
if we need to insert an ICP monitor, and we can test
the fluid and see what we find."
"When?" Mulder asked.
"We can do it right now, right here."
Suddenly Mulder remembered. "You did one of these
before, didn't you?"
The doctor was again surprised. "Why yes, several
weeks ago. We thought you were. . ."
Before he could finish, Mulder responded. "I wasn't.
And it hurt."
"We'll make sure you're good and numb this time. You
couldn't tell us that other time. I'll be right back
and we can get started." He left.
"So, you think they'll find anything, Scully?"
"I don't know. But they have to check everything,
Mulder, just to be sure."
"I know."
+ + + + +
Mulder was on his left side. The doctor and nurse--and
Scully--had positioned him for the test, so he was
practically curled in the fetal position, with his
spine practically at the edge of his bed. He could
hear the activity behind him, but had been admonished
not to move, so he didn't.
"What are they doing, Scully?" he asked. He didn't
look at her, because he'd been told to keep his chin
against his chest, so that's what he'd be looking at
if his eyes were open.
"They're about to start, Mulder. Just relax."
"Okay, Mulder," the doctor said from behind him, "I'm
going to give you two shots of a local anesthetic.
Here comes the first one." Mulder felt the needle
prick, but it didn't hurt much at all.
The doctor waited a moment, and then spoke again.
"This second one will be deeper. It might be a little
more uncomfortable." Mulder gasped when the needle hit
its mark, but he didn't move, and after a moment
Harriman was poking at a very numb spot on his
patient's spine.
"Okay, we're going to start now. You will feel
pressure, but you shouldn't feel any pain. Let me know
if you do, okay?"
Mulder just nodded and took a deep breath. He heard
Scully say "okay" to the doctor. She'd seen him nod,
but the doctor obviously had not. He just wanted it to
be over. He could feel the needle entering his body,
and he imagined that he felt it enter his spine.
Suddenly Scully was talking to him. "Breathe, Mulder.
You're holding your breath."
What she didn't know, couldn't see, was that his eyes
and teeth were clenched shut in apprehension. He let a
breath out between his teeth and inhaled, following
her orders. He could hear the sounds of the various
instruments being used behind him.
"Pressure's normal, fluid is clear," the doctor said.
He sounded relieved.
"That's good, Mulder," Scully told him. He nodded
slightly again, still tense and waiting for it to be
over.
A couple of minutes later it was over. Mulder felt the
doctor remove the needle, the bandage go into place
over the spot, and he heard the instruments being
moved away from his bedside. "All done. We need you to
lie flat on your back for at least three hours now.
Otherwise, ironically, you might get what is called a
spinal headache. You can roll onto your back now."
Mulder did and draped his arm over his eyes as he
listened to the doctor. "I'll put a red flag on the
samples, get them tested immediately. Head still
hurt?" Mulder nodded.
"Let's get you something stronger, then. Maybe you can
sleep. Don't raise the head of your bed, though,"
Harriman said as he left.
+ + + + +
He heard her, vaguely. And he felt her shaking him.
Just not enough to actually do anything about it. If
he ignored her maybe she'd stop and go away. He was
tired; he wanted to sleep.
But then another voice cut through the gauze
enshrouding his mind, a more persistent, authoritative
voice.
"WAKE UP!" Scully said sharply. He allowed his eyes to
flutter open. When they finally focused he saw both
Scully and a nurse looking down at him, clearly
relieved.
"You gave us a little scare, there," the nurse
scolded. "Can you tell me your name?"
"What?"
"Your name."
"You woke me up to ask me my name?"
"Uh huh."
Mulder didn't get it. He just wanted to go back to
sleep. "Mulder," he offered tiredly.
"First name?"
"Oh no you don't," he said. He heard Scully chuckle,
and knew she understood.
"What day is it, Mulder?" the nurse asked.
"How long have I been asleep?" he countered.
"Not long."
"It's." He stopped when he realized the word was gone.
Again. It was the day after Saturday, but he knew he
couldn't say that. This was one time he couldn't
compensate with a different word. He closed his eyes
and shook his head.
"That's okay, Mulder. Do you know where you are?"
"Georgetown Memorial." Suddenly the word returned.
"It's Sunday," he said. He opened his eyes and the
nurse was smiling.
"Right. Squeeze my hands for me?" she placed hers
within his and he squeezed.
"Okay, good. Go back to sleep."
Mulder closed his eyes, more than willing to oblige.
+ + + + +
When he woke he was flat on his back, without even a
pillow under his head. It took him a moment to
remember why, but he finally did and opened his eyes.
He was looking straight up at the ceiling.
"You're awake." He turned his head toward Scully's
voice, and found her smiling at him. "How do you
feel?"
How did he feel? His back was sore, but that was about
it. There were only the tiniest vestiges of his
headache left; just a slight dull ache. A reminder.
"Pretty good," he decided.
"How's your head?"
"Fine. How long have I been out?"
Her smile widened. "Not counting when they woke you to
check on you, six hours. It's four in the afternoon."
He didn't remember anyone waking him. "Wow. What did
they give me?" he mused. "Did they find anything in
the. . . ." Once more a word was lost. He wondered at
what point this was going to stop. He gave up his
struggle to finish the sentence after only a moment,
and just pointed at his back.
"Results aren't back yet. At least they weren't the
last time I checked."
Mulder nodded. "Can I sit up now?"
Scully nodded and raised the head of the bed slightly.
"Just a little, Mulder. The flatter you stay the
better right now."
"I'm hungry,"
"It's almost time for dinner."
Just then the door opened and a nurse popped her head
in, but didn't enter. "Dr. Scully, Dr. Harriman just
called. CSF was negative." Then she saw Mulder awake
and came in. "Mornin' sleepyhead," she said to him
kindly.
Mulder let out an exasperated breath. "Hardly morning,
Donna. Just four hours to game time."
The nurse smiled. "True. But I'm getting heat, Mulder.
Seems some people think your bad day was caused by
your late night. How's your head now?" She was
checking his vitals.
"It's fine." He turned to Scully. "Donna here is the
only other Yankees fan in this whole Godforsaken
place, and she's my nurse," he said happily. He turned
back to the nurse. "It wasn't your fault. I don't
think the two had anything to do with each other."
Donna smiled. "You're just saying that because there's
another game tonight." She unwrapped the BP cuff from
his arm. "We'll see what we can do," she said with a
wink as she left.
+ + + + +
"I remember when Sunday games were played during the
day," Mulder said.
"Well," Scully countered, "If this game had been
during the day today, you'd have slept through it."
"True." He was staring up at the set, watching the
"Team of the Century" being introduced. "This is just
some lameass marketing stunt, but it's really cool
that all these players are in one place," he told his
partner.
"Uh huh." Scully was trying desperately not to sound
as bored as she actually was.
"Ted Williams, Scully. Probably the greatest hitter in
the history of the game. And that's saying something
coming from a Yankees fan."
"Why?"
God, she didn't understand anything. "Because he
played for the Red Sox, Scully. God, my dad loved Ted
Williams."
"Oh. . . . Mulder, I know about that rivalry. What's a
Massachusetts boy like you doing a Yankees fan?"
Mulder smiled at the memory. "When I was 14, in the
summer of 1976, I was at war with my dad. The quickest
way I could come up with to hurt him was to change my
allegiance from his Sox to the Yankees. He'd challenge
me, to see if I really was following the Yankees, so I
had to check the box scores. Then they made it to the
World Series right around my 15th birthday. They lost,
but they won the next two years, and before I knew it,
I was a fan for real."
Scully nodded, and muted the sound on the TV. The team
thing had obviously finished. Mulder frowned at her
action, but didn't say anything. His partner stood up.
"Okay, Mulder, it's 8 o'clock and I'm going to go home
now. Please promise me that you won't stay up all
night watching baseball. Your problems today may have
been caused by overstimulation, There's no way of
knowing. Best to be careful."
"But I've been sleeping all day, Scully. I'm not
tired." He looked up at the set. "Pete Rose, Scully,
They're interviewing Pete Rose. Turn on the sound!"
Scully didn't. "I'm serious, Mulder. You've got to
rest and take it easy. Please, promise."
Mulder was getting annoyed at her, agitated that she
wouldn't release her hold on the remote. He looked
helplessly at the set as the interview ended, and a
commercial began, freeing him to turn his attention
back to her. "Yeah, yeah, okay. I will. Can you turn
the sound on now?"
He was like a little boy. Scully smiled and turned the
sound on. She handed the remote to him with one hand,
and with the other she patted the top of his head.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Mulder. I have to go to the
office, but I'll be by in the morning some time. Be
good, be well."
"Night Scully."
+ + + + +
"What can I do for you, Mr. Mulder?"
"Where's Donna?"
"She's in with another patient. Is something the
matter? Why did you call?"
"Nothing. I'm okay."
The nurse glanced up at the television. "It's late,
Mr. Mulder."
She wasn't gonna pull that crap on him. "It's 8:30,"
he replied.
"Almost 9. You need your rest. I don't understand why
they have TVs on this ward at all." She flipped off
the TV at the set. "Get some sleep," she said, and she
left.
Well, fuck, that hadn't worked as he'd planned. He
figured Donna would come when he called, and he could
give her an update. Now he was even afraid to turn it
back on.
A minute later the door opened a crack, and Donna slid
through the opening, as if she was sneaking in. He
knew she had every right to be in here, so he knew she
was doing it for his amusement.
"You called?" she said secretively.
He smiled and flipped on the TV. "Yanks scored three
in the first. Five hits, all singles. Including your
little shortstop."
She actually ventured to take a seat. "I told you.
He's always in the middle of it when something good
happens."
Mulder nodded. "They're lighting that Millwood kid
up." A thought passed through his mind and he shook
his head.
"What?" Donna asked.
"I was just thinking. I can't seem to remember the
days of the week, but I know the Yankee lineup from
every year since 1976, and I know the ERA of a Braves
pitcher I've never seen pitch before."
The nurse stood, smiled at him warmly, and then rested
her hand on the top of his head for a moment, much
like Scully had done earlier. "That's the human brain
for you. It'll come back. I'd bet on it. Don't worry."
She looked at her watch. "Hey, it's my dinner hour.
Would you mind some company?"
+ + + + +
Donna looked at her watch again. Her 45 minutes were
up, her patient was asleep, and their team was up 5-0
after just three innings. With Cone on the mound, she
knew they had this one. Mulder did, too, obviously,
because he'd turned on his side and drifted off during
the space of one commercial break.
She contemplated for a moment, then decided, and
turned off the TV. But she left the control on the bed
beside him in case he woke up.
+ + + + +
"Come on. Open your eyes for me."
Mulder stirred, and slowly woke up. "I hate the way
you do this," he mumbled.
Donna chuckled. "I know. It's a form of torture, but a
necessary one."
"Name rank and serial number?"
She chuckled again. "Uh huh."
"Mulder, Fox. Special Agent. Badge number JTT" She cut
him off.
"Not literally!"
Mulder sighed loudly. "It's probably Monday by now,
and it's still this same damn hospital."
"We are wasting our time with you. Just go back to
sleep," Donna suggested.
"How'd we do?"
"Won 7-2."
"Knew it," Mulder said as he rolled over and went back
to sleep.
+ + + + +
"This is a waste of time," Mulder told the woman.
"Just get me a New York Times and I'll show you."
The woman smiled indulgently. "Humor me," she said,
and she turned to the next flashcard.
"House. I've been reading since I was three." She
flipped to the next card.
"Christmas. I've even read War and Peace."
"Believe. The whole thing, not just the Cliff's
Notes."
The therapist was smiling at his commentary as she
flipped each card. "Okay, now read the word and then
use it in a sentence for me." She held up a new card.
"Candle. There were too many candles on my last
birthday cake for me to be playing with flash cards
now. How's that?"
The woman was trying not to laugh. "Very good. Next."
"Watch. Would you like the noun or the verb? Perhaps
both. The patient watched his watch, waiting for the
stupid test to finish."
+ + + + +
"How'd it go?" Scully asked when she entered the room
and found the speech pathologist packing her cards
away.
"Not bad," the woman said brightly.
"Not good," Mulder weighed in sullenly.
"Just the slightest touch of aphasia. Trouble
articulating the names of objects. Nothing that would
really affect him." She turned back to her patient.
"Don't get discouraged." She picked up her supplies
and approached Scully, who had remained in the
doorway. "He's a little bummed; frustrated," she
explained.
Scully nodded. "He prides himself on being extremely
articulate."
The therapist let out a slight breath of laughter.
"He's still more articulate than most of us."
Scully approached her partner as the woman left. "You
okay?" she asked simply.
"I look at something, I know what it is, and there's
no word for it. Then five minutes later, BAM! It comes
to me. Volcano."
"That's good, though, Mulder. The words aren't gone,
they're just misplaced." She was trying to make light
of it. "How's your head today."
Mulder refused to be comforted. "Fine."
"No headaches."
"Nothing a couple of Tylenol didn't cure."
"That's good. Hey, your Yankees won."
"I know. I fell asleep, though." He was clearly in a
bad mood.
Scully smiled. "And you said you weren't tired. What
else is planned for you today, do you know?"
Mulder nodded, studying his hands as they strangled a
piece of his blanket. "Physical and Occupational
therapy. See what else I can't do."
Scully freed one hand from the blanket and took it
solemnly in hers. "Mulder, look. When you consider
what could have happened. What they could have done to
you, or even how you were before, you should be
thrilled. If forgetting a word for five minutes, and
maybe having a little weakness on one side is the
price you have to pay, it's a small one. Just consider
the alternatives for a moment."
She paused, considered saying something, started to,
stopped herself, and then finally decided to continue.
"When you woke up, we didn't know. We weren't sure
you'd be you. Do you know what I mean? But you are
you, Mulder. All the things that make you who you
are--your wit, your sarcasm, your intelligence, your
entire personality--it's all there. You're back, and
you're gonna be okay. You're gonna be great, even if
you can't remember the word volcano."
Mulder raised his eyes to look at her finally, and was
surprised to see her close to tears. She was right,
she was always right, and he gave her hand a squeeze.
+ + + + +
(Continued in 3/3)
=====
"We'll have it our way." |
--Fox Mulder |
-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~|
I still have that web site! All the |
Mulder-gets-sick fic you could ask for, at |
http://dee-ayy.freeservers.com |
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