Heavy Lifting
by Laura Castellano

laurita_castellano@yahoo.com

Rating:  If you can handle "hell" and "damn," you can handle 
this.

Archive:  Sure, go ahead.

Super-duper thanks to Mary for the beta and for the idea, 
and to Obfusc8er for helping me find the perfect phrase.

Some mild MT involved.  Well, maybe not so mild.  I've been 
where Mulder is, and anything that requires a double dose of 
painkiller isn't really mild, now is it?

SUMMARY: They've been stuck in an elevator for hours.  
Something has to give.  Something does.


*****

"Scully?"

"Yes, Mulder?"

Her partner sighed.  "How the hell did we get here?"

Scully glared at him.  He couldn't see her in the darkness, 
but he felt the glare.  God knew he'd felt it often enough 
in the past; there was no mistaking it now.

"Do you really want me to answer that question?"

He sighed again.  "No, not really."

"I think what you should be asking yourself is how the hell 
we're going to get out of here."

"I have been asking myself that question, Scully, for the 
entire nine hours we've been trapped here."

"Nine?  It's got to be longer than that."

"Not according to my watch."  He pushed the button to 
illuminate the display, and showed it to her.  It read 4 
a.m.

This time, he could have sworn he heard her roll her eyes.

"Fine.  Nine hours cooped up in a broken elevator in a 
deserted building, all because *you* were absolutely sure 
we'd find evidence of a pharmaceutical conspiracy if we 
searched the offices of Dr. Melman over the weekend.  You 
*do* realize it's a holiday weekend, right?  And that it's 
unlikely we'll be found before Tuesday morning?  That's 
three more days in here.  Mulder, we don't even have a 
bottle of water, or anything at all to eat, or--"

"I'm sure it won't be that long," he said confidently.  
"This is a huge office building, Scully.  Someone's bound to 
be working over the weekend."

"Well, even if they are, they probably won't find us here!  
Out of a bank of six elevators, how are they going to know 
one is out of order?  They'll just take the one that arrives 
to pick them up."

"I guess we could yell," he offered doubtfully.

"Scream ourselves hoarse, at four in the morning," she said, 
her tone indicating that she couldn't believe he'd gotten 
her into this mess.

"Well no, not *now*," he answered, allowing his own bit of 
sarcasm to creep in. "Later in the day.  When it's more 
likely someone will be here."

"There are fifteen floors in this building."

"Fourteen.  They skip the thirteenth floor, remember?"

She exhaled in exasperation, desperately trying to keep her 
temper.

"Fourteen, then.  And out of fourteen floors, with maybe 
thirty offices on each floor, there might be one person 
working over the long weekend. Tell me, Mulder, what do 
*you* think are our chances of being heard?"

"Then maybe there's a night watchman.  There must be some 
type of security guard, maybe more than one."

"Great.  We get rescued from a stuck elevator, only to find 
ourselves arrested for breaking and entering."

"Hey, we didn't break anything, and if they ask, we'll just 
lie.  We'll say we...um..."

"Fell asleep in our doctor's office?"

"Well, what do you suggest, then?" he demanded, throwing the 
problem back into her lap.  "What's your bright idea for 
getting us out of here?"

"I don't have one, Mulder.  I only know the power's out, the 
security phone doesn't work, and we could be here for days! 
 The human body can only survive without water for a few 
days, and then-"

"Don't go there, Scully, please."  He sounded aggrieved, as 
if finally realizing the gravity of the situation they were 
facing.  "I'm going to try and climb up on the hand rail and 
see if I can locate an escape route in the ceiling."

"How are you going to do that?"

"I don't know, but I'll figure something out."

"Let me," she objected.  "It's too dangerous for you to try 
climbing the walls in the dark.  Just give me a boost up, 
and I can feel around up there for a loose tile or trap 
door."

Mulder squatted on the floor of the elevator.  "Give you a 
piggy-back ride," he offered jokingly.  

Scully climbed onto his shoulders, and held her hands above 
her to keep her head from ramming the ceiling.  Mulder rose 
slowly until she said, "That's enough.  Hold it there."

Scully felt around on the ceiling, pushing firmly at the 
tiles.  Nothing in this quadrant.  "Move to your right a 
bit, Mulder."

Mulder obeyed, but she could hear the strain in his voice 
when he said, "Can you hurry, Scully?  It's not that you're 
too heavy or anything, but this is killing my back."

She ignored the temptation to kick him in the chest, and 
concentrated on the tiles.

"Wait--I think maybe--"

Just as Scully pushed the loose tile she'd discovered up and 
out of the way, Mulder gave a loud yelp, and she felt 
herself falling.  She landed on top of him, and this time 
his cry more closely resembled a scream.

"Mulder!  What happened?  Are you all right?"  She climbed 
off him and tried to ascertain the damage.

Scully heard him breathing heavily, obviously attempting to 
control his pain.  At last he answered, "Something happened 
to my back, Scully.  Sorry I dropped you.  You okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, brushing the sweaty hair away from his 
brow.  "I'm sorry I landed on you."

"Not your fault," he gasped, his voice strangled against the 
pain.  "I shouldn't have tried to stand in that bent-over 
position.  I've had this happen before, Scully.  It'll be 
fine in a few days."

"A few days?  That's great, Mulder.  It's going to be a few 
days before we get out of here!  And how come I never knew 
you'd injured your back before?"

"It isn't injured, exactly," he demurred.  He realized the 
pain settled into a dull ache as long as he remained still, 
so he was barely daring to breathe.

This time he distinctly felt her raise her eyebrow.  "Not an 
injury, "exactly?"" 

"It happened while you were out that week with the flu," he 
explained between shallow breaths.  "Doc says it's either a 
pinched nerve or a slightly damaged disk.  He said lots of 
people have them and never even know it.  And that as long 
as I exercised it regularly, it shouldn't bother me again."

She didn't say anything for several minutes, but her hands 
began rubbing in a soothing motion over his lower back.  
Finally, she ventured, "Does Skinner know about this?"

"No," Mulder replied tightly, "and I don't want him to find 
out.  He doesn't need to know, Scully."

"Mulder, if you're not fit to be in the field--"

"I'm fit, Scully!" he said sharply.  "It's because the 
weather's been so bad lately, and I haven't been able to run 
like I normally do.  When that happens, I usually spend time 
at the gym, but this month I've just been so busy with other 
things that I procrastinated. It's my own fault, and this is 
the price I have to pay."

"We're going to have to get you out of here, Mulder.  We 
can't stay here three more days."

"I agree, but how?"

"Before you fell, I managed to push on one of the ceiling 
tiles. Maybe I can climb up on the hand rail, the way you 
suggested before. If I can climb out, I can go for help."

"You might fall, Scully.  Let me help you up--"

"Mulder, you can't even stand up right now.  Don't you dare 
move."

"How do you know I can't stand up?"

"Because if you could, you'd be up and trying again.  Now 
stay right here.  I'll see what I can do."  She took off her 
coat and folded it, then slid it gently under his head for a 
makeshift pillow.  His gasp of pain made it clear that even 
that small movement was too much for him.

She removed her shoes, slipping the straps over one wrist so 
she could carry them with her, and tried to find a way to 
climb to the ceiling.  

It wasn't going to work.  The metal hand rail stuck out from 
the elevator wall perhaps an inch.  It wasn't enough for her 
to form any kind of grip, and there was no way to brace 
herself.  After going at the problem from several different 
angles and coming up short, she sighed and slumped to the 
floor in defeat.

"Sorry, Mulder.  I just can't get up there."

She felt him moving, and tried to push him back down.

"No, Scully, let me up.  The only chance we have is for me 
to get you up there."

"Mulder, you can't."

"Yes I can," he said through gritted teeth.  "I have to.  
Now climb on."

Knowing he was right, trying her best to ignore his gasps of 
pain, she once again allowed herself to be lifted to the 
ceiling.

"Right here, Mulder," she said, gripping the metal edge that 
had rimmed the now missing tile.  To her relief, it appeared 
strong enough to hold her weight, if only for a short time.

"Hurry, Scully."

She did, managing to pull herself up through the hole with a 
great deal of grunting and effort.

As soon as her weight was lifted off him, Mulder sank back 
to the floor. Straightening up was impossible at this point, 
so he lay on his side, curled in something resembling the 
fetal position.

"We're in luck, Mulder," she reported from her vantage point 
atop the elevator car.  "The doors to the floor above us are 
open, and I think I can climb up."

"Be careful, Scully," he answered, but he wasn't sure she 
could hear his breathless words.

Mulder heard some scuffling up above, and then Scully 
called, "I'm there.  The power isn't out on this floor, 
Mulder.  I'm going downstairs now, and see if I can find 
help."

"I'll just wait here," he said, louder this time, and was 
rewarded with an answering chuckle.

As soon as he was sure Scully was gone, Mulder let loose the 
groan of agony he'd been suppressing.  He hadn't lied to 
Scully exactly--this was something he'd experienced before, 
but never had it hurt so badly. At this moment, death 
sounded like a welcome blessing.

Mulder wasn't sure how much time had passed, but it couldn't 
have been more than ten minutes after Scully had gone that 
the lights in the elevator suddenly flashed on.  He jerked 
at the unexpected brightness, then cried out from the pain 
the movement caused.  Seconds later, he heard gears 
grinding, and all at once the elevator was slowly 
descending.

Mulder clenched his fists, gritted his teeth, and rode it 
out.  Soon he was on the ground floor, the doors swished 
quietly open, and Scully knelt beside him.

"Someone had killed the power to the entire bank of 
elevators," she explained.  "There's no telling why.  
Mulder, if you can make it to the car, we just might get out 
of this without getting hauled off to jail."

He stared up at her balefully, then forced himself onto his 
hands and knees.  With Scully beside him to catch him if he 
should fall, he made his way, inch by painful inch, to his 
feet.  He was hunched over like a little old man, and he was 
pretty sure he wasn't going to be able to walk far, but 
Mulder was standing.

Scully slipped her arm through his and helped him to the 
small side door from which they'd entered the building.

"Hope this doesn't trip an alarm," she whispered, pushing it 
open.

"It won't," Mulder grinned.  

"Mulder!"

"Well, we had to get in, didn't we?"

Scully just shook her head in exasperation.  "Come on, 
Mulder.  Just another fifty yards or so."

"Halfway to goal," he muttered.

"Right."

They didn't speak again until she had him settled in the 
passenger seat.  Without turning on the headlights, Scully 
started the car and got them the hell out of there.  Twenty 
minutes later, they were leaving the town of Chesham, 
Maryland behind. 

When they reached Mulder's building, he refused to let her 
help him up the front steps.  Instead, he gripped the steel 
rail fiercely, practically hauling himself up the for step 
to the front entrance.  Once inside, he stared longingly at 
the stairs leading to the next floor for a few seconds, the 
reluctantly entered the elevator.

Scully didn't bother saying a word, but this time there was 
no mistaking her exasperation.  He ignored it.

Once in his apartment, she ordered him to lie down while she 
fixed an ice pack.  Dawn was beginning to break when she 
finally had him settled.

"Well," she sighed, arranging the covers around him, "at 
least we got out of that one.  The next time you get some 
hare-brained idea to--"

"Scully?"

"What?"

"I fully appreciate your need to chew on my ass, but do you 
think we could possibly postpone it a bit?  I honestly don't 
think I can take it all in right now anyway, so you'd just 
be wasting your breath."

She smiled.  "All right.  I'm going to go find something to 
eat. You want anything?"

"No, thanks."

While Scully rummaged in his kitchen, Mulder tried to find a 
reclining position that was bearable.  He was beyond asking 
for 'comfortable' by now.  He tried one side, then the 
other, then lying flat on his back.  That was a disaster, 
and there was no way in hell he was going to attempt to lie 
on his stomach.  That left sitting on the side of the bed.  
It wasn't too bad, as long as he didn't move a muscle, but 
now and then a spasm would hit his lower back, and with it a 
shaft of pain that took his breath away.

"You all right?" she asked, poking her head in the bedroom 
door a little while later.  "It's time to remove the ice 
pack."  

He held it out to her.  "Already did that. I couldn't keep 
it in place."

"Don't you want to try lying down?"

He shook his head.  "Just makes it worse.  This seems to be 
the least offensive position I've found."

She made a sympathetic noise.  "Look, if you don't mind, I 
think I'm going to crash on your couch for a while.  I don't 
want to leave you on your own yet, but I'm pretty beat after 
our little adventure last night."

"You can go on home, Scully, I'm fine."

"Shut up, Mulder."

He grinned.  "Well if you insist on hanging around to 
baby-sit me, you should at least be comfortable.  Take the 
bed.  I haven't had much luck with it," he said, waggling 
his eyebrows in a teasingly suggestive manner.  "I'll try 
the couch."

"Whatever, Mulder," she yawned.  "Just call me if you need 
me."

He hoped his comfortable couch would treat him more kindly 
than the bed, but it turned out to be a vain wish.  He tried 
all the positions again, and once more ended up sitting on 
the edge of the cushions, hunched over with his elbows 
resting on his knees.

To make matters worse, he was beginning to feel sick at his 
stomach, and he was pretty sure it was due to the prolonged 
pain.

This was *nothing* like the last time he'd thrown his back 
out of whack, and for the first time, Mulder began to 
seriously consider the possible implications to his career. 
Could it be he would finally be brought down, not by a 
shadow force within the government, but by his own body?  
The irony was almost too obnoxious to bear.

Three hours later, he was beyond caring.  The pain had grown 
steadily worse, until Mulder was sure he would pass out soon 
if something wasn't done.  

As much as he hated the idea, it was time to ask for help.

He managed to pull himself to his feet, and to his great 
surprise, found his ability to walk really no more impaired 
than it had been earlier.  It just hurt more.  He shuffled 
over to the bedroom door and stood there for a moment, 
watching his partner sleep.  He marveled for perhaps the 
tenth time in their partnership at how peaceful a person who 
had experienced hell firsthand could look while unconscious. 



Then another spasm ended his reverie.

"Scully?"

She opened her eyes at once.  "Yes, Mulder?"

"I think you'd better take me to a hospital."

Her eyes widened.  "Did you just say what I think you said?" 
she asked in disbelief.

"You heard me."

"Is the pain worse?"

"Much."

"Do we need to call an ambulance?"

"I don't think so.  I can walk, sort of.  It just hurts like 
hell."

"There probably isn't much they can do for you," she told 
him, automatically going into diagnostic mode even as she 
rose and slipped her shoes back on her feet.  "I doubt 
they'll admit you, since you are able to move around fairly 
effectively. You might need an MRI, but E.R. physicians are 
reluctant to order them except in the most extreme cases, 
because they're so expensive. You need to see your regular 
doctor, and he won't be available until--"

"Scully," he groaned, "all I care about at the moment is the 
drugs.  I want to be put out of my misery, one way or 
another.  I don't suppose you'd consider pulling out my 
weapon and shooting me?"

She smiled gently.  "Not even for you, Mulder."

"Then unless you can produce some really good painkillers 
from your little black bag, I want you to take me to the 
E.R."

She didn't hesitate a moment longer.  Mulder usually fought 
going to the emergency room tooth and nail because he hated 
the waiting, hated the IV they inevitably started in his arm 
or hand, and hated having to undress and be poked and 
prodded.  The very fact that he was practically begging her 
to take him now spoke volumes about the level of pain he 
must be experiencing.

"All right, Mulder.  Let's go."

The ride to the hospital was agony for Mulder.  Scully drove 
as carefully as she could, but it suddenly seemed as if 
every pothole in the greater DC area had located itself 
between his apartment and the nearest emergency room.  By 
the time they arrived, Mulder was cursing a blue streak 
under his breath.  His hands, clenched in his lap, were 
white, and Scully was pretty sure she'd seen a tear or two 
make its way between his tightly shut eyelids, or maybe they 
had simply been trickles of sweat.

"Mulder?  We're here," she whispered.  The only sign that 
he'd heard her was an oh-so-slight nod of his head.  "Wait 
while I get someone out here with a gurney."

That woke him up.  "No, I'm coming in with you."

"Mulder-"

"Scully, I can't lie down.  Believe me, in the past few 
hours, I've tried every position I can twist myself into, 
and this is the least painful of them all."

"A wheelchair, then."

"No.  Let's just get this over with."

He made his way slowly out of the car, still bent over 
slightly at the waist and twisted a bit to the left.  He 
looked like a ninety-year-old man, but with her hand on his 
arm to steady him, he was at least able to shuffle his way 
through the sliding doors.  

Scully looked surprised when she saw the empty waiting room. 
"The gods are smiling on you, Mulder," she commented, 
leading him toward the reception desk.

"Funny, it feels like they're doing something else 
entirely."

She helped him into a chair, then related his information to 
the woman behind the desk.  Mulder sat quietly beside her, 
but she could tell by the furrow in his brow and his quick, 
shallow breathing that the pain was increasing.  Once they'd 
finished registering and had been directed to take a seat 
and wait to be called, she turned to take a good look at 
him.  The slightly greenish tint to his complexion made her 
take notice.

"Mulder, are you feeling nauseous?"

He nodded.  

"Do you need to throw up?"

"It's not quite that bad yet, but keep a wastebasket handy."

Taking him at his word, she was looking around the room for 
something that might serve when the door behind them swung 
open.

"Mr. Mulder?"  An unsmiling, strictly-business-type nurse 
led them into a small triage room.  She sat at the desk and 
offered Mulder the only extra chair.  He perched gingerly on 
its edge.  Scully stood against the opposite wall.

After taking his temperature, pulse and blood pressure, she 
said, "Tell me what's wrong."

"Back hurts," he mumbled.  "It's about to kill me."

"Did you do something to strain your back?"

"I was...uh...doing some heavy lifting."

Behind him, Scully snorted delicately.

The nurse frowned.  "Are you Mrs. Mulder?" she asked, 
looking questioningly up at Scully.

"I'm Dana Scully," she explained.  "We work together." 

The nurse shrugged and turned back to Mulder.  "Is the pain 
localized, or does it radiate down your legs?"

"Just in my lower back.  Legs are fine."

"Are you having any other problems?"

"I'm feeling kind of sick right now, but I think it's just 
because of the pain."

"Any vomiting?"

"Nope."

She wrote some notes on a form, then instructed them to 
return to the waiting room.  "Doctor Conners will see you 
shortly."

Scully helped Mulder to the waiting room, and had no more 
than gotten him settled when the doors opened again.  

"Mr. Mulder?"  Another nurse, this one with a bright smile, 
beckoned them inside.  

This time it was Mulder who rolled his eyes.  When they 
reached the examining room, Mulder eyed the table warily.  
Instead of lying on it, or even attempting to sit, he simply 
leaned his arms against the end of it for support and stood.

Dr. Conners, young but slightly balding, entered right 
behind them.  He flipped through the notes the triage nurse 
had written for a moment, then introduced himself.  

"So, Mr. Mulder, what did you do to yourself?"

Mulder patiently explained that he'd been doing some heavy 
lifting and had thrown his back out.  "I did it once before, 
but it didn't hurt this badly."

"Have you had any diagnostic tests run before?"

"My doctor checked me out and told me it wasn't serious.  He 
said as long as I exercised regularly,  I shouldn't have any 
more trouble.  I haven't been following that advice lately, 
and this is the result."

"It's only happened once before?"

"Yes."

"Hmm.  Well, we could run an MRI, but without more of a 
history than you seem to have, there's a good chance your 
insurance company would deny the claim.  Are you fairly 
mobile? Able to get to the bathroom okay?"

"Yeah.  Hurts a lot, but I can move around."

The doctor palpated Mulder's lower back gently, evidently 
feeling nothing out of the ordinary.  Finally, after reading 
through the notes again, he said, "I'll tell you what I'm 
going to do.  We'll give you a prescription for something to 
relieve the pain, and another one for a muscle relaxant. 

Do you have someone to drive you home?"

Mulder nodded toward Scully.

"Good.  Then I'll go ahead and give you a dose now, so it 
can start working as soon as possible.  I want you to go 
home and spend the weekend resting.  If your pain gets 
worse, come back here, or call an ambulance if necessary.  
First thing Monday morning--no, I guess it would be Tuesday, 
wouldn't it?--I want you to call your doctor and schedule an 
appointment.  I have a feeling you're dealing with a disc 
problem, but without some diagnostics, I can't say for 
certain.  However, the fact that you're able to walk, and 
that the pain isn't radiating down your legs, is positive. I 
could admit you, but really, we'd only be giving you a bed 
to lie in until you could see your doctor, anyway.  Most 
patients are more comfortable in their own homes."

"Definitely."

"I'm surprised the place isn't full," Scully observed.  
"Since it's a holiday weekend, I expected we'd have to wait 
for hours."

"You caught us in an unusual lull.  We were busy with a 
couple of gunshot wounds this morning, and as soon as it 
gets dark, the fun will really begin."  He turned back to 
Mulder.  "Go home, rest, and don't be afraid to use this 
pain medication, Mr. Mulder.  There's no reason for you to 
be in agony all weekend."

"I'll see to him, Doctor, don't worry."  

A few minutes after the doctor left, the perky nurse 
returned.

"I have some stuff to make you feel better, Mr. Mulder," she 
said, offering him a cup with four tablets in it.  Mulder 
didn't even look at the pills. He just accepted the water 
she handed him and swallowed.

Scully took the prescriptions, waited while Mulder shakily 
signed the discharge sheet, and led him slowly back to the 
car.

"What do you think my doctor is going to say, Scully?"

"You mean, what do I think he'll prescribe?"

Mulder nodded.  

"Well, assuming your problem isn't serious, probably some 
physical therapy.  If it turns out to be more serious than 
you think, the end result could be surgery."

He grimaced.  "You think it'll come to that?"

"I doubt it.  Usually someone in need of that kind of 
radical measure is in pain far more extreme than yours, and 
experiences a marked reduction in mobility."

"There's pain more extreme than this?" His words should have 
been a joke, but the tightness around his mouth told her he 
wasn't in a jesting mood.

"Believe it or not, Mulder, there is.  But don't worry.  
Those pills the doctor gave you should begin to work 
shortly."

"I think they might be starting already.  I'm feeling a 
little...weird."

Scully perked up.  "Weird?  Weird how?"

"Relax, Scully.  I just feel a little dizzy, is all."  He 
waited several minutes before finally asking, "Are you going 
to tell Skinner about this?"

"He'll find out anyway, Mulder, you know that."

"I don't want to lose my field agent status."

"I know."  She glanced over, and saw a very real fear in his 
expression. "It probably won't happen, Mulder.  I expect 
you'll be put on temporary disability for no more than a 
week, until you can get up and around without all this pain. 
Then your doctor will probably send you to physical therapy. 
 I'm predicting in less than a month, you'll be out chasing 
conspiracies again."

"A month!"

"Possibly.  However long it turns out to be, you will do 
*exactly* as your doctor orders, do you understand me, 
Mulder?  I have no interest in being transferred back to 
Quantico, nor do I plan to break in another partner after 
all these years, so you will do everything in your power to 
*avoid* losing your field agent status.  Is that clear?"

He nodded, closed his eyes and said no more.  Scully 
concentrated on getting Mulder home as quickly as possible. 
By the time they reached their destination, her partner was 
definitely woozy.

"Be careful, Mulder," she admonished, helping him up the 
steps this time in spite of his protests.  "The last thing 
we need is for you to slip on the stairs and break your 
leg."

"That would truly qualify as a freak accident, Scully."

Finally, the trek to his apartment was completed.  Scully 
turned her key in the lock and pushed the door open.  "Do 
you want to lie on the couch, or on the bed?"

"Bed sounds fine," he mumbled, swaying slightly.

"Well we'd better get you there quick, before you fall on 
your face."

This time, with the aid of the muscle relaxant and pain 
pills, Mulder was able to lie on his back with reasonable 
comfort.  Scully pulled off his shoes, then his jeans.  
Dimly, Mulder was aware that his partner was undressing him, 
and cursed inwardly that he was too stoned to enjoy the 
party.

She stopped short of taking off his tee-shirt, instead 
tucking the sheet around him gently.  "I'll be here if you 
need me," she whispered, smoothing his hair away from his 
forehead again.

"Tha's nice."

"You like that?"

"Mmm hmm."

"I think you're going to be asleep in about three seconds."

"If I snore, just give me a push."

"If you snore, I probably won't know it, because I'll be 
sleeping on the couch."

"G'night, Scully."

"It's nearly noon, Mulder."

Her partner didn't answer.  Smiling, Scully shook her head. 
Life with Mulder was many things, but it could never be 
described as boring.

"When you're feeling better," she whispered to his 
slumbering form, "we're going to discuss that 'heavy 
lifting' comment."

END