From: lea_nicci@inbox.com   
      
   Title:  West of Sunrise -- Part 1/2   
   Author:  Lea Nicci (lea_nicci@inbox.com)   
   Disclaimer:  These characters are the property of Chris Carter/1013.   
   No copyright infringement is intended.   
   Rating:  NC17 (for adult situations)   
   Genre:  Mulder Angst, MSR   
   Summary:  Mulder falls.  Scully tries to catch him. Will they make it?   
      
   ^*^   
      
   It had only been two days, but Scully's intuition wouldn't let her wait.     
      
   A weekend where Mulder actually took a weekend and there were no   
   calls, forty-eight hours without a "hey, Scully, it's me" which might have   
   been a record.  She didn't want to worry, but something intangible   
   niggled at her and after six messages left with no response, the drive   
   to his apartment was made with white knuckles, hands clutched hard   
   around the steering wheel.   
      
   Her rational mind claimed she was overreacting, but her foot stayed   
   heavy on the gas pedal nonetheless.     
      
   Mulder hadn't been himself for weeks.  As his partner and his friend --   
   his best friend -- Scully could see the signs of something not right.   
   Day after day of faraway looks, a distracted manner coupled with   
   dark circles under his eyes.  His vitality; usually such a lively and   
   integral part of his personality appeared to be slipping away before   
   her eyes.    
      
   She could tell he hadn't been eating well either.  His impeccably   
   tailored suits and shirts, usually so well-fitted, hung on him in all the   
   wrong places.  He looked drained ... pale ... too thin for her liking and   
   with the lack of sleep, interest and appetite it didn't take a medical   
   degree to figure out there was something wrong.   
      
   When she reached Mulder's apartment, she was surprised by the   
   mess that greeted her.  He wasn't a spotless housekeeper by any   
   means, but piles of laundry and old newspapers strewn on the couch,   
   as well as the floor, certainly wasn't his style.  She wrinkled her nose   
   against the smell of garbage that needed to be taken out and peeked   
   into the kitchen to see a mountain of plates in the sink, overflowing   
   onto the counter.     
      
   A touch of fear gripped her and she called out his name.  "Mulder?"   
      
   There was a barely audible sigh and from the bedroom she heard, "In   
   here, Scully."   
      
   Sidestepping a sagging trash bag, Scully opened the bedroom door   
   and saw Mulder lying there, curled on his bed amidst crumpled linens   
   and more papers.  There was a haphazardly made meal sitting   
   untouched on his night table and one look told her Mulder hadn't   
   showered in a few days.     
      
   He seemed embarrassed that she should see him like that, but after   
   she gave him a small smile, he relaxed.    
      
   "I was worried about you," she said, gently, trying her hardest not to   
   sound accusing.  "Are you okay?"   
      
   He laughed dryly.  "I'd say `okay'  is a relative term."  With a grimace,   
   he rolled over and reached for a bottle sitting on the table next to the   
   abandoned plate.  He handed it to her with a glum expression.  "But   
   the FBI shrink thinks I could use a round of this."   
      
   Scully turned the bottle over and read the label.  Wellbutrin, an anti-   
   depressant and strong dose of it too.  Tilting the bottle sideways, she   
   did a quick and expert pill count.  "They're all still in here; thirty   
   days   
   worth.  Are you planning on taking them?"   
      
   "I don't know yet," he replied, his voice edged with exhaustion.  He   
   shrugged.  "Maybe I'll get a second opinion."   
      
   "I can give you that," Scully paused, not wanting to be overbearing,   
   but she had no choice to tell him what appeared to be obvious.  "I   
   think you should take them because the Mulder I'm seeing here isn't   
   the Mulder I know.  I think this medication might help."   
      
   "Might help?" he repeated faintly.  It was chilling, the dead look in his   
   bloodshot eyes.  Even more frightening were his next words: "I feel   
   like I'm drowning, Scully," he whispered brokenly and her breath   
   caught in her throat.   
      
   Impulsively, she reached out and squeezed his hand.  He closed his   
   eyes at the touch and it was all she needed to see.     
      
   Quietly, she left the room and began making phone calls.   
      
   It was going to be a long day.   
      
   ^*^   
      
   The first call to Mrs. Mulder didn't go anywhere productive.  She   
   listened patiently while Scully described her son's symptoms, but   
   when she got to `clinical depression', Scully could feel the woman   
   closing up on the other end of the line.     
      
   "We're all depressed," Teena interjected tersely. "In our own way.  I'm   
   not sure what I can do besides suggest he snap out of it."   
      
   Oh, great, that's really useful advice Scully thought with an eye roll.   
   "It's a bit more complex than that," Scully started, then thought better   
   of it.  Teena Mulder was a stressor for her son on a good day, maybe   
   this wasn't someone who could be considered 'help'.  Scully quickly   
   changed her approach. "Anyway, I just thought I'd keep you informed."   
      
   A click was the only response.   
      
   The next call was to Skinner, who listened intently, interrupting only to   
   ask for certain specifics.  Finally ... "I'll trust you to take whatever   
   steps are necessary to bring Mulder back up to speed, Agent   
   Scully," his tone grim. "Mulder's the last agent I want to see falling   
   into   
   this kind of emotional trap."  Skinner paused, parsing his words.  "I   
   know from experience how difficult the situation can get if left   
   untreated."   
      
   Scully's curiosity was sparked, but she didn't press him.  "I appreciate   
   that, sir."   
      
   "Just remember, there are certain  ... factions ... who wouldn't mind   
   seeing Agent Mulder permanently disabled. I'm trusting you with   
   seeing that doesn't happen."   
      
   A shiver of paranoia ran down Scully's spine at Skinner's words.  "I   
   understand."   
      
   On a frightened impulse, she ran back to check on Mulder upon   
   hanging up.  Thankfully he was sleeping peacefully and she touched   
   his cheek before heading back to the phone, shutting the door behind   
   her.     
      
   For a second, Scully had to stop and remember to breathe, to catch   
   herself from despair because seeing Mulder topple over the edge in   
   such a profound way, hurt her -- horribly.     
      
   Maybe that's why her last call was the most comforting one.  "Mom?   
   It's me, Dana.  I have to ask a favor.  "Could you stop by my   
   apartment and pack a bag for me and bring it down to Mulder's?  No,   
   not for overnight. I'll need a bit more than that."   
      
   ^*^   
      
   For a long time that night, Scully lay awake on Mulder's couch, the TV   
   turned down low, the fish tank's blue light shimmering in the far corner.   
   She tried to close her eyes, but her mind raced, wondering how this   
   could have happened.   
      
   How could she have let her observation of her partner's health slip like   
   this?     
      
   It couldn't have happened overnight, but like an iceberg, perhaps, you   
   don't see the danger until it's right on top of you.  Maybe he'd been   
   sliding into a depression for years, his spirit finally succumbing once   
   it all became too much to bear -- the fruitless hunt for his sister, the   
   constant roadblocks to the truth and ...    
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)