Title: Revelations II: The Morning Star Author: Linda Phillips (rn500@usa.net) Rating: R Classification: S / A / R Keywords: MSR Summary: A post-invasion tale. The second in the 'Revelations' series. Completed on: 1/20/99 Archiving: Gossamer - yes. All others please ask. Disclaimer: The X-Files and its characters belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Television. No infringement intended. ___________________________________________ The edges of the gaping wound were red and firm, and she could feel the sickly heat emanating from it just by holding her hand near. A milky green exudate oozed continually from it, necessitating several dressing changes a day. She was in the midst of doing the second, even as she wondered why she was wasting precious gauze and tape. This man was not going to live. His intravenous line infused fluids to keep him hydrated, along with the third class of antibiotic that they had tried. Third and final, because it was all they had. Despite all their attempts, he was failing. He slipped in and out of consciousness, the fever sending him to places far away, to people he would never see again. She had no idea who this man was, except for a name. Did he have a mother who was wondering what had happened to him? A wife? Children who cried for their daddy? Her eyes glanced up at the hand lettered note tacked to the wall above the man's bed. Big black letters declared "DNR" - Do Not Resuscitate. She had argued with Joe over the continued antibiotics - he wanted them stopped, saved for a more viable patient. But every time she looked at this man, she thought - 'this was me. They had given up on me, left me to slip away... ...only he wouldn't let me go.' Was there someone, somewhere, who prayed for this man? Prayed hard enough, wept enough, wanted him back enough to infuse a spark of life into his weakening body? She had seen miracles before - who was she to say that he could not be another? She wet a cloth and wiped the man's hot face, smoothed his damp hair. He moaned as she did it, opened his eyes for a brief moment. They stared past her, into a world that only he saw. She stroked his forehead, spoke to him in a soothing tone. "Shhh. It's all right... it's all right. Go to sleep now." He closed his eyes with a sigh. She had lived with death for many years, unafraid, accepting. But this... this was the cruelest tragedy of war. To die far from home, without someone who loved you to hold your hand... she would never get used to it. Standing up, she stretched her arms above her head to ease the cramp in her back. Most of the day had been spent hunched over patients, checking dressings and wounds, listening to lungs and bellies... and suddenly she realized that her own stomach was rumbling. She checked her watch - almost two p.m. She was hungry, but the thought of what she'd probably find to eat in the kitchen did nothing to whet her appetite. She pulled the damp T-shirt away from her sticky skin, then her hands went to the small of her back, trying to knead the ache away. She liked to think she was tough, and tried not to bitch about the lack of amenities that they had all once took for granted. But air conditioning - that was something she sorely missed in this southwestern heat. Constantly hot and sticky, the stray hairs from her ponytail adhering to her neck like glue - it put the finishing touch on this hellish atmosphere. With a sigh, her attention was drawn to the filmy window, and she walked over to it. There seemed to be a lot of activity over at the camp today, but the anticipation of what that usually meant left her numb. She never thought that she would be able to practice the way that she had to now - detaching herself from the moans and cries that surrounded her, going from one torn body to the next. But it only took the aftermath of a few skirmishes to make her realize the truth of it - she would be good for nothing out here if she couldn't distance herself from the pain of those she tried to help. In some ways, the months since she left her old life seemed to have flown by. Day after day of twelve hour shifts will do that, she mused. The only time that was slow was the traveling. This was the fourth place that she'd been since the day she had left everything behind, and each move felt like a million miles further from where she had started. Rubbing her tight back muscles, she reflected with irony on the fact that she was probably in the best shape she'd ever been in. Whenever she had some spare time she would run, do push ups, lift weights with whatever she could find handy. She told herself that it was necessary in order to be effective and ready for anything here. But in her heart, she knew why she tried to fill every empty minute. It kept away those thoughts that she didn't want to have - the wondering, the worrying - about things she had no control over. All she could do was keep fighting Them in the best way she knew how. The first month after it began, she'd seen two of her colleagues commit suicide, and more since who had become despondent to the point of madness. But not her. Never. Someone once asked her if it was honor or revenge that kept her going. She didn't know. She just knew that those bastards had taken too much from her already, and she would fight Them until her last breath. The dismal reverie was interrupted by the sound of her name being called. Some technicians had been able to rig up a rudimentary intercom system, and the crackly page came again. "Dana, Julie needs you in the OR right away." With a last look back, she left the dying man in hopes of saving another one. It took only a few minutes for her to reach her destination, the first of two small operating rooms on the south side of the hospital. As she scrubbed at the sink, she peered into the OR through a small window. The patient was already draped, a dirt streaked arm with an IV infusing into it the only body part visible. Cap on, mask tied, she entered the OR and slipped the sterile gown on over her clothes, followed by sterile gloves. Quickly, she moved to the operating table. "Whadda we got?" she asked. Julie looked at her over the top of her mask. "Male, caught in a firefight yesterday. Gunshot wound to the left upper chest - must've just missed his heart. He's really bled out. I can't believe he's even alive." Julie drew her scalpel along the upper edge of the wound and a thin line of fresh blood beaded up. Suddenly, Scully's heart seized in her chest. In the mind wilting heat, her body felt as if it had turned to ice. "Wait a minute..." she said. Julie looked at her. "What? Dana... what is it?" Scully touched her gloved finger against the edge of the wound, which met at a right angle with an old scar. She pushed the green towel back to get a better look at the ridge of healed scar tissue. "Let me see his face!" she said, her voice shaking. Dan was at the head of the table, holding the anesthesia mask over the patient's mouth and nose. The drape was pulled up around it to protect the sterile field below. Dan looked over at Julie with questioning eyes. "Godammit, Dan, let me see it!" Julie nodded in his direction. The drape was pulled back from the man's face, gray with dirt and loss of blood. "Oh, God!" Scully whispered. "Oh God, oh God...." The air was suddenly too thick to breathe, and her chin dropped to her chest as she gasped for breath and squeezed her eyes tight. "Dana!" Julie's voice cut through. "Look at me!" Through cloudy eyes, she did. "You know the guy - all right. Now he needs your help - *I* need your help, Dana! Come on, concentrate... come on..." Julie looked at the circulating nurse. "Sara, call and see if somebody can come back here - we've gotta get this guy typed for some blood." "He's O positive," Scully said in a whisper. "What?" Julie asked, peering at her over her mask. Louder. "O positive." Julie's eyes squinted skeptically. "How do you know?" "I know." "You're sure?" "Yes." Julie stared at her for a moment, eyebrows drawn together. "All right, Sara," she finally said. "Try to get somebody to bring us a couple units." To Scully: "Let's get to work." With trembling hands she held instruments, tied suture, stained white gauze with his blood. Julie spoke only in sharp commands, and Scully didn't say a word. The mask was suffocating her, and she had to remind herself again and again; breathe, breathe, breathe. A bag of blood was hung and connected to the IV, infusing him with the rich basis of life, nudging him back from the edge. The bullet was removed, the nicked artery repaired. Layers of tissue were sewn back together. Finally, a dressing was placed over the wound, and the drapes were pulled back. She saw the fragile gold chain draped across his neck, the cross hanging down against his shoulder. That's when she cried. The tears fell silently as they cleaned him up and took him to the closest thing they had to an ICU - one large room where the most critical patients could use the few cardiac monitors and oxygen tanks that were left. As they moved him onto a bed, Julie and Dan stole quick glances at her but asked no questions. Scully wiped her eyes with her sleeve and clipped on the monitors, secured an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. Blood pressure 98/44. Pulse 129. Respirations 20. The cardiac monitor showed a rapid but normal rhythm. A hand on her arm. "Do you want me to stay with him?" Julie asked gently. Scully shook her head. "No. I'll stay." And the two left them alone. The bell of her stethoscope rose and fell with his breaths, and she held her own as she listened. His heartbeat was strong, his breathing regular. She sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand, examining it with unfamiliar eyes. This was not Mulder's hand - the one that had touched and caressed her, brought her to tears and to her knees. It was rougher than she remembered, callused and dry, with dirt embedded under the nails. She reached up and pushed the hair from his eyes. His hair had gotten so long! It curled just a bit around her fingers, with a few gray strands, but as soft as it always was. "Mulder..." she whispered. She did not really expect a response, and indeed he made none. His eyes remained closed, the dark lashes and dusky smudges beneath his eyes in stark contrast against pale skin. It was enough that he breathed. Had it been five minutes? She needed to stay focused, attentive to the matter at hand. Another blood pressure, check pulse, IV nearly dry - hang another. He would need at least two more units of blood, she surmised. She should draw a blood sample and check his hemoglobin and hematocrit. He would need to be bathed, when he was stable. The soft 'beep - beep - beep' of the monitor filled her own thumping chest while she gathered some supplies. As she tied a tourniquet around his arm, her vision blurred again and she wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. The needle punctured the tender skin on the inside of his elbow, and two tubes slowly filled with blood. "Go..." Her eyes snapped up to his face, watched it twist in distress as he mumbled in a slurred, nonsensical tone. "Mulder? Can you hear me? Mulder?" "Rava... go now... go..." he said, then was quiet once again. She withdrew the needle and held a piece of gauze to the spot to stop the bleeding. "Mulder?" But his face had gone slack, returned to peaceful sleep. Her fingertips traveled to his brow, over his cheek and down into the hollow of his collarbone. His heart beat loud in her ears, the only sound she heard. 'Beep - beep - beep...' ________________________________________________ "Mama?" Maggie stood before her, arms outstretched. "Oh, Mom..." she cried, and fell into the familiar embrace. Safe, safe, safe. She was safe. Her tears dampened Maggie's shoulder as a soft hand stroked her hair. "Shhh," Mama whispered. "Shhh..." "Uhn... wha..." Her head shot up from the hard pillow of her arms as she looked around. No Maggie. Mulder. The light of a single bare bulb cast strange shadows through the room and bathed the side of Mulder's face with a hazy glow. She let her breath out as his chest rose and fell, saw the heart rhythm gracefully arcing across the monitor screen. Then she realized what had awakened her. He turned his head, swallowed audibly. His eyes opened lazily, closed again. "Am I dead?" he murmured. "No, Mulder, no..." She quickly moved up and sat on the edge of the bed, her hand stroking his forehead and stubbled face. "...you're not dead..." He opened his eyes again, and they widened as he caught her in his gaze. She tried to speak again, to reassure him, but no sound would come except a choked sob. "Mulder..." she cried, and lay her face against his neck, tears falling now like hard summer rain. His hand came up and touched her hair, gingerly at first, disbelieving, then he pulled her against him with a strength he shouldn't have. "Scu... Scu..." She pulled back just enough to kiss his cheek, his nose, his dry, cracked lips. "It's me," she whispered between kisses. "It's me." She lay her arm across his chest unthinkingly, only wanting to feel him against her. He drew in a sharp breath as he grimaced in pain. Scully backed away quickly and sat up, her hands raised. "Oh, Mulder, I'm sorry! I'm sorry..." "Sit me up," he said in a parched voice. She went to the foot of the bed and pulled out the old hand crank, turning it until she saw his face rise above her view of his feet. "Not too much," she cautioned, returning to her seat on the bed beside him. "You've lost a lot of blood." He just stared at her. "Mulder?" He said nothing, and his eyes remained locked on hers. "Mulder? You're scaring me... say something..." "Come closer to me." She wiped her damp face with the back of her hands and leaned toward him again. He tried to bring both hands up but winced at the burning pain in the left side of his chest. His right hand cupped her face while his eyes traveled over it, as if convincing himself of her realness. She covered his hand with her own as her tears threatened again. "I was afraid I'd never see you again," he said softly. She blinked and forced a hint of a smile. "You didn't give up on me, did you?" He returned a weak but genuine smile of his own. "Never." His hand left her for a moment as he touched the gold chain around his neck. "I kept you right here." He cleared his throat and looked at her questioningly. "Water?" "Oh - sure - " She reached for a small cup on a nearby table and brought it to his mouth. "Here..." He sipped gratefully then leaned back with a sigh. His hand moved up again, touched the red ponytail that grazed her shoulder. "Your hair got long." She chuckled. "So did yours." "Couple of hippies..." he said. His hand rested on her lap as his eyes drifted closed. "So tired..." She smoothed the hair from his face, the intimacy of it flooding back to her in a rush. "It's okay, honey," she murmured. "You need to rest. I'll stay right here." He struggled to open his eyes a little. "But I didn't tell you yet." "Tell me what?" she asked, her thumb stroking his cheek gently. "I love you." "Oh..." Her eyes were wet again. "I know that, Mulder... I know... I love you too." She stroked her fingers lightly across his nearly closed eyelids, lay gentle kisses on them. "Go to sleep. I'm right here." "I wanna hold you," he mumbled sleepily. "Shh... go to sleep... there'll be time for that later." She watched him as he dozed off again, his breaths becoming a gentle rhythm. She couldn't take her eyes off of him, couldn't stop touching him - feather light, her fingers grazed his arm, legs, face, overwhelmed by the miracle of his life. Carefully she crawled up and lay next to him, lifting his head and gently cradling him in her arms. "Right here, Mulder," she whispered to him. "I'm right here." _______________________________________ Minutes turned to hours, hours became days. Against all odds, Mulder showed steady improvement - as if by will alone he made it so. By the fifth day after he had arrived half dead, he was ready to jump out of his skin from boredom. Scully had been called away from him hours ago - apparently some wounded had arrived after an attack. He kept eyeing the IV in his arm, wondering how pissed she'd be. Finally, he thought he would chance it. Grimacing as the tape pulled hair from his skin, he quickly removed the dressing and pulled out the IV, applying pressure with his sheet to staunch the bleeding. Once he was convinced that the oozing from puncture had stopped, he got out of bed, pulling the hospital gown together behind him. He had nothing to wear - he'd come in with only the bloody clothes on his back, and apparently those had been cut away from him and disposed of. He went to the door of his room and peered out into the hallway. There was no one there, but he could hear activity down the hall to his left. Slowly he made his way toward it, checking any empty rooms for something to put on. No luck. As he neared the voices he thought he heard Scully - it sounded as if she were counting, and out of breath. He peeked around the corner into a large room where two men lay on gurneys, One was turning his head back and forth, moaning something unintelligible. Dried blood stained his face and arms, and his limbs were tied to the siderails. The other lay still, and Mulder wasn't sure if the man was alive or dead. Towels and gauze littered the floor like bloody wrapping paper, ripped off of the package and tossed away. He craned his neck a little further past the doorway, and found Scully. She was on a gurney, straddled across a still figure. The heels of her hands went down and up, down and up on its chest as she called out in a hoarse voice, "One - two - three- four - five - breathe, one - two - three - four - five - breathe -" The man at the head of the gurney was holding a mask on the victim's face and squeezing the attached bag in time with her counts. Mulder was sickly mesmerized, and watched as the veins on Scully's arms bulged with her efforts. There was blood on the gloves she wore, streaked up her arms, in dark blotches on her clothes. "- one - two - three - four - five - breathe, one -" "Dana..." the man at the head of the bed said. "- three - four - five -" "Dana!" He was shouting this time. She stopped, looked up at him, her chest heaving. "Dana..." Quietly now. "Enough." She stayed where she was, her warm thighs across the rapidly cooling body. Finally, hesitantly, the living hands left the dead chest and gripped the siderails of the gurney. Her head dropped forward to her chest, her loud breaths echoing across the room. Suddenly, the man who still held the ambu-bag looked over at him. "Hey!" he called. "You shouldn't be here!" Scully lifted her head and turned toward him. Her blue eyes were bright and feverish, sick with the sight of death. She held his gaze, pleading for something that he had no ability to give. After a moment, her eyes closed and her head dropped forward again. "It's all right, Dan," she murmured. "It's all right." Mulder backed away without a word. _____________________________________________ Three hours later, she opened the door to her room. He was there, sitting cross legged on the bed, reading a book in the dim light. He looked up silently as she walked in. "Ahh, my runaway patient," she said, attempting a smile. "In the flesh." She eyed the shirt he wore that was two sizes too big, the jeans that barely came to his ankles. "I see you found the Dead Clothes Room." He looked down at himself for a moment. "Who's the lucky dog that gets the job of stripping corpses and washing the clothes?" She shrugged. "Whoever's around to do it." He unfolded a towel he had sitting next to him on the bed and pulled out a sandwich and an apple. "Look at what else I found." He held the sandwich out to her, pulled back the top slice of bread. "Some kind of cheese-like substance, I think." He smiled like a little kid about to give her a fistful of dandelions. "Just for you. I bet you're starving." Just for a moment, her face lost the harsh edge that now seemed a part of her, and he thought she was going to cry. "Thank you, Mulder," she finally said. "Let me take a shower first. I'll be right back." She grabbed some clean clothes and ducked into her bathroom. After a day like this, she prayed that there would be some hot water as she turned the handle in the shower stall. Waiting a moment, she stepped in. The water ran in feeble streams over her, lukewarm at best, but to her mind it was pure heaven. He sat on the bed listening to the water run and imagined her red hair dark and wet, lying against her shoulders. She closed her eyes and washed her arms with his hands, slowly, tenderly. He thought of the tiny wet rivulets trailing between her breasts and down across her abdomen, her body weeping away the burden of the day past. Her hands moved through her hair, working the soft lather through the strands as he had done so many times before. His mind's eye followed her hands as she soaped one leg, then the other, her fingers slowing as she passed over the reddish brown curls between her thighs. Her breath caught as she imagined him there. It had been so long... and nothing about their world was the same as when they had last been together. Could *this* be, they both wondered? After everything? When she returned, her wet hair was brushed back from her face and she wore clean shorts and a T-shirt. He couldn't help but grin. Despite everything, she still looked like a college student. "What are you smiling at?" One corner of her mouth began to turn up, his mirth infectious. "You." She sat down on the edge of the bed and reached for the sandwich. "So, does this mean you're moving in with me?" she asked teasingly. "I don't know... you think our parents will find out?" She chuckled wryly. "I don't think that'll be a problem." "I don't want to be away from you again, Scully." Her smile faded as she looked back at him. Her hand slipped over his and squeezed it. "Oh, Mulder..." "Finish your sandwich." She took another bite. "Yes, sir." They sat in silence as she polished off the sandwich in record time, followed by gulps of water from a jug she kept near her bed. He just watched her silently. She rolled her shoulders and tilted her head first to the right, then left. He leaned forward and, with his good hand, started to massage the knotted muscles in her neck. "Oh, God, Mulder.... oh, that feels so good." Her head tipped forward as he worked her tight shoulders. "Just relax," he whispered. "Relax. You've had a long day." "Oh... oh... right there.. yeah..." After a few minutes, her sighs were replaced by soft rhythmic breaths. He stopped massaging and pulled the curtain of hair back from her face. She was falling asleep. He pulled the sheet back and guided her into the bed, then pulled off his pants and shirt and followed. There wasn't much room, but she didn't seem to mind. He pulled her to him with his right arm and she snuggled against him. "I'm sorry, Mulder." "Shhh... go to sleep... " "G'night, Mulder," she yawned. He lay a kiss on top of her head. "Goodnight, babe." He clicked off the light, and settled back into the pillow with a sigh. For the first time in many years, he spoke to the heavens. "Thank you," he whispered. ____________________________________________ She recognized the girl. She was just a kid, couldn't have been more than twenty. A few months ago she had cut the end of her finger off on some equipment over at the camp. Scully looked down. Sure enough, there it was. Or, wasn't. Scully's own fingers quickly went to the girl's neck, feeling for a carotid pulse. Nothing. "Help me!" she yelled. "Help!" She felt for the landmarks on the sternum, began the death defying rhythm with her hands. "One..." The girl's chest was covered with purplish blue areas - just the size of a fist. "...and two..." Her eyes were closed, one of the lids grotesquely swollen. "...and three..." Trails of dried blood came from her nose and wound it's way down either side of her face. "...and four... and five... breathe!" A hand suddenly grabbed her arm. She didn't look up. "Let me go! Help me!" "Dana, stop..." "No!" "Dana, it's too late!" "No it's not! She just a baby..." She was crying, her eyes muddied with tears and sweat. Couldn't see.... "Scully!" "No! No!" She was shaking... someone was shaking her... "Wake up!" they said. "Baby, please!" Her eyes opened. She couldn't catch her breath... couldn't catch her breath... "Scully... it's okay... it was just a nightmare... you're okay... just a nightmare..." But it wasn't. Oh, God, it wasn't. She climbed over him on the bed, desperate to get air. Sitting ramrod straight on the edge of the mattress, she breathed in great gulps as he stroked her back. "Slow down..." he kept saying. "It's all right now. Slow down..." Finally her heart rate began to return to normal, and she could breathe again, and Mulder's hands were warm against her back, and she leaned her head on her knees and cried. He waited next to her, silent, just touching her. He understood that all he could do at that moment was make sure that she felt him nearby. At length she lifted her head and wiped her eyes, her face pale in the moonlight that filtered through the window. "Wanna tell me?" he asked softly. She shook her head. "It might help..." he offered. "No. Not here, Mulder. Not here." She turned her body toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck, resting a damp cheek against his shoulder. "I don't want to talk about any of it here, okay? In this room we talk about Before, or we dream about After, but the rest of it stays outside." He held her tightly to him. "Okay, babe. Okay." She pulled back and looked into his eyes. "I've missed you so much, Mulder." "Oh, Scully... probably half as much as I've missed you. I thought about you every day... every night... you kept me going..." She pulled him to her and kissed him softly. He moaned, and at the sound a flame ignited in her and quickly spread. "I love you, Mulder..." She kissed his cheek, then his nose, and that soft spot right below his ear. He smelled so good, so much like she remembered - not like cologne or fancy soap, just him. "You keep this up and I'm gonna have to ravish you." She put her mouth to his ear, her voice half-whisper, half- plea. "Promise?" He backed away, held her face in his strong hands and just looked at her. "You're so beautiful..." he finally said. "Make me remember, Mulder," she asked him, moving her mouth close to his again. "Make me forget..." He pulled her shirt up and over her head, tossing it to the floor. He was slow, maddeningly slow... his fingers trailed down her arms, from her shoulders to her fingertips, and back again. She was silent, her eyes closed, focusing on the heat he left in his wake. His hands went to her breasts, gently covering them, his thumbs brushing across the nipples. She lay back and whimpered as his mouth followed his hands, and she held him to her and blinked back her tears. It wasn't long before she needed to feel him everywhere, and she wiggled out of her shorts and pulled him back to her. "Scully..." "Mmmm?" "I don't think I can... I mean, my shoulder is still..." She smiled as she gently pushed him up off of her, and then back onto the pillows. Her hands pulled the boxers down... off... she straddled his thighs and delicately touched his throbbing erection as he gasped. He grabbed her wrists tightly and pulled her up over him until his mouth could capture one nipple, then the other, and she slid her hot wetness over his belly slowly... slowly... At last his mouth came back to hers, but she pulled away to watch his face as she brought her tender center to poise over him. As she lowered herself, languidly, gently, he closed his eyes and threw his head back, guttural moans coming from deep within him. Lower, lower... until she was filled with him, and his strength became hers as she moved, for a moment the emptiness in her was ended... overflowing... and she called his name again and again... until he shuddered and cried out and his tears fell on her pillow where she lay against their sweet dampness with a sigh. ____________________________________________ And so it remained for a short, sweet time. As he was able, he would help out around the hospital, fix things, clean, whatever kept him busy. After her shift, they met back in her room - their room - where the outside melted away and there was only the two of them. She felt her life refreshed, her energy renewed through him. But as he grew stronger, he also grew was restless. She saw him sometimes as he paused in his work and gazed through a window, his brow furrowing. She knew what he was thinking, but neither of them would speak the words. The day she glanced out a patient's window and saw him walking toward the camp, her heart squeezed painfully in her chest and she let out a hushed moan. "Doctor? Are you all right?" the patient asked. "Yes," she finally said as she turned toward the woman in the bed. "Yes. I'm fine." ________________________________________________ End... for now Comments to Linda at rn500@usa.net