Storms We Cannot Weather by Laura Castellano laurita_castellano@yahoo.com March 4, 2000 Disclaimer: Not mine, never were, never will be. Rating: PG-13 Keywords: MT, Angst, a hint of MSR Archive: Sure. Summary: In the dead of night, a car skids off the road... ----- Storms We Cannot Weather by Laura Castellano There was lightning. She could see it flash occasionally, off in the distance, and wondered if the storm would reach them before they made it to the airport. She hoped it would hold off until after they were airborne; Scully hated flying in the rain. They were both weary, worn out from the grueling case they'd just wrapped up. Jackson Sartonian was behind bars, having confessed to a whole slew of murders. Mulder had tracked the man relentlessly, finally discovering him hiding in an old house, long since deserted and left to the rats, in a less-than-desirable part of Pearson, Texas. It was a small, country town, off the beaten path, ninety-odd miles from San Antonio, and Scully had never seen a more desolate land in all their travels. Conversation had been sporadic on the drive toward the airport in San Antonio, dwindling to almost nothing in the last half hour. The weather had turned cold, unwelcome after the warmth of the past few days, and Scully shivered a bit. Mulder reached down to adjust the heat, opening his mouth to comment (no doubt to make some smartass comment, she remembered thinking at the time) when the driver of an oncoming vehicle swerved out of his lane and came directly for them. Scully had glanced up just one second before Mulder jerked the wheel to the left, and afterwards she remembered, with crystal clarity, knowing they were about to die and being completely powerless to stop it. Then all was blackness for a time. "Scully?" It was more of a groan than anything, and Scully opened her eyes, disoriented. She tried to shake her head to clear her thoughts and quickly decided this was a very bad idea. Using both her hands to steady her aching head, she looked around carefully, and it took her several seconds to realize that, while she was still strapped into her seat, the car was lying on its side. She hung there, held in place by nothing more than the thin seat belt, otherwise suspended in midair. Pale moonlight barely illuminated their surroundings, but from what she could tell they had gone off the road, probably rolling a time or two, and landed in a ravine. "Mulder? Where are you?" she called frantically as soon as it dawned on her that the seat beside her was empty. "Here," he gasped, and even then it took her a few moments, after which her eyes had fully adjusted to the dimness, to realize he had been thrown from the car and was now pinned beneath it. The damn seatbelt, she remembered now. The car they'd rented had been unreliable throughout the week, and she had finally called Lariat, furious at the piece of junk they'd been stuck with, and insisted the rental agency send out a replacement automobile. The man she'd spoken with hadn't wanted to help her, and Scully had been forced to use her best "I'm the FBI, don't fuck with me" voice in order to get what she wanted. When the replacement arrived, she had rolled her eyes in disgust. It was a large car, one of the older models, and the seatbelt on the driver's side was inoperable. Naturally, it wasn't equipped with airbags, and Scully wondered if the car would have passed the required state inspection. She wouldn't have been surprised if the bastard had sent the worst car in their inventory, just because she'd had the audacity to suggest that he live up to his end of the contract. All the same, it was transportation, and they were on their way to the airport, after all. Within a few hours she could leave this place behind and slip into her own, soft bed. After seeing that the seatbelt wasn't working properly, Mulder had flatly refused to let her drive, and Scully had let him have his way just because she was so tired she was convinced she'd drive them into a ditch. She'd tried to doze a little, but she never had been good at sleeping in the car. Now, it seemed, the ditch had become a reality in any event. Carefully unfastening her own safety belt, breathing a prayer of thanks that *that*, at least, hadn't malfunctioned, Scully tried to open her door, pushing straight up with all her might. The door handle rattled ineffectively, but the door remained fast. It was jammed, probably from the roll they'd taken. The window on Mulder's side was broken, and she placed her feet on the ground, avoiding the shards of glass that still clung to the frame, and pushed upwards again. Mulder grunted in agony as the car shook, but the door still refused to cooperate. Grateful that the car wasn't equipped with automatic windows, she rolled down the window on the passenger side, miraculously untouched, and hoisted herself up and out. "Ah, shit Scully!" Mulder ground out, and she clambered out of the car as quickly as she could in order to take the additional pressure of her weight off him. "I'm sorry, Mulder," she managed, sliding to the ground outside. "It couldn't be helped." She made her way carefully around the rocky terrain to where he lay, all of his body except his chest, head and right arm trapped beneath the car. "You--okay?" he asked, looking her up and down from his position on the ground. "Yeah, I'm fine. A few cuts and bruises. Nothing to worry about," she reassured him. "I don't suppose--you could--get this thing off me?" he asked, trying for his trademark humor. "Surely all that--weightlifting you've been doing--will pay off now?" "I haven't been lifting weights and you know it," she objected, throwing all her strength behind toppling the car over. "These arm muscles are the direct result of hauling your ass out of trouble time and time again." He gave a snort that could almost have been laughter. "Could you--do it--one more time?" he managed weakly. "Pretty--please? It's getting--a little hard--to breathe." "What'll you give me?" she asked, turning around and putting her back against the car's battered top, trying to find traction with her low-heeled shoes on the gravel and dust beneath them. "What do you--want?" "Large pepperoni pizza," she grunted, shoving at the car. "Green peppers. Mushrooms. No anchovies." She gave another mighty push and the car rocked a bit, seemed about to fall over, then fell back into place. Mulder choked back a scream. "I'm sorry, Mulder," she apologized, giving up her tussle with the vehicle for now and wiping the sweat from his brow. "It's just too heavy for me." "'S'kay, Scully." His labored breathing told her it was not okay, that it was anything but okay. She placed her hands on his forehead and was troubled to find that his skin felt clammy to her touch. He was slipping into shock. "I'd give you a--hand, but mine seem to be--missing in action," he joked weakly, and she frowned. One of his arms was lost beneath the car, to be sure, but the other was flung out at an angle over his head. At an *odd* angle, she realized at last, shaking her head at her own stupidity. His right arm was broken just below the elbow. A bad break, from the look of it. He had to be in incredible pain. "Phone," she said suddenly. "I can call for help." "I think that's missing--in action, too," he mumbled, but she looked around on the ground nearby anyway. Her search turned up a few beer cans, one broken glass bottle, an empty container of automotive oil...and no cell phone. "Mine's in my bag on the backseat." "That would mean..." "Climbing back into the car," she finished. "I'd really just as soon--you didn't." "Mulder..." she said helplessly. "I don't know what else to do. We have to get some help. I can't get this car off you alone." "What about--the guy who swerved at us?" Scully stood up and scanned what she could see of the area, but spied no sign of the other car. He obviously hadn't stopped, but she wasn't about to confirm that to Mulder just now. There was always a chance the driver had pulled to the side of the road. Maybe he or she was calling for help on a cell phone even now. "I'll climb back up to the road and see if I can find him," she said. "Will you be all right?" "Sure," he murmured, his eyes tightly closed. "I'll just-- wait right here." Scully climbed the embankment carefully, looking up and down the lonely stretch of highway and seeing nothing. She stood forlornly on the yellow line in the middle of the road, staring first north, then south. The driver who had caused their mishap had obviously not suffered any kind of damage; he was long gone. She searched for any sign of life, soberly reminding herself that the last sign she'd seen before the accident had informed them that San Antonio was still fifty miles ahead. They'd stopped for gas before they left Pearson, and the highway between there and here had been thoroughly deserted, except for one small convenience store, closed for the night. With a muttered curse, Scully slid back down the embankment and made her way carefully to where Mulder lay, still breathing shallowly, but thank God, still breathing. Almost reaching him, she saw something small and dark on the ground and picked it up. "Gone," she said flatly. "And I found your phone." She shook the ruined piece of plastic, sighing as a couple of the buttons fell to the dust. "Shit." His voice was weaker, and when she touched him, his skin was moist and cold. Definitely shock setting in. "I need to keep you covered," she informed him. "And I need to try and get to my phone. Mulder, I'm going to have to climb into the car." "Shit." "If it's any consolation, I've lost three pounds this month." The ghost of a smile flitted across his lips, but he said nothing, merely waiting for her hundred and four pounds to be added to the weight that was already crushing him. She climbed on the car toward the back, thinking she might be able to lessen the pressure on his body, and was relieved to see the rear window on the passenger side had also been smashed. Carefully, Scully removed as much of the remaining glass as she could, trying to ignore Mulder's occasional strangled sounds of pain, and slid through the opening into what remained of the back seat. "Ouch!" she muttered, feeling a shard of window scrape across her back, accompanied by a ripping sound. There went her favorite blouse. She was able to locate Mulder's long coat easily, and tossed it through the window. Finding her small bag took a little longer, but groping in the darkness, she at last discovered it, wedged between Mulder's seat and the ruined door. It took several good tugs to dislodge the bag, and when she finally retrieved it, Scully breathed a sigh of relief when she pulled out her cell phone, apparently unharmed. "I got it!" she called. Steeling herself against her partner's cries of pain, she prepared to climb out of the car when her foot found an unsteady surface and she slipped. Mulder made an unintelligible sound of agony, and Scully muttered, "Sorry, I'm sorry," reached down to find the object that had tripped her. It was her one liter bottle of water, still half full. She'd bought it at the gas station in Pearson, just because she hated being stuck on long trips in the car with nothing to sip on. Slipping the bottle into her bag, Scully threw the strap over her shoulder and climbed out of the car as quickly as possible. When she returned to Mulder's side, she was at first afraid he'd stopped breathing. His chest was barely moving up and down, the breaths so shallow that she had to lean very close to discern the movement. "You still with me, partner?" she asked softly, and he moaned. She covered him with the coat, tucking the edges of it beneath his body gently, and glared at the lightning that lit up the sky. The storm was drawing nearer. Once she had Mulder covered, Scully pulled her phone from the bag and flipped it open. And almost screamed in frustration when the "no service" message appeared on the screen. They were too far away from a cell tower. Slapping the phone closed firmly, she assessed the situation calmly. They were in the middle of no-fucking-where, Texas, on a deserted road, at--she consulted her watch--ten forty-seven p.m. on a Thursday. Her partner lay trapped beneath their useless piece of crap car, at least one limb broken, barely hanging on to consciousness, and if she was lucky she'd be able to stave off a massive case of shock until they were rescued. They weren't likely to be missed until morning, when they didn't show up for work, and no vehicle had driven by since the bastard who had run them off the road. There was an off-chance that person would send help their way, but Scully thought it much more likely he or she was either too drunk to realize what had happened, or was holed up somewhere, shivering in fright, hoping to god nobody discovered they'd left the scene of an accident. And to top matters off, a light rain was beginning to fall. Couldn't get much worse than this, she decided, eyes narrowed as she thought of the tortures she planned to inflict upon the man at the rental car agency if Mulder didn't--no, can't think about that now. "Can't get through?" he asked, opening one eye and staring longingly at the phone in her hand. "No service," she said resignedly. "Mulder, I'm going to try again to get this car off you." He nodded and she stood, fixing the car with her angriest glare for a few moments, gathering her strength and her courage. When she was ready, she threw herself at the vehicle, putting all her force into the lunge. The car rocked gently, and Scully, furious and pumped with adrenalin, attacked again. This time the car rocked a little more, and her hopes raised. In the next instant her heart was in her throat--the car was rocking the *wrong way!* One more good push and it was liable to roll over onto its top, crushing Mulder completely. "Maybe you'd better stop," he suggested, his voice tight with pain. Dejected, Scully sank down beside him doing her best to shield his body from the rain. "I'm sorry, Mulder," she said softly. "Hey, you gave it your best shot." "I don't know what else to do. I could try walking toward the city--" "No," he insisted. "Don't--don't leave me, Scully. Please." His breathing was more steady now, but still too shallow, and his broken arm had swollen to twice its normal size already. "Can you feel your legs or your left arm?" she asked. "Oh yeah." "Oh. Sorry." He closed his eyes again, and she saw him beginning to shiver. She tucked the coat more firmly around him, shielding his face from the rain as best she could. The air was growing colder, and the lightning was moving closer still. "How about a drink of water?" she asked, out of a sheer desire to alleviate her own helplessness, and he nodded slightly. Scully lifted his head as gently as she could, but she didn't miss the tightening around his mouth that told her his pain was increasing. She cradled him in the crook of her arm and allowed him to sip the water slowly, then carefully lay him back on the ground and capped the bottle. "I don't suppose you have anything to eat in that bag?" he asked hopefully, and she shook her head. "Sorry. I'll share that pizza you owe me, though, as soon as you pony up with it." "Can I have extra cheese on my half, Scully?" "You trying to eat yourself into an early grave?" He gave a short bark of laughter, followed by a groan he tried to stifle. Scully, regretting her unfortunate choice of words, smoothed away the raindrops that had collected on his forehead. "Stop that," she ordered. "Stop what?" he returned, his breaths coming in fast pants now. "Stop giving up." Her voice was harsh, unusually so, harsh enough that he opened his eyes and stared up at her in surprise. She knew her expression was stern, but damn it, she wasn't ready to call it quits just yet, and he seemed too willing to believe this was the end. "It's eleven-fifteen," she told him. "I'll make a bet with you, Mulder. I'll bet you a car drives by here before midnight." He didn't answer, and she prodded, "Come on, you know you can't resist a wager. You always think you're going to win." "I always *do* win," he whispered. "Not this time. I'll win this time. That is, if you're not too chicken to bet me." "Who are you--calling chicken?" She made a clucking sound, flapping her arms like wings the way children did on the playground, the way she remembered doing years ago when she was a kid and life was easy. He had to smile at her obvious attempts to goad him. "What are the stakes?" She thought for a moment. "Um...if I win...you take me out to dinner. Someplace nice, so I'll have to buy a new dress and some expensive perfume." He grinned. "That's not very imaginative," he objected. She tried not to notice that his voice was growing weaker. He almost certainly had internal bleeding. The question was, how badly were his insides damaged, and how long could he last out here? "Sorry," she retorted, attempting to sound light-hearted. "Best I can do on such short notice. So what do you want if you win? Not that you will, but I have to be fair." He pretended to consider. "I suppose a weekend in the Bahamas--is too much to ask?" he teased, giving her a sidelong glance. She responded with her best ScullyLook, the one he always said she should patent. "Okay, fine," he pouted. "How about--I get to ask you--one question, any question I want--and you have to answer with--total honesty." She gave a little laugh, and told herself it wasn't nervous laughter, not at all. "What is this, truth or dare?" "One question, Scully." He wasn't teasing now, and she found herself growing serious as well. If help didn't come soon, it was very likely Mulder wouldn't make it out of this ordeal alive. He was her best friend. What could he possibly ask her that she'd be afraid to answer? "Deal," she said at last. "But you have to stay awake with me." "I'll try." It was little more than a whisper. They remained silent for a long time, and eventually the rain grew harder, and colder. Mulder had closed his eyes, and Scully was almost afraid to touch him, afraid she'd discover he had slipped away while she sat helplessly at his side. Eventually a loud thunder clap startled both of them, and when he jumped involuntarily, then groaned loudly, she was perversely pleased; at least she knew he was still alive. "What time is it?" he murmured, and she checked her watch again. "Eleven fifty-two." "I'm gonna--win." "Are not," she argued absently, squinting at something in the distance. "Am too." "Don't declare your victory just yet," she said evenly, trying to contain her excitement, rising slowly to her feet on shaky legs. She stared down the road, unable to believe their good fortune. "I think I see headlights." "I'll gladly forfeit--if you're right." "Listen, I'm going to go back up on the road and try to flag them down. You stay here." He gave another little smile. "No running away, trying to get out of paying your debt, do you hear me?" She was sure he understood her unspoken words--'Don't you dare die on me, Mulder.' He nodded slightly, and she hurried toward the highway. Scully stood beside the road, trying to decide on the best position to take so as to be seen by the approaching vehicle without being killed or injured herself. It was coming from the south, heading toward San Antonio, and as the headlights drew nearer, she began to wave her arms. "Hey!" she yelled when the car was almost upon her. "Stop! I need your help!" The car slowed as it passed her, and Scully turned gratefully just in time to see it speed up again and continue on. "Hey, wait!" she called, running after the vehicle. "Wait up! I need help! I need--you fucking *bastard!*" She stood forlornly in the middle of the road for a few minutes, hoping the driver would change his mind and turn back, and finally, resisting the urge to flip the bird in the car's general direction, headed back to where Mulder lay. "No luck, huh?" he asked when she sank to the ground next to him. "I'm sure he's coming back," she said confidently. "He just has to pick up some beer and cigarettes, and maybe a little piece of ass first." Mulder opened his eyes wide, both at her words and the edge in her voice. Scully realized immediately that she had revealed more than she'd intended, and tried for teasing again. "You owe me," she informed him. "I won the bet." "No you didn't!" he objected. "It doesn't--count if they didn't stop." "Yes it does, Mulder. I said I bet a car would come by, and one did. I didn't say anything about it stopping." "But you meant--" "Are you trying to weasel out of paying up?" she demanded. "It won't work, Mulder. There is nothing you can do to get out of it. Do you understand? *Nothing.*" "In other words, don't die, is that what you're telling me?" he asked softly. "You're not going to die." "I am, unless help gets here--really soon, and we both--know it, Scully." His words were calm, assured, and she couldn't deny the truth in them. There didn't seem to be anything else to say, so she slipped her fingers around his, careful not to jostle his arm, and they stayed that way for a long time. He tried to squeeze her hand and couldn't. At least the damn rain was beginning to slack off. By half past twelve, Mulder had begun to shiver in earnest, and Scully was at a loss as to how to keep him warm. The coat she'd covered him with was wet, but if she removed it, the little bit of warmth it gave him would be gone. Finally, in desperation, she stretched out beside him on the ground and pulled him, gently and slowly, into her arms. Mulder turned his head so that his cheek rested against hers. He'd stopped fighting, she could tell, and was just waiting now for death to take him. "What was the question?" she asked softly. "You sure--you want to know?" His breathing was becoming labored again, rattling in his chest, and Scully knew he didn't have much time left. "Well," she replied philosophically, "the way I see it, we sort of ended in a tie. Sure, a car came by, but it didn't stop to help, so basically we both won." "Or lost." She bit her lip to keep back the tears that tried to start. "You can buy me dinner later," she told him. "Go ahead and ask me your question." "You have--to tell the truth." "I promise." He turned his head slowly, until they were nose to nose, looking into each other's eyes. The effort seemed to take all his strength, and he closed his briefly, as if to rally what remained. When he opened them, he fixed her with a piercing gaze that held her captive. "Scully, do you--" He broke off, panting again for breath, and she urged him on. "Do I what, Mulder?" This time she didn't even try to keep back the tears, and they mingled with the rain that still misted lightly down. He couldn't have mistaken the slight catch in her voice. "Do you love me?" It was a whisper, and she almost didn't hear, wouldn't have heard if they hadn't been so close. Later, reflecting on the events of the night, she wondered if it had been so soft because of his weakness or his fear. Probably a bit of both, she decided at last. But that would be later, and here, now, faced with the actual question, she must give some kind of answer. An answer that would reassure him, an answer that would ease him into the next world, which he was certain to enter shortly. "Mulder, I--" She froze, listening. "Do you?" he demanded weakly. Instead of answering, she slipped carefully away from him and stood up. "Scared--you--didn't I?" he managed, but she was already running up the embankment toward the approaching headlights. This time, she thought, reaching for her weapon, if they don't stop, I'm going to shoot out a tire. On the heels of that thought flashed an image of Mulder, telling her, "You may not realize this, Scully, but shooting out the tires on a runaway RV is a lot harder than it sounds." The vision was sad, a memory of someone whose loss she already felt, and she shook it off angrily. Mulder was still alive, and she would fight with her last breath to keep him that way. She firmly placed herself directly in the middle of the road, determined to stand her ground, but the vehicle in question began to slow as soon as its headlights found her. She was running toward it even as the driver shouted out the window, "You need some help, Miss?" Quickly, her words tumbling over themselves, Scully explained the situation, and within moments the driver and his companion--two brothers on their way to a family reunion in Pearson, she learned later--were out of the car and hurrying towards her partner. Help had arrived at last. She only prayed it wasn't too late. "We have to get the car off him," she explained, and watched with undisguised envy as the two men rolled the vehicle to an upright position with very little effort. Scully swallowed a lump in her throat as she hastily examined Mulder. Both his legs were crushed, and would require surgery to repair--she just hoped to God they were actually repairable--and his abdomen was swollen and tight with pooled blood and fluid. His left arm had been trapped beneath his body, but appeared to be intact. "Do you have a blanket or something in the car?" she asked, her medical instinct at last kicking in, now that there was hope. "We need to make a stretcher. He needs to get to a hospital immediately." "There's an old blanket in the trunk," one of the men said. "It's kind of dirty, but--" "Get it." "Ma'am, we really shouldn't move him," the other man offered, but she cut him off. "Look, I'm a doctor. I know what kind of treatment he needs, but there's nothing I can do for him here. He needs a hospital, a surgeon. Now we can either load him in your car and take him to the nearest medical facility, where he might pull through, or we can stay here while your friend drives to a phone and calls an ambulance. If we have to wait on an ambulance, he's almost surely going to die. He has a lot of internal bleeding and at least one broken bone. He's been on the verge of slipping into severe shock for the past couple of hours." By the time she finished her explanation, the blanket had arrived, and Scully directed the two men in lying it flat and gently easing Mulder's body onto it. Once again, his moans of pain told her he was still alive, and she thought she heard a muffled expletive emanate from the blanket as they carried him up the hill. After that, he fell silent, and she hoped it only meant he had lost consciousness. The men loaded Mulder into the back seat as carefully as they could, and Scully climbed in beside him, kneeling on the floor and grasping her partner's limp fingers--limp, but still warm, she told herself, still living. As fast as he was able to negotiate the car on the rain-slicked road, Nick, the driver, sped toward the city. It was only a forty minute drive, but it took forever, and Scully would occasionally lay her head close to Mulder's chest to be certain he was still breathing. As soon as they pulled up to the emergency door of the hospital, she jumped out of the way and let those on duty do their work. Scully gave a report to the nurse in short, staccato sentences, never taking her eyes off Mulder until they rushed him through a set of double doors that led to the surgical wing. Then she returned to the matter at hand, giving his insurance information and medical history in a monotone, her thoughts still on her partner. In her mind, she saw him being prepped for surgery, the oxygen mask placed over his nose, the anesthesia administered, the nurses draping him with sterile cloths, the glitter of surgical instruments on a table beside him. Only when her mind's eye envisioned the first cut, and the blood that must be shed, did she turn away. The nurse, sensing an impending crash, helped her to a chair in the waiting room and fetched her a cup of water, then sat beside her until she was sure Scully wasn't going to pass out and hit the floor. In the back of her mind, Scully wished the nurse would voice platitudes, empty reassurances, and yet part of her was grateful that she didn't; bullshit would never help at a time like this. Mulder would either live, or he would die. And she could only wait. She sat. She paced. She drank endless cups of bad coffee. She convinced herself that the more time passed, the better for Mulder, and then convinced herself of the opposite. When the surgeon at last emerged to give her the news, she had steeled herself. There was no way Mulder could survive, she had told herself repeatedly, in preparation for the worst moment of her life. He'd been under the car too long, there was too much internal damage. He might live a few hours, but he would never pull through. She watched as the doctor approached, his eyes glued to the chart in his hands, and she knew--he wouldn't look at her. He couldn't look at her because it was over, Mulder was dead, he was gone, and how would she go on without him? And why hadn't she answered his question? If she'd only said one little word, she berated herself, given the truth he'd asked for, he could have left this life in peace and happiness, but instead, she had avoided him the way she always did when things got sticky. She'd heard the car approach, seen her escape, and taken it. Even at the very end she hadn't been able to be honest with him about her own feelings. It had been his very last request, and she had failed him. Blinking back the tears, knowing she had to remain strong for a little while longer, at least, Scully stood, bravely waiting for the surgeon to look up from the chart and tell her Mulder was dead. "Mulder is dead," she murmured to herself, just as one more effort to prepare. She watched the surgeon as he took the last few steps toward her, closing the chart, and then he looked up at her and did what she least expected. He smiled. END