From: Buc252@adelphia.net   
      
   Robbed 2/2   
      
   by Mary Kleinsmith   
      
      
      
   She was still berating herself when she arrived at   
      
   the hospital about an hour and a quarter later,   
      
   despite the fact that she'd made good time.  She   
      
   still hadn't briefed Skinner, either, but that would   
      
   have to wait until she was reassured about Mulder's   
      
   condition, whatever that was this morning.   
      
      
      
   Stopping at the admissions desk, she had to wait   
      
   while the older woman there finished on the   
      
   telephone, and every second of the wait made her more   
      
   and more jittery.  She couldn't explain it, but   
      
   something was . . . foreboding.   
      
      
      
   Finally, the woman hung up the receiver.  "May I help   
      
   you?" she asked.   
      
      
      
   "Yes, I'm here to see Fox Mulder?  He was admitted   
      
   through Emergency last night."   
      
      
      
   "And the nature of his ailment?"   
      
      
      
   "He had had an eye . . . I mean, a visual . . .   
      
   injury."  How did you describe what had happened to   
      
   him?  She didn't even know what had.   
      
      
      
   The woman tapped on the keyboard, shaking her head.   
      
   "I'm not seeing anything in Optometrics.  Let me   
      
   check the general patient database."   
      
      
      
   Scully tried very hard not to tap her foot while she   
      
   waited.   
      
      
      
   "Ah, here he is!" The matronly woman exclaimed.   
      
   "Seventh floor, Room 715."   
      
      
      
   "Thank you," Scully said at the smiling woman.   
      
      
      
   As she searched out the elevators, she wondered if   
      
   there would be other patients with visual problems,   
      
   or if it was just a general ward.  She had the car to   
      
   herself, and thought about calling Skinner, but then   
      
   had second thoughts.  There was no point until she   
      
   got an update on his condition, since their boss was   
      
   certain to ask.   
      
      
      
   The doors opened, and she immediately knew to what   
      
   floor she had been directed, and to say she was   
      
   shocked and angry was an understatement.  Physical   
      
   injuries were most definitely not the main concern of   
      
   the patients she was seeing and hearing.   
      
      
      
   Rushing to the nearest nurses' station, she bit back   
      
   a, "what the hell is going on here?" in favor of a   
      
   more contained approach, knowing her anger would get   
      
   her nowhere.   
      
      
      
   "Excuse me, but can you tell me if Fox Mulder is on   
      
   this floor?"   
      
      
      
   The young, uniformed woman looked up from the   
      
   patient's folder she was studying with a less-than-   
      
   welcoming expression.   
      
      
      
   "Room 715," she said quickly, motioning to her right.   
      
   "Take this hall, then go down the next corridor on   
      
   the right."   
      
      
      
   "Thank you.  I'd like to speak to his doctor   
      
   immediately, so could you page him, please?"   
      
      
      
   "Doctor Rogerson is gone to lunch," she responded, as   
      
   if that explained everything.   
      
      
      
   "I don't care if Doctor Rogerson is at NASA examining   
      
   astronauts for fleas," Scully said, nearly losing her   
      
   temper.  She flipped open her badge.  "Get him here   
      
   now."   
      
      
      
   "Yes, ma'am," the woman said quickly, picking up the   
      
   phone.  If Scully hadn't been so worried about   
      
   Mulder, the change in level of cooperation would have   
      
   been nearly laughable.   
      
      
      
   Turning away, Scully made her way down the hall,   
      
   eagerly counting off the doors until she finally came   
      
   upon #715.  Taking in a large breath and holding it,   
      
   she entered.   
      
      
      
   "Who's there?"  She recognized the voice as Mulder's   
      
   even before she saw him in the bed, but when she did,   
      
   she was shocked.   
      
      
      
   "Oh, Mulder!"  Her partner lay in a hospital bed,   
      
   distinguishable from the standard type only by the   
      
   restraints which held his arms and legs securely in   
      
   place.   
      
      
      
   "Scully," he slurred, and it was apparent that he'd   
      
   been sedated.  "'S that you?"   
      
      
      
   "Yes, Mulder, it's me," she answered, wrapping his   
      
   cold hand in her own.  "How are you?"   
      
      
      
   "It's still dark," he said drowsily.  "Only now I'm   
      
   tired, too."   
      
      
      
   "I'm going to get you out of here.  What the hell is   
      
   the matter with that doctor?"   
      
      
      
   "Tried to tell'm, but they said I was crazy.   
      
   'Course, they din't say 'crazy', but tha's wha' they   
      
   meant."  His head started to lull to the side; the   
      
   conversation had obviously taken it out of him.   
      
      
      
   "What did you try to tell them, Mulder?  What did you   
      
   say?"  No answer came immediately, so she squeezed   
      
   his hand harder.  "Stay with me, here.  What did you   
      
   tell the doctors?"   
      
      
      
   "Told 'em that I couldn't see 'cause Peattie put hex   
      
   on me.  Pro'lly used a puppet."   
      
      
      
   "A poppet, Mulder?  We didn't find one on him when he   
      
   was arrested," she responded.   
      
      
      
   Before he could reply, the door opened and a dark-   
      
   haired man with a swagger the size of Texas came into   
      
   the room.  She hated him on sight.   
      
      
      
   "I was told somebody from the FBI was demanding my   
      
   presence."  His expression clearly said he wasn't so   
      
   sure he could believe that she was said agent.   
      
      
      
   "Yes, I'm also Agent Mulder's partner.  Would you   
      
   care to tell me what the hell is going on here?"   
      
      
      
   If her animosity was clear, he took it in stride.  "I   
      
   was called in when the other doctors could find   
      
   nothing physically wrong with your partner.  I was   
      
   able to quickly diagnose a somatosome disorder, but   
      
   Agent Mulder became antagonistic and had to be   
      
   sedated.  In a few hours, we'll let the sedatives   
      
   wear off, and we'll try again to see if we can get to   
      
   the bottom of what's bothering him."   
      
      
      
   "Are you telling me that you diagnosed a member of   
      
   the Federal Bureau of Investigation as having a very   
      
   physical injury that's all in his head, doctor? That   
      
   his blindness is psychosomatic?  Have you *looked* at   
      
   his eyes?"   
      
      
      
   Her ire took him off guard, and he immediately became   
      
   defensive.  "I'll have you know that somatosome   
      
   disorders can have very clear physical symptoms. It's   
      
   nothing to be ashamed of as long as the patient gets   
      
   the help he needs.  And I'd appreciate it if you   
      
   didn't look at me as if I'm a first year psych   
      
   student.  I'm very well respected in my field."   
      
      
      
   "Yeah, maybe . . . but you'll *never* be respected by   
      
   mine."   
      
      
      
   "You'll forgive me if the respect of a federal agent   
      
   isn't of utmost importance to me."  Now the guy was   
      
   just getting nasty, but she could admit, she provoked   
      
   it.  However, most people would be a bit more   
      
   concerned at attracting the dislike of a member of   
      
   the FBI.   
      
      
      
   "I'm not just a federal agent, Dr. Rogerson.  I'm a   
      
   licensed pathologist, a medical doctor, and a member   
      
   of the AMA.  And I have just two things to say to   
      
   you.  Firstly, effective immediately, are you no   
      
   longer in any kind of control over Agent Mulder's   
      
   treatment, and secondly, my partner is to be moved   
      
   into a normal hospital room *off* this floor as soon   
      
   as humanly possible."   
      
      
      
   For one of the first times, her "mama bear" routine   
      
   in regard to her partner wasn't going over with   
      
   flying colors.  "Now that he's admitted to my   
      
   department, you can't make those kinds of decisions   
      
   unless you have his power of attorney."   
      
      
      
   "I *have* his power of attorney," she responded   
      
   sharply.   
      
      
      
   "Prove it," he replied abruptly.  "Because nothing   
      
   short of the legal documents will get him transferred   
      
   out of my care."   
      
      
      
   "He has a card in his wallet.  He'll confirm it."   
      
      
      
   "A card isn't legally binding, and neither is the   
      
   word of a man in Mr. Mulder's condition.  I know you   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)