If Only by Medusa Summary - First person POV. Mulder's musings during a situation. Keywords - MT Spoilers - Mentions of various episodes throughout XF history, including season seven. Timeline - Takes places immediately after Brand X. Disclaimer - All rights belong to Ten Thirteen and FOX Broadcasting. No profit is being made from this. Feedback - medusafox@bigpond.com ************** Shit... Miss 'don't be late or you're on your own with this' will be pissed. Doesn't look like I'm gonna get to her place by 7.30 after all. As if she hasn't found enough to pick on me today. I know she only does it because she cares, and it would take her too long to train a new partner, ha ha. But she's been on my case for the last week about buying that pack of cigarettes. But honestly, Scully - this really isn't my fault. I suppose the fact that I have managed to get myself injured won't be lost on her either. Something else for her to fuss over me about. No, that's not fair. I'm sorry, Scully. I'm not pissed at you, really. It's just that I find it kinda hard to be charitable when I'm in agony and bleeding all over the place. And I'm not quite certain how I found myself in this predicament, everything happened so fast. It probably could have been avoided. If only Scully hadn't made me agree that I would be the one to stop and pick up the Chinese take-out on the way to her apartment where we were going to finish up the budget report. It's my job as department head to do the budget report, I know, and I usually manage to do it - but when Scully offered to help this time I jumped at it. It's not often that she takes pity on me and helps with my paperwork, and I wouldn't dream of asking her under normal circumstances. Trouble was I was out sick for nearly three weeks after inhaling those fucking tobacco beetle eggs, and I could have worked on the budget at home if only good old Doctor Dana hadn't prohibited me from taking any paperwork home - no, that's not really fair, either. I was flat out just getting my breath back moving from the couch to the bathroom or kitchen and back, but it would at least have given me something to keep my mind occupied, other than thinking about how badly I craved a cigarette. Do you realize how truly terrifying it is to not be able to breathe? I really thought I was going to die. Okay, so I've thought that quite a few times throughout my FBI career. I was sure I was going to be executed at the hands of the New Partisans, then I was convinced I was gonna be the newest member of the undead in Chicago. When that alien artifact rubbing caused me to hear voices in my head, I was so overwhelmed that my body just gave up. And I thought I was done for when I got bitten by all those snakes - shit, I go all goose-bumpy just thinking about that time. I'm shivering now, but it's not from the snake memory. This time, if I don't get some help soon, I think it really might be the end of the line. It's getting harder to stay conscious, but I've got to try. I have to keep trying to reason with this guy, or someone else besides me will die. And I can't allow that to happen. I shift position slightly in an effort to get a little comfortable. Fuck, my gut hurts, and the table napkins that the pretty waitress used to try and staunch the blood flow are soaked through. I hate the sight of blood, especially my own. The red and blue flashing lights of the cop cars outside are painting pretty pictures on the walls and ceiling above me, I'm concentrating on those in an effort to help me stay focused. My thoughts are rambling, so I guess I'm not really having much luck. Again I drag my attention back to concentrate on the one side of the telephone conversation I can hear going on between the cops outside and the guy in here waving the gun around. Did I forget to mention him? He's the one who shot me. Next time, Scully, I mean it - you really are buying. Fuck, my timing sucks. Five minutes earlier and I would have been gone before Bozo came in and this little party got started. It's my own fault, though. If I only hadn't stopped to answer the goddamn phone when it rang. If I'd only kept on walking. If only I had been able to find a parking spot the first time around the block. If only the guy hadn't seen my weapon... I haven't been paying enough attention to this psycho, so I didn't see it coming. "Oomph." Tears of pain spring to my eyes. Shit the bastard just laid his boot into my ribs. Listen, buddy, don't take it out on me if the cops won't get you a fucking free ticket out of here. What did you expect? And you think they care if you've got a Federal Agent in here or not? First rule of a hostage situation, I'm the most expendable. So the joke's on you. I would have voiced all that, but right now I'm just trying to draw enough breath to make the spots in front of my eyes go away. Rolling around the floor in agony isn't helping the bleeding any, either. Where the fuck are you when I really need you, Scully? I know I'm not being fair again, she doesn't know that I'm in trouble here, although I'm betting she soon will. Bozo had been on the phone screaming to the cops that he "had a freaking Fibbie in here and was gonna kill him" (meaning yours truly) "if the cops don't pull back and let me leave." Of course he neglected to mention that he'd already shot the 'freaking Fibbie'. He explained the gunshot they heard was an accident, that the gun just 'went off' He wouldn't admit that he'd actually hit someone. 'S okay, buddy, I doubt the judge will differentiate all that much between intent to shoot and intent to let me fucking bleed to death. "Listen..." I start to try to talk. Did you know this raspy voice I still have from having all manner of tubes down my throat half a dozen times makes me sound really sexy? Kim, Skinner's PA told me so. "Buddy, listen to me." Great I got out a whole sentence that time. Now if I just had enough volume to be noticed... "SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!" Buddy yells at me, ready to lay in with another boot. Okay, now I'm starting to get a little pissed off. "Don't. DON'T kick me again, asshole," I warn him with as much indignity as I can muster from my prone position on the floor - warding him off with my hands, cuffed as they are in front of me with my own hardware. "I'm trying to help you here. I'm trying to help everyone get out of this in one piece." Present company excluded. I don't think I qualify as being in one piece anymore. I try to put as much calm into my voice as I can, time to put all that FBI training to good use - although Hostage Negotiation is not ssomething I've had a lot of practice at, except for the Duane Barry incident - and look how well that turned out. Buddy's pacing wildly. (I don't know what the hell his name really is, I'm just calling him 'Buddy' for the want of nothing better). He's really on the edge, waving his gun around. I have to get control of this situation, I don't want any more "accidents". The waitress is scared shitless, crying quietly where she sits behind me. The cook is jabbering quietly in Chinese, praying to Buddha, most likely. And the four patrons who had been enjoying a quiet meal until all this began are sitting there simply stunned. The only one missing is the kitchen- hand. He managed to slip out the back door was the one who raised the alarm. From what little I've been able to piece together, this isn't a robbery. Buddy came in here looking for someone who hadn't arrived yet. He came in just after I had placed my order, looked around and not seeing who he expected to be here, started screaming at the waitress in Chinese. Being the diligent law-enforcement officer that I am, I tried to defuse the situation. That was when Buddy started to lose it, pulled his gun and herded us all to the back area of the restaurant and settled in to wait for his 'prey'. The young kitchen hand must have hidden when the cook was dragged out to join us where we were seated around one of the banquet tables. Things calmed down a little and I had just started to get a little dialog going when the fucking cavalry, in the form of Georgetown PD, came literally screaming onto the scene. As soon as Buddy realized that the place was surrounded he got all worked up again and when the first cop poked his head in through the door he almost got it blown off. The cops wisely retreated at that point and waited for reinforcements and the HRT (Hostage Retrieval Team). I tried again to talk to the guy, to find out what he wanted so we could all get out of here quicker. I thought I was getting somewhere until the phone rang. I told him to pick it up, that it would be the police and that he should talk to them. He got all agitated again, but I think he was going to do it, until he inexplicably grabbed me and dragged me out of my chair. He wanted me to go and get the cordless phone from where it was on the reception desk in plain sight of the front window. I got it and held it out to him carefully, trying to keep my suit jacket from flapping open and revealing my weapon. Not carefully enough, apparently. He screamed at me, threw the phone across the room and pointed the gun at me. I put my hands out to the side, trying to show him I was no threat. I offered to disarm myself and he just kept screaming. Next thing I landed up against the wall with this burning sensation in my belly. I looked down to where my white shirt now blossomed with crimson and slowly slid to the floor. I could hear more screaming, a woman's scream. Buddy was yelling at everyone to shut up and the goddamn phone was still ringing. I can remember his hands pulling my weapon and handcuffs off my belt, then feeling for my ID wallet. I heard him curse as he saw my badge then felt him put the handcuffs on me, although what he thought I was going to be able to do with a belly wound I don't know. Then he answered the phone and allowed the waitress to press a handful of lily white table napkins to my stomach. So, that brings us back to now. I'm lying here in a world of hurt, but I can't help feeling flattered that this guy thinks I'm still capable of being a threat. I think he watches too many Bruce Willis action movies. I try again to get Buddy to listen to reason. "You're not going to do yourself any good if you hurt anyone else. I know shooting me was an accident," oh god - do I deserve an Oscar or what? "I'll tell them that. Just don't hurt anyone else." I see him start to calm down again and breathe a sigh of relief. "If you give up now, they'll go easy on you. All you have to do is put your gun down and go to the door with your hands up." Buddy appears to be considering this. I almost think he'll do it. He looks at me and I nod encouragingly towards the door. "If I go to the door," he cries, "they'll shoot me!" Damn. Almost worked. "Then pick up the phone and let me talk to them. I'll tell them you're coming out and not to shoot." He's indecisive, wavering on the edge of doing as I tell him. I think he's got a strong survival instinct and if I can just convince him that he won't get hurt, he may just give himself up. Suddenly he points the gun at the waitress and she screws her eyes up, waiting to be shot. "She goes first." I let the breath I've been holding go, wincing with the additional pain that it causes. The waitress doesn't need a second telling, she's high-tailing it towards the door. I warn her not to run, don't want the over-zealous boys in blue to think she's the perp. "I can't go out there." Buddy says. "They'll shoot me." I don't think he's going to be easy to budge. But I have to keep trying. I'm getting dizzy, from blood loss I guess, and I don't know how much longer until I'll feel the undeniable need to pass out. "Then let the others go. It'll just be you and me left. It'll be easier that way, less confusing." After several heart-stopping moments, he agrees and lets the cook and four patrons leave. I tell them to go in single file, slowly and keeping their hands in plain sight. By now the cops will know that I'm injured, and what my position is. When they see the rest of the hostages come out the door they'll prepare to storm the place. I have to be ready, I don't know how Buddy will react. The only hope that we'll both get out of here alive is if I can convince him to remain passive. "Buddy. Buddy, listen to me. You need to put your gun down and lie on the floor." He's staring at me like I have two heads. "You have to do it right now!" He looks over at the door, which is just closing on the last hostage. I can picture in my head exactly what is going on outside. Snipers will be covering the retrieval team as they creep closer to the door. There may only be seconds left until they enter and they'll use terminal force if he's still standing over me with the gun in his hand. "For God's sake, listen to me," I hiss as I try to pull myself up to a sitting position and red hot fire lances through my gut. "Please!" The desperation in my voice must finally be getting through to him. He looks at me then down at the gun, realization sinking in. He drops to his knees and places the gun on the floor in front of himself. "Slide it away," I urge and he complies. He is just settling onto his stomach as the HRT guys burst in and quickly surround him, all weapons trained on his prone form. He is efficiently handcuffed and several of the team drag him out the door. Only when he is secured away do they turn their attention to me. I had managed to stay propped up all the while that Buddy was being taken into custody, but now the adrenaline rush is over and I'm fading fast. I barely feel hands grab me as the world turns black. **************** Hushed whispering. The steady beep of a heart monitor. It's strange how those sounds can be reassuring. At least it means I'm not dead. I wouldn't call my current state exactly alive either, it's more a state of limbo. My body won't respond to any of the commands my brain is sending it - like 'open your eyes'. I feel heavy and yet light. They've got me on the good shit. Which means I have a world of hurt to look forward to when it begins to wear off. Like I care right now... ***************** Dry. My throat and mouth are so dry. Swallowing is painful when I try it. My gut hurts, a burning, aching sensation. I can't stop the whimper that escapes. "Mulder?" There's no mistaking that voice. "Come on, Mulder, it's time to wake up." Go 'way and let me die in peace. "Mhmmm." Something cold and inviting touches my lips and instinct opens my mouth a little to accept the ice chips. Oh God, I've died and gone to heaven. My eyes manage to crack open a little. A worried face tries to smile reassuringly and I can feel my hand being gently massaged. It feels so good. "Hey," I manage to croak out. "Hey, yourself. The doctor says you're gonna be fine, Mulder. A bit sore for a while and you lost a lot of blood, but you'll be as good as new in no time." That's good. So, I guess I'm not gonna die this time either. I try to manage a slight smile in acknowledgement. The hand being massaged gets an encouraging squeeze and I feel it lifted to soft lips for a butterfly light kiss. My eyes start to slide shut again and I hear the nurse at my side - time for another hit of painkillers, I hope. "You get some rest. I'll be right here when you wake up again." Sure. No problem. Sleep I can manage. Especially when I know I have my beloved guardian angel sitting there watching over me. If only I hadn't decided that the budget report had to be finished tonight, if only I had agreed to go with you to that great little Italian restaurant you love so much instead, none of this would have happened. I'm sorry to have worried and scared you so much, my love. Please forgive me and I promise I'll make it up to you as soon as I'm well enough, my dearest Walter. The End. Note: The end was as much a surprise to me as it might have been to you. Back to Medusa's FanFic listing