Maggie opened her front door to find Mulder. "Fox? What are you doing here?" He hadn't been to her apartment since they had ended their relationship. The brief reminder made her aware that she wasn't wearing any makeup and her unruly hair was a mess after giving her bathroom a good scrubbing.
"I'm looking for Frohike. I was hoping you knew where he was."
"Mel?" Maggie said surprised. "No. I heard about him on the radio though," she said with obvious pride. "He caught Molly's killer."
"I know. I was with him." The expression on his face told her something was wrong. All thoughts of her disheveled appearance vanished and she opened her door further.
"Come in," Maggie said, backing up to give him space.
Mulder came in just far enough for her to shut the door. He dropped his head, covering his eyes with one hand. "Oh, Maggie. He completely lost control." He looked at her then. The pain she saw in his eyes made her worry for his sake and Frohike's. "I thought he was going to kill the guy. When I tried to stop him, he tossed me off like a rag doll. It took me and two other guys to pull him off."
Maggie reached out to him then, intending to give him a comforting hug but he drew her close, burying his face in her neck. Holding each other this way made her think of when they'd dated. The only thing that held her back from fully enjoying the sensation of his arms around her was the tension and grief radiating from his body. She leaned back to look at him.
"Come sit down and tell me everything," she encouraged him.
Over the next half hour, Mulder related the whole story. Maggie just let him talk, knowing that's what he really needed to do. She was very worried about the fact that Frohike had not been seen since he was let out of jail but she was more concerned about Mulder at that moment.
"So, I'm suspended without pay pending an investigation into my involvement in the severe beating of a suspect," said Mulder reciting what he had been told the night before.
"How do you think that will turn out?" asked Maggie.
Mulder shrugged. "I don't know. There were plenty of witnesses there that can testify that I pulled Mel off the guy but I was working on an open investigation. Me - a lowly beat cop - I had the nerve to overstep my authority and Internal Affairs is gonna rake me over the coals for that."
Maggie knew about Mulder's aspirations of becoming a detective but his general attitude and penchant for doing things his own way had kept him from advancing through the ranks. "You're a good cop, Fox. They'll see it in time."
Mulder chuckled. "I think it's going to take a lot more than time for them to see that." He truly believed this and was beginning to understand that it was up to him to make the changes necessary to prove it. If he wanted to keep his job and demonstrate that he was detective material, he needed to be more serious about it.
He met Maggie's sympathetic gaze and felt a sharp pang of regret. She was something else he should have taken more seriously. He only hoped it wasn't too late.
He took her hand. "Maggie, I…" he began before words failed him.
"Yes," she said her fingers lightly caressing his, her eyes searching his face.
He swallowed and tried again. "I messed things up between us. I was stupid and immature. I'd like another chance with you." He held up his hand when she started to speak. "Just think about it, please? Maybe one day we could go out for dinner."
Mulder could tell from Maggie's little smile that he had said the right thing. "How about tonight?" she asked.
"Tonight?" Mulder nearly gaped in surprise then laughed in relief and elation. "Tonight would be great."
She stood up. "Let me go change."
"What you have on looks great," Mulder said eyeing her old slacks and the overly large shirt whose tails she had tied in a knot at her waist.
Maggie laughed. "No, it doesn't and you know it." She paused, the laughter fading from her face. "Fox? I'm worried about Mel. Before we go out, I'd really like to see if we can track him down. You said no one's seen him since he got out of jail, right?"
Mulder's own concern returned. "That's right."
"Did you call the office?"
Mulder nodded, saying, "And his place. No answer at either spot."
"What about Eddie's?" Maggie knew this was Frohike's bar of choice.
"I drove out there before I came here. He wasn't there either."
Maggie got up abruptly saying, "I'll be right back."
Mulder didn't have to wait very long before Maggie came back. She was wearing an elegant blue dress with her hair combed and styled and make up on. "You know, you don't have to do all that for me," Mulder quipped but he couldn't hold back the approving smile.
"Sure I do," Maggie said smiling again before she became quite business like. "I'll go out to the office and check if he's even been there." She said opening the closet and taking her coat off its hanger. Mulder joined her, helping her into it her coat. "Why don't you go to his house and see if he's passed out or just not answering the phone."
"I don't have a key," Mulder insisted.
"That hasn't stopped you before." Maggie picked up her purse fishing around in it for her own keys. Making a decision, she turned around and placed a soft kiss on his lips. "If I don't find him, I'll wait at the office. Call me there when you know anything."
"I'll do that," Mulder promised as they left her apartment.
Dana Scully was exhausted. She had come in on Saturday, her day off, intending to spend a half-day catching up on her mounting paperwork. The half-day stretched into a full day when she had to cover for a lab attendant who had gone home sick. It had been quite busy at the morgue and she hadn't been able to return to her office with its dreaded paperwork until nearly five o'clock.
A few hours later, she finally finished and was heading home. She took one last look at her neatly organized desk then snapped off the light. She opened the door, surprised to find Melvin Frohike, his hand raised, ready to knock. Her first thought at seeing him was that he'd stood her up for their first real date. Only later did she hear from a beat cop that he had identified Molly Jenning's killer and was subsequently thrown in jail for beating a confession out of the man.
What bothered her most though, was the fact that he didn't call to tell her all about it himself, especially since she'd worked on the case and had expressed a desire to see the perpetrator go to jail for the rest of his life. She even tried calling him but got no answer at his home or his office.
She told herself she was being silly, like some schoolgirl with a crush. They'd really only known each other for three days but that in the short time she thought they'd begun to develop a meaningful relationship.
Now here he was at her door, unannounced and, although the hall was dark, she could see he was using the wall for support. Apparently he had come to her drunk…again.
"What are you doing here, Mel?" she asked barely managing to keep the anger out of her voice.
"I need your help." His voice was strained as if he was in pain not slurred like she expected.
Concerned, she snapped on the light. "Mel," she said, stunned by the fresh cuts on his face: blood was smeared across one cheek. His clothes were ripped and he smelled of smoke. "What happened?"
"There was an explosion. I –"
"Explosion," Dana interrupted. "Where? Are –"
"Dana, Please. I'll explain later. I've got a man who's seriously wounded. I need you to look at him. Please."
Dana didn't hesitate. "Where is he?"
"At the back entrance."
Scully nodded, walking briskly down the hall, expecting Frohike to be right behind her. "What are his injuries? Mel?" She prompted then turned around when she heard him groan. "Mel!" He was leaning against the wall, his face gray and haggard with strain. It was then she noticed a dark cloth tied around his leg.
She ran back and crouched down, running expert hands over his leg. The cloth, she realized, was stained with blood. "Mel, you need to get to a hospital. You need stitches."
"No. No hospital," he said adamantly. "It wouldn't be safe."
"Mel," Dana objected.
"Dana, please. Just trust me on this." He pushed himself away from the wall, inhaling sharply at the pain in his leg. "You have to help the professor."
Dana laid a hand on his arm, silently offering her assistance. "I will," she promised. She saw the relief in his eyes as he took her arm and together they made their way to the admittance bay in the back of the morgue.
When they got there, Frohike stopped. He looked through one of the round windows of the swinging doors at the night attendant seated with his feet up on the desk in the far corner of the room. He was listening to the radio and doing the crossword puzzle in the newspaper. "You need to get rid of him. The fewer people who know about this, the better."
Dana looked into Frohike's bruised and cut up face and any niggling doubts that had been dancing at the edge of her mind disappeared. "I'll take care of it," she said.
Frohike watched her step through the doors to speak to the man. His leg hurt like hell and all he wanted to do was sleep for a week. But he wouldn't relax until he knew his little group had some measure of safety.
Dana came back less than two minutes later. "We're clear," she said.
"Are you sure? What if he comes back?"
Dana gave him a small smile. "He won't. I told him the city was cutting our budget again and that I was finishing his shift."
Frohike couldn't help but return her smile before they entered the admittance area. He paused by the outer door and signaled a car that sat at the end of the parking lot. It moved forward without its headlights.
Scully stifled a gasp when she got a closer look at the car. She saw what could only be bullet holes along the sides and that the back window was shattered.
It stopped within a few feet of them. A tall, young man jumped out of the driver's seat and ran around to the other side of the car to open the door.
"Stay here," Scully ordered when Frohike started to move. Not waiting to see if he obeyed, she trotted up to the car. The young man automatically opened the door to the back seat for her.
"Be careful," he warned, "there's broken glass."
Scully nodded to let him know she understood then leaned well into the backseat. The light shining out of the building was the only illumination within the close confines of the vehicle. She gingerly avoided the pieces of glittering glass. A young woman watched her warily from the far side of the car. A man with long blond hair lay curled up on the seat next to her, his head in her lap. His eyes were closed.
"Hello," Scully said in a reassuring tone as she reached out to touch the man. "How long has he been unconscious?"
There was a pained groan in answer. "I'm dying, aren't I?"
Surprised, Dana flicked a glance toward the woman.
"He was unconscious for only a few minutes. He's been complaining of a splitting headache since then." The woman paused, a worried expression passed over her face. "He also says his chest hurts."
"Has he complained of back or neck pain?"
"Not at all."
Dana stood up and looked around for the young man. "What's your name?" Scully asked.
"Jimmy."
"Jimmy, go inside and get a gurney. There should be one right inside the door."
"Yes, ma'am," he said before hurrying into the building.
"We have to get him inside where the light is better," Scully told the woman. She checked Jimmy's progress and saw him wheeling the gurney out of the building. She had him put it up against the side of the car.
She ducked her head back inside. "Sir, I need you climb slowly out of the car."
There was a brief lull of silence and then a woeful, "I can't. I'm dying."
Scully glanced back at the young man who looked worried. She stuck her head further into in the car. "Sir, I know you're in pain but I can't help you unless you come out of the car." She paused then added, "I have a gurney you can lie on."
There was an agonized groan from the man but he didn't move until the woman leaned down and whispered something in his ear. There was another dramatic groan before he slowly crawled off her lap and over the seat.
He was extremely unsteady on his feet. Dana, with Jimmy's helped, got him onto the gurney where he practically flopped down, throwing a thin hand over his face. Without being asked, Jimmy wheeled him into the building then, with direction, into the autopsy room. In this place, they were assured privacy and plenty of light.
Yves stood at the foot of the autopsy table they had transferred Langly to and watched Dana's every move. Frohike collapsed into a chair at the desk where the doctors recorded their findings and Jimmy was standing near the door as if on lookout. On the desk near Mel, Yves had placed two wooden boxes, each with a leather handle nailed to one end.
Scully ran experienced hands over the blonde scientist's body, feeling for broken bones. He would occasionally moan when she touched a sore spot. She discovered he had a few cuts that would need stitching. Two of which were worse than the others: one on his chest, the other on his right arm.
"Can you fix him up?" Yves asked breaking silence.
Scully shook her head. "I can clean him up but I don't have the bandages I'd need to dress the wounds let alone the suturing materials. He needs stitches. By the looks of it, you all do. He also needs an x-ray. I suspect he's fractured a couple of ribs." She paused, knowing they would object to what she would say next but she had to say it. "He really should be in the hospital."
"The hospital is out of the question," Yves said quickly, a dangerous tone in her voice. "Whatever you need, get it. If necessary, I'll pay for any medical supplies."
Scully looked to see Frohike watching Yves closely. She refocused her attention on the woman. "This would be a lot easier to do if I understood what was going on and why?"
Yves stared at her with a stony expression. "You already know all you need to know."
"Someone tried to kill him tonight," Frohike said from his chair, his exhaustion evident in his voice. There was a louder moan along with some frightened whimpering from the man on the table at this pronouncement.
Sensing this was all the explanation she was going to receive for the time being, Dana came to a decision. "Wait here. I need to make a phone call."
Yves stepped forward to block the doctor's exit. "No one else can know!"
Dana looked into the woman's eyes, her temper flaring. "Ma'am, I've already explained," she said sweeping a hand outward indicating the room, "this is a morgue. I don't have the necessary supplies or equipment to take care of your friend. If you want him to recover fully you will defer to my judgment. If not, you can leave now."
Yves stepped back as if she were stunned by Scully's words. It was in that brief moment that the young woman's guard slipped and Dana saw the exhaustion that Yves was fighting. She was probably running on fumes the same as Mel.
"Yves," Langly spoke for the first time since they'd wheeled him in, "did she say 'the morgue'? Why am I in the morgue? You said I wasn't dying."
Returning to his side, Yves laid a hand on his forehead. He looked so different without his glasses, younger somehow, more vulnerable. "Yes, this is the morgue and no, you are not dying. Not if I can help it."
Yves turned to meet Dana's eyes. "Just make sure you would trust this person with your life," she said with grim resolve, "because you may have to."
"I understand," said Dana before walking quickly from the room to make the call.
In her office, she dialed the number from memory. The phone only rang twice.
"Hello?" a woman's voice said.
"This is Dana. I need your help. Bring medical supplies especially bandages and suturing materials. I'm at work. Come to the back door."
"What's going on?"
"I'll explain when you get here. Don't tell anyone where you are going."
"I'll be there shortly."
Scully had to give her friend a lot of credit. Not many people would run out this late in the evening with so little information.
When Dana returned to the autopsy room, she noted that someone, probably Jimmy, had rounded up a couple more chairs. He was sitting in one, still near the door but Yves continued to stand next to the injured professor. She was trying to convince Langly that he needed to stay on the table.
"You need to lay flat until help gets here," Scully said walking over to them. "I don't want you injuring yourself any further."
"Listen to the doctor," Yves insisted.
"My head hurts," complained Langly. "And the table is really hard. And I'm cold. Why don't you turn on the heat in here?"
"Nothing but time is going to help your head," Scully said aiding Yves in settling the professor back down onto the table. "Besides, I can't be sure what other injuries you have and we don't want to take a chance of making it worse." Feeling bad for him, she added, "Why don't I see if I can't find something to cushion your head? Would that help?"
"It can't hurt any more than it already does," Langly whined.
"Stop complaining," Frohike ordered. He had been resting with his head in his hand and his elbow on the desk. "It could be a lot worse."
"Help is on the way," Scully said in hopes of lightening the mood in the room. She patted Langly's arm to reassure him. "Can you come with me?" she said to Jimmy as she left the room.
They came back ten minutes later with coffee for everyone, a pillow for Langly and a couple of blankets. Moving a chair nearer the autopsy table, Scully tried to convince Yves to sit down and have something to drink. She accepted the coffee but stubbornly remained standing at Langly's side. Frohike gladly accepted the cup of Scully's infamously strong brew.
"Hey, how come I don't get any?" Langly fussed.
Scully smiled at him. "Not yet," she said. "We need to get you fixed up first." She tucked his blanket tighter around him.
"But I'm thirsty, now."
"Does he ever stop complaining?" Frohike muttered to himself. His leg hurt like a son of a gun, which shortened his patience. There was one advantage to the pain, though: it was keeping him awake and alert.
There was a loud buzz from the admission bay making everyone but Scully jump. "It's reinforcements," she said to reassure them. Her eyes widened when Yves drew a gun from her pocket. "What are you doing," she demanded.
"I'm going with you," Yves said, "to make sure it's your friend."
"This is insane. Mel! Reason with her." Scully turned to Frohike expecting him to object to Yves' guerilla tactics but he was standing, favoring his hurt leg while he clutched a scalpel.
"We need to be cautious, Dana," he replied, tension radiating from him.
Scully glanced at the other two. Jimmy was clearly worried while Langly looked terrified. Until that moment, the danger Frohike had glossed over hadn't been real, even with their myriad wounds.
She turned, going to the admission bay. Yves positioned herself on the other side of the door, her gun in her good hand. Yves nodded and Scully opened the door.
She couldn't describe her relief upon seeing her friend. "Sally," she said for both Yves' benefit and the woman outside the door. "Thanks so much for coming."
"If anyone else had called me out of the blue with such a request, I would have hung up on them." Sally raised a questioning eyebrow at Scully as Yves stepped from behind the door. She gave the young woman a good long look, noticing first the wound in her shoulder; secondly the gun she held in her hand. Her first thought was for Dana's safety. Was she being coerced into helping fugitives?
"It's not what you think," Dana said. She turned to the woman. "Put your gun away. She thinks you're forcing me to assist you."
The young woman glanced at Dana but did as she was asked. "I'm going to check to make sure she wasn't followed," she said slipping outside.
"Dana…"
"I'll explain everything I know as we walk," Dana said.
"I can't wait to hear it," Sally said.
Dana took one of the two bags her friend was carrying. She quickly explained the situation as they walked down the hallway to where their patients were waiting.
"The professor is the worst off. He definitely has a concussion and I'm worried he may have some broken ribs. All but one of them will need stitches. I'd like you to handle that. I'm afraid I'm a bit out of practice."
"That shouldn't be a problem," said her friend as Scully opened the door into the autopsy room.
Scully took the two bags of medical supplies and set them down on the counter. She then addressed the others. "This is my friend, Dr. Sally Mackenzie. She works in the emergency room at Georgetown Memorial." Sally was a little more than five feet tall, with red hair like Scully's and a quiet confidence about her that said she meant business.
While Scully was talking, Dr. Mackenzie surveyed the room. They were a sorry looking group, all blood stained and seriously battered. Dana said they'd been caught in an explosion and they certainly looked like it. The mysterious woman came into the room, positioning herself next to the man on the table.
She walked over to the table to look down at Langly quickly assessing his condition.
"What's your name?" she asked him.
He squinted at her, trying to get a good look at her face. "Richard," he said.
"Richard," she repeated. "You can call me Sally."
"Okay, Sally."
"Dana said you blacked out for a couple of minutes. Do you remember hitting your head?" She studied his pupils.
"Not really," Langly admitted. "About the only thing I remember is a lot of noise…and heat."
She carefully examined every inch of his skull. She found a big lump on the side of his head. He sucked his breath in between his teeth when she touched it. "Sorry," the doctor said, "I hate to tell you but that's going to hurt for a while. You have a headache, no doubt."
"Yeah, and it's a killer."
She came around so she could look him in the face. "It's better than the alternative," she said laying a hand on his cheek.
With Langly under one doctor's care, Yves allowed the other doctor to more closely examine her wound. Dana suggested they go down to her office where Yves could have some privacy. She was hesitant at first to leave the professor.
"Don't worry, Yves," Jimmy told her, "me and Frohike are here. We're not going to let anything happen to him."
Dr. Mackenzie continued her examination of the professor. She ran warm, gentle fingers over his abdomen pressing firmly on each rib. Although, the ones near the gash in his chest were tender, none of them appeared to be broken.
She worked on him for quite a while finally saying, "You're a very lucky man. Except for the concussion, you're in relatively good shape. You'll have a headache for a few days but you should be all right. I would like to take you in for a few x-rays but I hear that's out of the question."
"Yves says no hospitals," Langly told the doctor.
"I understand that. We'll just keep a close eye on you for a while and hope there are no further complications. This will mean keeping you awake all night to make sure you remain coherent."
Langly didn't ask what those complications could be. He really didn't want to know.
Before Dr. Mackenzie was done with Langly, Scully returned to tell her that Yves was ready for her.
"She's in my office," she said before turning to Frohike. "Okay, Mel it's your turn."
Scully got a pair of scissors. "Here," she said. "Stand up." He did with difficulty. He kept one hand on the desk as she carefully cut through the fabric of his pants leg exposing his injury.
They turned to see Jimmy helping a freshly bandaged Langly off the table. His bloody shirt lay on the floor so he kept the blanket wrapped around himself for warmth.
"It will be easier to stitch you up if you're on the table," Dr. Mackenzie said to Frohike. He hobbled over with Dana's help. The table was high off the floor making it difficult to get up on it without a bit of a jump but he managed it, gritting his teeth against the pain.
Although his injury was ragged and deep, Dr. Mackenzie quickly cleaned, stitched and bandaged him up.
She then turned her attention to Yves. Finding her waiting in the ME's office, she examined the deep puncture wound in Yves's left shoulder.
"What hit you?"
"A brick, I think."
Dr. Mackenzie made a thoughtful noise. "It looks pretty clean. Did it bleed a great deal?"
"It bled enough."
Yves watched the doctor carefully while she worked, trying to assess her. "It's very important that no one knows about us. Dr. Scully says we can trust you to be discreet."
"I've been known to keep confidences and it seems to me that whatever's going on here is quite confidential."
"You could be in as much danger as we are if word got out that you helped us."
Dr. Mackenzie stopped midstitch to look Yves in the eyes. "I understand that. But I do have one question."
"You can ask it but I cannot guarantee an answer."
"Fair enough," said the doctor. "All I really want to know is that what you're doing is for the greater good, that it's important and not for personal gain."
Yves nodded. "It is important and, if we succeed, it will save thousands of lives."
"Then I'm glad to be of help."
