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text: Title: Seek Ye 01/04 Author: Daydreamer Author E-mail: Daydream59@aol.com Rating: R to NC-17 for violence and disturbing imagery Category: SA - character exploration Spoilers: None Keywords: MSR - M/Sc/Sk friendship Archive: Yes, please. Feedback: Yes! Please! Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner are owned by Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, Fox Television Network, etc. They are wonderfully brought to life by David Duchovny, Gillian Anderson, and Mitch Pileggi. I will make no profit from this, and neither will Fox if they sue me, because I am poor and have nothing material they can profit from. For Shirley, who has been so kind to archive my stories, set up and maintain my web site, run the wonderful MTA archive for all us TorturePhiles, and who now brings us "Suffering through Cyber Space" the MTA mailing list. In the words of our beloved Fox Mulder, "You go, girl!" Summary: After a cryptic phone call, Mulder ditches Scully. Injured and confused while seeking answers, Mulder disappears and can't tell Scully where he is. Seek Ye 01/04 12:07 am "Mulder," he said sleepily, mumbling more around the mouthpiece than into it. He adjusted the phone, almost unconsciously, trying to hear the rasping voice on the other end a bit more clearly. As he listened, he could feel himself coming fully awake, electrified by the words spoken on the other end of the line. He pulled himself up to sit on the side of the bed, feet planted firmly on the floor and one arm braced against his thigh. The motel phone was tight against his ear, but he was still having difficulty hearing. "Wait a minute," he said. "You need to slow down. I can hardly make out what you're saying." The voice on the other end took a ragged gulp, then whispered, "If you don't come now, they'll move her again, and you may never find her." "Where?" Mulder asked urgently. "Come where?" "I told you, the old mill, out on the ..." There was a sudden scuffle, then a muffled cry, and finally the sharp crack as the phone was hung up, hard. Mulder sat and looked at the phone, then slowly replaced the receiver in the cradle. He ran his hands through his hair, his mind frantically searching for explanations. Who was the caller? Who was the 'she' referred to? Samantha? Scully? He leapt to his feet in a sudden panic, and crossed the small room in two large steps. He opened the door between his room and Scully's and stepped in quietly. In the half-light of the moon and a street lamp, he could just make out her form, curled on her side, blankets pulled up to her chin. He stood silently for a moment, waiting, and then she breathed. And with her breath, he released his own, the one he hadn't realized he was holding. She was OK. She was here. She was safe. He stood for a minute longer, content to watch her breathe. Gradually, his breathing synchronized with hers, and his racing heart slowed. The panic receded and he was left only to fight the urge to go to her, to touch her, to assure himself of her continued place in his life. With a soft sigh, he turned and went back to his own room, closing the door gently behind him. As he stepped into the room, he snagged the sweat pants he'd worn earlier on his run, and pulled them on over his boxers. He dug out a T-shirt from his suitcase, then clean socks. He finished dressing quickly, pulling his battered running shoes back on. Even as he wrestled the hooded sweatshirt that went with his pants on over his head, one hand was reaching for car keys, room key, and wallet. He swapped the battery in his cell phone for the new ionized one -- supposed to last longer and shoved the phone in his pocket. He strapped the little ankle holster on last, checked his weapon, then rose and walked to the door. With a backward glance, he muttered, "I'm sorry, Scully, but I can't afford to let this go. Please understand." His mea culpa complete, he trudged down the stairs and out to the parking lot to find his car, and hopefully, some answers as well. ************************************************** 12:15 am She woke to the feeling of being watched. She lay very still, forcing herself not to move, not to react. Opening her eyes to the tiniest slit, she peered across the room from her curled up position in the bed. The washed out light from the street lamps outside found its way around the heavy drapery, providing just enough illumination for her to see it was Mulder, standing in the doorway, watching her. She let her eyes close completely, then opened them to look reassuringly across the dimness of the room. He often did this, coming silently to her room in the dead of night. When it first happened, she would rise and ask if he was all right, was there something he needed. But he was uncomfortable with her questions, and would shrug and offer apologies for disturbing her before padding quickly back to his room. His room. The room on the other side of the door. The door he used as a wall to protect her from the threat he thought of as himself. She had quickly learned, once she knew it was him, to lay still, letting him take what he needed, letting him work things out at his own speed. She would open her eyes, and watch him, remaining silent, but letting her thoughts and emotions flow out to him. Sometimes, just standing by the door, watching her, would be enough. He would gain whatever measure of comfort or reassurance he required, then slip back to the other side of the door. Sometimes, he needed more. Then he would steal quietly to the side of her bed, to stand, or even kneel beside her, his eyes drinking in her presence greedily. On one or two memorable occasions, he had even reached out and touched her hair gently, his fingers smoothing the unruly strands. Sometimes he met her gaze, other times he kept his eyes averted, as if ashamed of his own need, his own perceived weakness. Sometimes he stayed mere minutes; other times he stayed so long, she fell back asleep under his watchful eyes. He had begun this strange ritual the first year they worked together. It hadn't taken long, after that first case, for them to realize that adjoining rooms were more convenient, and made it easier to confer with one another while on a case. She'd learned then how little he really slept. And how afraid he was of letting anyone get close to him. But close she had gotten, and closer they had become as the years passed. And now it seemed as if they were connected to one another in a way she had never experienced. She was closer to Mulder than she'd ever been to anyone, even the few men she had been intimate with. And yet, physical intimacy was far removed from her relationship with her partner. Their joining went beyond the physical, and while it left her frustrated at times, she knew that in many ways, Mulder was like a wild animal, and he would have to come to her, in his own time, at his own pace. She sighed softly, a tiny expulsion of air, not hard enough or loud enough to frighten him away, as she realized tonight was a 'from the door' night. His panicked breathing had calmed as she had been lost in her own thoughts. She was still studying him, wondering if she would ever figure this puzzle of a man out. She offered him a half-smile, and saw the longing on his face, but once more, he denied himself, and turned back to his side of the door. He'd be tense in the morning, unsure of her reaction, as if she would be different despite this ritual's hundred other happenings. Once he saw her smile, once he knew she wouldn't speak of it, he would relax, and things would return to normal. Until the next time when his need would overcome his reticence, and he would make his way to her room again. Needing to know she was there. Needing to see her, or to touch her. Needing the comfort of her presence or the reassurance that she was still alive, and still with him. She sighed again. Someday, he would be ready, and then he would do more than watch her in her bed. He would be ready to join her there. She closed her eyes, and shifted, then let herself drift back to sleep. ****************************************** 1:32 am He'd driven this same stretch of road three times now, staring in vain into the swirling fog as he tried to spot the turn-off to the old mill that showed on the map. When he'd left Scully, he'd gone to the rental and pulled the local map the car company had provided. Apparently, the old mill was a bit of a historic site and rated not only a mark on the map, but a small description in the margin notes as well. "Fierce spring thaws, causing the river to flow too quickly for the mill to run, resulted in its closure and abandonment after only four years of operation." Pulled from his thoughts when he saw a slight indentation in the road, and a slight lessening of the fog on his left, he turned the wheel sharply and felt the wheels bump hard as he exchanged asphalt for dirt. He slowed somewhat, fighting the urge for speed, the need to reach the mill and find out who had called, what this was all about. He could feel the stress on the car and tires as each bump in the road, each rut across it, jarred the suspension and shook him within the Taurus' confines. When was he ever going to learn and start renting four-wheel drives? He shook his head ruefully, and slowed some more, as the car hit an especially nasty rut and the wheels yawed hard to the right, threatening to skid off into the line of scrub bushes that bordered the narrow roadway. He grappled with the wheel, finally succeeding in getting the vehicle back onto the road, and headed in the direction of the mill. Slowing still more, till he was traveling at little more than a snail's pace, he continued to make his way toward the end of the hilly road, fighting the twin disadvantages of the rough road and the heavy fog. He was heading up a rise, the road narrowing even more, and the scrub bushes on the right disappearing to be replaced with an increasingly abrupt drop into -- what? The river he supposed. It *was* a mill he was headed for. And the map did say it was a swift river in spring. He could only assume it would be on the other side of this rather steep hill. He was just reaching for the map, to take one more look at the route he'd laid out, when the car was struck violently from behind. His body jerked forward, the seat belt catching him hard across his chest. He automatically hit the gas, knowing that he had to get away, and fast, because another hit like that would surely trigger the automatic gas cut-off, and then he would be a sitting duck. He could feel every bump and rut in the road now, each one bone-jarring, but still he accelerated, not sure who or what was behind him. The road rose rapidly, and turned sharply to the left at the top of the hill. As he crested the hill, he felt the impact from the rear again, and this time, at the speed he was moving and the sharp turn he was making, he felt himself losing control. He struggled to hold the car on the road, gunning the motor, but was rewarded with a cough, then silence as the gas cut-off safety feature kicked in. "Safety, my ass," he swore, as he fought to regain control of the vehicle that was now pulling hard to the right, to the side of the road that seemed to vanish into nothing, hidden in the fog as it was. The wheels had lost all traction, and he realized he had no hope of pulling the car out of its swerve. He still turned the wheel desperately into the slide, but the wheels refused to grab, and he continued to skid toward the edge of the road. Suddenly, he felt the wheels catch, traction was restored, and he clenched the wheel, hopeful he might be able to pull the car back from its precarious position, skimming along the side of a steep embankment. He cautiously tapped the brakes, trying to slow the car's momentum, and was rewarded with a slight clutch as the brakes caught, the tires held, and the vehicle slid to a stop. He sat, panting, for a moment, then unfastened the seat belt and bent to retrieve his weapon from the ankle holster. He was in this awkward, uncomfortable position, long body folded over, half under the steering wheel, when the car was hit again. This time it was a strike from the side, a deliberate push, that shook the car violently, caved in the driver's door, and sent the car careening over the edge of the embankment. He tried to straighten, but the car was twisting and rolling in its precipitous descent, and without the seat belt to hold him in place, he was quickly becoming just another flying article inside the vehicle as it rolled, and he rolled, down the hill. He felt something -- the dome light, maybe? -- connect hard with his skull and a wave of blackness threatened to overtake him. He tumbled again from ceiling to door to seat to door, unable to control his body, unable to protect himself, and this time, the impact with the -- dashboard? steering wheel? -- was overwhelming and the blackness rushed in. 'I'm sorry, Scully. I should've told you,' was his last coherent thought, and the last thing he remembered for a long time. **************************************************** 5:08 am Cold. That was his first sensation. Wet. That was second. And both were followed rather quickly with a third, one he would much rather not be experiencing again. Pain. Pain was everywhere. He took a silent inventory. Pain in his head, in his face, in his mouth, the left arm, his belly, and his right calf. And his eye. He struggled to open his eyes, the right eyelid lifting without too much difficulty, though he could feel the swelling there. 'Gonna have a helluva black eye -- maybe two.' But the left lid wouldn't open, and that was the one where the pain was located. He tried to raise his hand to feel but the left arm wouldn't move at all. 'Definitely broken,' he thought. And the right one was trapped under something. 'Something for every part of the body,' he thought mirthlessly. Cold was spreading, and wet seemed to be working its way up his body. Or was it down? The car was on its side, the driver side door that had absorbed the impact buckled beneath him. His head lay wedged between the two seats and his bottom and back rested uncomfortably on the damaged door. He was propped at about a 45 degree angle, with the steering wheel pressed hard against his torso. It was an awkward, contorted position, and he really couldn't figure out how he had ended up like this. But the worst part was his legs. Bent back around the steering wheel and over the dash, his left leg was folded at the knee and resting across the wheel from his chest. But the right leg -- he tried moving it experimentally and groaned as pain rocketed through his calf and radiated outward -- his right leg was protruding through the shattered windshield, a sharp piece of metal, twisted from the windshield frame, deeply embedded in the muscle. His head was pounding, making it hard to think, almost impossible to focus on anything for very long. He knew there were things he needed to do, but it was so hard to remember what they were, and given his condition, he felt sure it would be impossible to do them anyway. He was overwhelmingly tired, and wanted nothing more than to let himself drift away again, but some part of him knew this was dangerous, and he moved again, seeking the pain that granted him temporary alertness. His clothes were soaked, and as he lay there taking inventory, it seemed the water was getting deeper in the car. Another reminder that he would have to do something, and soon. Scully would know what to do. The thought flashed through his mind from out of nowhere, and he had a brief mental picture of her -- first asleep in her bed, then answering a ringing phone. The phone! That was it. He would find the phone and call Scully. She would come and get him, and then he could rest and she would fix him up and everything would be all right again. He moved again, this time trying to keep the leg still, but risking the pain that came from shifting the broken arm. He wriggled, working to free the right arm, and finally obtained a bit of movement. He managed to pull himself up enough to reach into his sweatshirt pocket, and miraculously, find the phone. He sank back down into the position he had awakened in, and lay panting for long moments as he fought unconsciousness. Once he was able to think again, or what seemed to pass for thinking at this point, he flipped the phone open and pressed '1.' It took only two rings before a sleepy voice answered, "Scully." "Hey," he croaked. Was that tortured voice really him? He tried to clear his throat, but that provoked a fit of coughing, which grew worse and worse and he began to cough up blood. That immediately nauseated him and he began to heave, which set off waves of pain as he struggled to sit up and keep from choking to death, and his stomach muscles jerked and spasmed, sending ripple movements through his arms and legs. His stomach emptied, he collapsed back to his former position, the phone still held open in his hand. Dimly, through the blackness that was overtaking him, he could hear Scully calling him, "Mulder! Mulder! Where are you? What's happening?" He wanted to explain. He knew he had worried her. He didn't want to upset her anymore. But there was nothing more he could do at this point. If he woke up again, he'd call her and explain. With his last rational thought, he closed the phone, and gave himself up to the darkness. ******************************************** 5:19 am The chirping of the cell phone woke her, and she grabbed it up from the bedside table, opened it and said, "Scully." A fractured voice made an indistinguishable sound, but she knew it was Mulder. She was on her feet in a minute, heading for the door to his room, but already aware of what she would find. Sure enough, it was empty and he was gone. 'Just let him be all right, let him be OK,' she breathed in silent prayer. He was coughing now, violently, and she began calling him, "Mulder! Mulder! Where are you?" The coughing changed to the sounds of sickness, and she knew he wasn't all right, he wasn't OK. "What's happening?" The retching sounds continued, and then she heard what sounded like a gasp of pain, followed by an audible collapse as his body relaxed from its unwilling exertion. She was still talking to him, trying to get him to answer, letting him know she was there, when she heard the click of the phone being closed, and the connection was broken abruptly. She closed her own phone and called him back, hoping against hope, but, of course, there was no answer. She stood in the doorway, staring at his empty bed, then began to take inventory to see what he had with him. His Sig was still in his shoulder holster, folded and stuffed under clothing in his bag, but his smaller gun and the ankle holster were gone. Wallet and car keys -- gone. 'Damn, he would take the car.' Both suits still hung in his garment bag, so he was in casual clothes. She dug a little further. His sweatsuit was missing. She finished her inventory, then went and sat on his bed. He hadn't gone running, as he often did in the dead of night. That wouldn't have required the car keys. So he had to have been off on a lead, and since he hadn't wakened her, it would have been unrelated to the case they were on. She looked at the small clock on the bedside table -- almost 5:30. It had been shortly after midnight when he had crept into her room. So he could have been gone for 5 hours. She wanted to scream in frustration. In five hours, he could have gone anywhere, gotten into any amount of trouble, done anything. He could be miles away, or he could be lying in a ditch, half-dead. Her frustration was rapidly joined by worry; by concern; by fear. She flipped open the phone again, dialed, and once more got no answer. He was missing; he was hurt; and she was going to have to find him. But she couldn't do it alone. She didn't have the resources to implement the kind of search she needed. She reset the phone, then dialed again. A rough male baritone answered, "Skinner." "Sir," she began, "Agent Mulder is missing." End of part 01/04 Seek Ye 02/04 8:38 am It was still cold. And wet. Very wet. More wet. He pried the right eye open and looked down at his lap which was now totally covered in icy water. Cold and wet; could pain be far behind? He tried to shift his body, and the anticipated agony exploded: in his head, his arm, his belly, and his leg. He froze in mid-movement, gasping for breath as he tried to sort out the assault on his body. The arm was broken; he could feel the ends of the bone shift against each other and he groaned against the sharp pangs his action created. There was something in his leg. From where he lay, he couldn't see the leg, and he wasn't about to move to take a look, but he could certainly feel something sharp, something cold, something painful protruding from his leg. And his head: the tiniest motion sent waves of agony rocketing through his skull. The left eye seemed swollen shut beyond hope and the right one would only open to a tiny slit. The light hurt his eye; there was a non-stop ringing in his ears, and he wasn't certain he could hear clearly anyway. He was wet from his waist to his thigh and the wet was icy. He was seated in a pool of river water that had flowed in through the shattered window. His upper body was relatively dry, but he could feel dried blood on his face and in his hair. He lifted his right hand, gingerly touching his face and head, and found several swollen knots; above his brow, behind his ear, on the crown of his head. Dried streaks of blood covered his cheek from the wound over his left eye. His hair was matted with blood and gore over the gash on the top of his head. The injury behind his ear was swollen, the skin split from the impact, and it began to bleed again as he touched it. His inventory completed, panting against the physical distress, he slowly relaxed back to his former position, causing more movement, and renewed pain, as he leaned his torso back against the seat. He took a deep breath and smelled blood. He swallowed, tasted blood, and immediately became nauseated. He fought to keep his stomach under control, afraid that if he gave in to the nausea, the spasms in his stomach would cause him to pass out again. There was too much blood. He probed the inside of his mouth gingerly, feeling several lacerations, and prompting another small flow of blood, which he was prepared for, and he spat into the water that surrounded him. He had to get out of the water. It was cold and his extremities were already going numb, except of course, for when he moved; then there was entirely too much feeling, everywhere. But he was going to have to suck it up and get out of the water. He closed his eye, the pounding in his head making it hard to see, to think. He lifted his hand again and carefully touched his brow, then the spot above his left ear that ached so badly. His hand came away red and sticky, and he fought the nausea that swelled again. He took several deep breaths and steeled himself for the coming agony. His single functional lid slid upward and he eyed the interior of the vehicle as it surrounded him, trying to determine the best way out. After weighing several options, he decided through the shattered windshield was his best course of action. There might be another way, but thinking was just too hard and painful, and he had to get out, now. He dragged his hand down to his abdomen, and was surprised to find the cell phone resting on his belly. That was where the ringing had been coming from. He'd thought it was in his head. He had a vague recollection of calling Scully, and then not being able to speak to her -- his wounded tongue wouldn't form the words. He lifted the phone again. Maybe he could do better now. He *had* to do better now! He opened the phone and pushed '1' again, and this time she answered, "Mulder? Is that you?" "Uh-huh," he answered. He couldn't help himself; despite the discomfort, he was smiling at the sound of her voice. Everything would be all right now. Scully would come and get him. He relaxed so at that thought, he almost slipped away again, but her voice, calling his name, brought him back. "Mulder? Mulder! Answer me! Mulder! Are you there?" "Mmm," he mumbled. " 'm here." "Are you all right?" "Hurts." "Where?" Where? His thoughts clouded and he glanced around. His vision was fuzzy and with only one eye, his depth perception was nil. Where what? Where was he? 'Scully, it hurts too much to play twenty questions,' he thought, but actually saying it was beyond him. Instead, he answered the obvious. "Car," he croaked. "You're in the car?" 'Please don't make me say it again, Scully. It hurts. It even hurts to think.' But once more, he could not voice his thoughts. He was waiting now, waiting for her to come get him, and he could feel the blackness beckoning. It called to him, promising surcease from pain, a place to rest, a way to avoid the struggle. "Mulder!" she was calling him again. "Stay with me, partner." "Mmmm," he mumbled. "You're in the car. Where's the car?" He looked around. Where was the car? It was on its side, but where? He looked down. It was in the water. And the water was *cold.* He shivered and pressed the phone tighter to his ear. "Inda wata," he rasped out, and immediately began to cough. "Water? Oh, sweet Jesus, what have you done? Where, Mulder? What water?" He was still coughing, though weakly, and he strained to bring it under control. His mouth was bleeding again, and he turned his head and spat several times, avoiding swallowing the coppery fluids. "Cold, Sculleeee," he cried. Oh, God, he was crying. What would she think now? She'd think he'd lost it, that's what. But he hurt everywhere, and she was busy asking questions instead of coming to get him, and he was cold, and wet, and tired, and it was so hard to think, and talk, and hold the phone. His thoughts were a jumbled mess, coming and going at random, bouncing from one place to another, and he couldn't focus on any one thing for very long before the pain rose up and chased it away, leaving him to start again. "Mulder?" Scully was calling him again. How long had she been saying his name? He tried to shake his head to clear it, but that caused the pounding to escalate, and he nearly dropped the phone as he reached up to clench his temple. He brought the phone back to his ear, and whispered, "Cold. C'mn get me?" Oh, God, now he was whining. First crying, now whining. She'd never come for him now. But she was there, her voice in his ear, soothing, calming, promising. "I'm coming, Mulder. I'm coming. But I need you to tell me where you are." Didn't she listen? He already told her where he was. He cringed at the thought of having to repeat himself, then remembered, this was Scully. He could do anything for Scully. "In. Da. Wa. Ter." He enunciated as clearly as he could. "OK, Mulder, that's good." Good, he was doing good. She understood him. She would come get him now. But she was still talking. "I know you're in the water. I need to know where the water is." This was too confusing. He was answering her questions, but she just kept asking more. "Hurts," he mumbled again. Maybe she would understand now. It was just too hard to talk. "Mulder, can you move?" "Uh-huh." Good. That was easier. Ask yes or no questions, Scully. I can handle those. I can move, but it hurts. It hurts to move. "Is there a lot of water?" "Uh-huh." "Is it moving? Is the water moving, or is it still?" He began to cough, a deep choking sound that stole his breath and jarred his chest and head. Please, come get me, Scully. It hurts. He took a ragged breath, gasping inarticulately into the phone, then began to cough again. When he came back to himself, from the foggy place of pain and torment, he heard her still calling to him. "Mulder, please answer me. Tell me you're still with me, partner. Tell me you're still there." " 'm here, Sc ..." He gave up. It was just too hard, and it hurt too much. "Mulder, I think you need to get out of the water. Can you move enough to get out of the water?" Out of the water? That was a good idea. Maybe if he got out of the water, he wouldn't be so cold. Yep. That was Scully, always coming up with the good ideas. Out of the water. He closed the phone, and began to survey the interior of the car, looking for a way out. ********************************************** 8:46 am An APB had been issued for the rental, and Scully was in the process of updating the local police, getting Mulder's description out to everyone in a five hour driving radius. Checking flights from the nearest airport would have to wait until Skinner arrived with more people from the Bureau. There was no train depot in this town, and the bus station wasn't open at night. But that didn't preclude having to check those places in neighboring towns. Scully thanked the local police chief and watched as he left the room. She checked her watch. She'd been trying Mulder's cell phone every ten minutes for the last three hours, with no luck. Skinner was due in about 45 minutes, and with the locals pursuing the area public transportation, she had nothing to do but wait. And she didn't like to wait. She pulled the phone to try Mulder again, and was surprised when it rang before she could start to make her call. She flipped it open, filled with expectation, and said breathlessly, "Mulder? Is that you?" There was a mumbled response and she found herself smiling. He was still alive, still trying to reach her. She waited for him to speak again, and when he didn't, she cried, "Mulder? Mulder! Answer me! Mulder! Are you there?" Another mumble, then a barely distinguishable, "I'm here." "Are you all right?" "Hurts." Of course it hurts. You knew he was hurt. Why did you ask if he was all right? She mentally kicked herself. Who knew how much time she would have, and she was asking dumb questions. Get focused, she chided herself. Find out the important stuff. He was hurt. Start there. "Where?" There was a long pause and she thought she'd lost him again. She was about to speak again when his voice came through. "Car," he finally said. His voice was a mess. Hoarse and raspy, and he spoke only with obvious effort. And he still hadn't told her where he was hurt. The car must be important, or he wouldn't have brought it up. "You're in the car?" she asked, hoping to draw him out, get more information. Information she could use. Like where *exactly* was he? And how badly injured? She was frantically thinking, racing through possibilities to account for the sound of his voice, when she realized he wasn't talking again. "Mulder!" She was calling him, trying to get him back, keep his attention. "Stay with me, partner." Another mumble, this one softer. Was he growing weaker, or had the phone slipped from his face? "You're in the car. Where's the car?" She waited, hoping for an articulate and exact answer, but not really expecting it. Whatever injuries he had sustained, had affected not just his speech, but his thought processes. He was having a hard time communicating in more ways than one. She froze. Head trauma. He had to have hit his head. But was he attacked? Abducted? Did he just go for a ride and have an accident? What the hell was going on? Finally he spoke again, and she strained to understand him. He was coughing again, violently, and she couldn't do or say anything to help him. She worked on making sense of his last slurred words. What had he said? In the water? "Water? Oh, sweet Jesus, what have you done?" She could feel the panic rising and she beat it down to ask, "Where, Mulder? What water?" She could hear him bring the coughing under control, and she listened as he spat, loudly, several times, then he was back. "Cold, Sculleeee ..." Oh, God, he was crying! He must be in terrible pain, and so confused. And cold. That was clear enough. Cold and wet? And it was late March -- the water would be icy. He had to get out of the water and get dry, or hypothermia would set in. She called him again and got no answer. Had hypothermia already taken hold of him? Was that why he couldn't think, couldn't talk? "Mulder?" she called again, and was rewarded with a response this time. "Cold." His voice was a mere whisper, barely audible to her ears. "C'mn get me?" Her eyes filled as she realized he was looking to her for rescue. He was pleading with her to come and get him. And she would -- if she could only figure out where the hell he was. And he was crying again. She began to murmur soothingly to him, promises of warmth, and safety. Promises that she'd come for him, that she'd take the pain away, and under her gentle tone, she could hear him calm. "I'm coming, Mulder. I'm coming. But I need you to tell me where you are." She listened as he took a deep breath and then in a stronger voice, said, "In. Da. Wa. Ter." Each syllable was clearly spoken, but offered no help at all. Her frustration and fear mounting, she took a deep breath and said, "OK, Mulder, that's good. I know you're in the water. I need to know where the water is." But he had apparently reached his limit because all he said was, "Hurts." She needed to try to deal with his injuries. If she could get him stabilized, even slightly, perhaps he could be more coherent and help them find him. "Mulder, can you move?" "Uh-huh." Well, that was clear enough. Maybe she should stick with yes and no questions. "Is there a lot of water?" "Uh-huh." "Is it moving? Is the water moving, or is it still?" He was coughing again. She could hear the agonized groans as he hacked and choked. Her heart went cold as she listened to him struggle just to breathe, and she had to call him several times before he answered again. "Mulder, please answer me. Tell me you're still with me, partner. Tell me you're still there." " 'm here, Sc ..." That was all she got. She had to *do* something. She had to find a way to help. He'd said he could move. Try and get him out of the water. "Mulder, I think you need to get out of the water. Can you move enough to get out of the water?" She was still waiting for a response when the phone suddenly clicked, and he was gone. "Son of a bitch!" she swore and she threw it to the bed. "Son of a bitch!" ************************************************* 9:22 am "How long has he been missing, Agent Scully?" Skinner asked. He had just arrived and had taken over the small table in Scully's hotel room. Agents were searching the room next door, but he held little hope they would find anything. "If he left right after I saw him, then he's been gone about 9 hours." "And you're sure he's injured?" "I'm sure." "But you don't think he's being held against his will?" Skinner was making notes as he spoke, jotting down her comments and also making task assignments for the team he had brought with him. Skinner looked up to see her shaking her head, her hand brushing loose strands of hair back from her face as she paced alongside the bed. "No, Sir. I think he was either deliberately hurt by a person or persons unknown, or he's been injured in an accident." She stopped for a moment, and looked up to meet his eyes. "Either way, he sounds terrible and I am extremely concerned for him. He was confused, unable to articulate clearly. He appeared to have both physical and mental problems with communications." He was watching her, one part of his mind thinking of Mulder, the other part analyzing her condition. She was worried, her brow seemed permanently furrowed. She was dressed, but had not taken her usual care with her clothing. One corner of her shirt was only half-tucked, and her face was bare of make-up. He frowned, then said, "Explain." "Well, he didn't sound like he was thinking straight. I asked him where he was, and he responded, 'car.' " She started pacing again, the cell phone clutched tightly in her hand. "And the physical problems?" "Just his inability to articulate -- his insistence on using one and two word answers to my questions. I think he was actually having trouble forming the words." She stepped over to the table, standing behind him and scanning his notes. "So what do you suspect?" He started writing again, listing her possible injuries. He was trying to determine what type of medical arrangements needed to be made, but there wasn't enough information yet. He pulled out the chair beside him, and motioned for her to sit, taking her hand and gently pulling her down when she seemed unwilling to comply. She narrowed her eyes, then said, "I'd say head trauma for sure; possibly facial trauma as well. That can have an impact on speech. Or some type of oral injury. If he's been in a car wreck, he could be pretty banged up." "So we start searching every body of water within 250 miles of here. I've got Bureau people contacting all the pertinent law enforcement officials within our radius." He was still watching her, his eyes taking in the signs of stress and worry. She met his eyes, then bounced back to her feet, unable to be still. "He still isn't answering his cell phone." "Just keep trying," he responded soothingly. "I've got DC on stand-by to try and track him if -- he jumped at the sudden glare she shot him and hastily amended himself -- *when* he answers again. If we can keep him long enough, they should be able to triangulate on the signal and give us his coordinates." He paused, removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, then said, "Keeping him on the line long enough is going to be the problem I'm afraid." He replaced his glasses, and made a few more notes as she paced by the bed, her fingers hitting the redial button on her own phone with each circuit. "Scully," he called, halting her frenzied back and forth movement. "Did he say or do anything else?" "Yes," she said sharply. "He said he hurt. Over and over again, he said he hurt." Her voice broke and she fought for control. "He cried. He said he was cold. And then he begged me to come and get him." She abruptly turned her back to him, her shoulders gradually losing their stiffness as a soft sob escaped her. He looked at her, unsure of what to do. He didn't know if his presence would be welcome or not. But her distress was too much to bear and not react, and he rose and walked over to where she stood by the bed. Lifting his hand, he tentatively placed it on her arm, and turned her to face him. "We'll find him, Dana." He gave her a small smile. She took a big gulp, then nodded. "Yes, Sir, we'll find him." "You keep trying the phone. Maybe he'll answer. In the meantime, everything we could be doing to find him is being done." She sniffed quietly, then discreetly rubbed her nose. "Scully?" She looked up at the AD. "Uh, I hate to bring this up, but do you know what kind of battery he had in the cell?" Her eyes widened, and she looked at the phone in her hand. Dropping it on the bed, she raced to the door to the other room, shoving her way past the agent who was standing there. Skinner quickly followed her. He watched as she lifted the battery that was in the charger, then rummaged in Mulder's bag, eventually emerging with another battery. She closed her eyes for a moment, exhaling audibly, the looked over to where Skinner stood. "He's got the new one," she breathed in relief. "He's got the new ion one. It should last 24 hours." She glanced at her watch. "If he turned the phone on when he left -- and he usually does, he's pretty good about that -- then he's got about thirteen more hours. Maybe more if he didn't turn it on until he called me the first time." "So we can't expect any contact from him after thirteen more hours." She was nodding again, struggling to be professional, yet needing his reassurances. He walked to her and took the batteries from her hand. Smiling, he said, "Then we'll just have to find him before our time is up. I'm not going to lose him now. I've almost got him trained to turn his paperwork in on time." End 02/04 Seek Ye 03/04 10:10 am He'd been laying here a long time. The cold had seeped into him, draining him of energy and motivation. But Scully had said get out of the water. So, he had to get out of the water. And it was going to have to be through the windshield. There wasn't any other way out. And it was going to hurt like a bitch to do. The mere thought of movement was painful, and the reality would be torture. Mulder shoved the phone deep in the sweatshirt pocket, then pulled the zipper, making sure it couldn't fall out. 'Don't lose the phone, Mulder,' he chanted to himself. He took a deep breath and grabbed the steering wheel with his right hand, then pulled, hard, and levered his body up and over the dashboard. The movement caused him to roll on his broken arm and he screamed as he slid across and down the hood into the water. The blackness that was threatening to carry him under was immediately chased away with his impact in the icy water. He jolted alert, tried desperately to remain standing, and managed several steps to the bank of the river. As he reached the bank, he collapsed gratefully onto the dry earth, and let himself rest. Overcome with pain and exhaustion, he slipped away once more. ******************************************* 11:47 am When he came to again, he was on his side, the broken arm clutched to his chest. His mouth was full of blood again, and his stomach was churning. He turned his head a bit more and spit several times, trying to rid himself of the foul fluids. He stayed there, unmoving, tears running down his face, as he struggled to think through the pounding in his head, to plan, to decide what to do. Scully would know what to do. Scully would make it stop hurting. Scully would take the cold away. Where was Scully? Why hadn't she come to get him? He took a deep breath, then cautiously released the hurt arm, wincing as it moved slightly. He had to get moving. If Scully hadn't come for him, it might be because she couldn't. He would have to go to her. He started to rise, then looked down at his leg when a sharp pain rocked him. There was a piece of metal twisted and bent, sticking out of his calf. He reached down, almost without thinking, and pulled it loose. He shuddered as his nerve-endings caught fire and carried their messages of agony through his body. He was panting now, his whole body trembling from the combination of cold, and pain, and shock. He had to move. If he lay here, he would die. He managed to get to his feet, and began to stumble along the bank of the river. He walked for a while, his body on autopilot, thinking only that he had to get somewhere; he had to meet someone. Was it Scully he was going to meet? As he trudged along, he struggled to remember what had happened. He hurt everywhere. Every step jarred his arm, and sent ripples of pain all up the limb. He could feel blood oozing from the gouge in his leg, and his head felt as if it were ready to explode. He tripped then, landing on a rock, and once more was engulfed in pain. He lay there, writhing, taking deep gasping breaths that never seemed to fill his lungs, as he tried to sort things out in his dazed state. There was a ringing in his ears and it made it hard to think. There had been a car wreck, right? Was Scully in the car? He stopped suddenly and looked around. This wasn't right. He was on the edge of a river, the water racing in its course. There was no car here. What had happened? Where was Scully? He rolled to his side, fighting the nausea that swept up with the action and clutched his arm more tightly to his chest. Something wet trickled down his face, and he lifted his hand to touch his brow. His fingers touched a wound, covered with clotted blood. His head was hurt. How did he hurt his head? Was that why it was so difficult to think? He had to find Scully. He forced himself to his feet and began to walk again. He had to keep moving and in his dazed and confused state, he didn't realize when he began to drift from the river, heading into the trees that lined the water's edge. He plodded on, oblivious to the tree limbs and overgrown vines that slapped his face and clawed at his body. He was beyond seeing, beyond thinking, almost beyond feeling, when he tripped over a fallen log and fell to his knees. He looked down at his leg and saw blood there, too. Had he hurt himself in the fall? He was so cold. And he hurt so bad. Everything hurt. All over hurt. And now he was tired. He knew he needed to fight being tired. He had to keep moving. His head ached and there was that same ringing in his ears. He shivered as a chill breeze blew across him, and he sought a pocket to put his hand in. He had unzipped the sweatshirt pocket and stuck his hand in, seeking warmth, when his knuckles met hard plastic. He uncurled his fingers and grabbed the phone, pulling it out. It was ringing. That was where the ringing was coming from. Scully hadn't forgotten him. She was going to come and get him. He gave a sob of relief and grappled with the phone, his numb and weakened fingers refusing to obey his mind's commands. He finally got the phone open and lifted it to his ear, only to be met with silence. He dropped the phone, crying out his dismay, then allowed himself to fall forward onto the leaves covering the ground, and gave himself up to the despair that consumed him. ************************************************** 1:24 pm The locals had a mobile command post set up outside the motel and Skinner had been conferring with the police chief. Until there was some kind of a break, there was very little else that could be done beside a continued watch for the car. He thanked the chief and headed back to Scully's room. "He's still not answering, Sir," she said as Skinner walked back into the room. "Is everything set to track him if I can get through?" It was the third time she had asked the same question, but Skinner knew she needed the reassurance. "Everything's ready. Danny is all set to go on my say-so." He growled in frustration. "All we need is contact." "It's been 13 hours now, Sir. Hasn't anyone come up with something? No word on the car? Anything?" He shook his head sadly. "The motel manager got the phone records for us and we do show he received a phone call at 12:07 this morning. But we haven't been able to track where it came from yet." As she started to speak, he waved her quiet, then said, "I've got people on it. Believe me, we are pursuing every possibility." "And search teams?" Skinner shrugged helplessly. "They're on call, ready to go on a moment's notice. But, Scully -- Dana -- we have to have a place to start." He spoke gently. "You know that." She nodded. "I know. I'm worried. If he could call, he would. He must be badly hurt." She straightened slightly, then lifted her head and said, "But we're going to find him. I have to believe that." Skinner nodded encouragingly. "We are. Go ahead," he nodded at the phone in her hand, "try again. Maybe this will be the one." She hit redial, then began to pace, unconsciously waiting for the cellular company recording to tell her to close the phone, so she could try again. As she counted off the rings, she was shocked when she heard a quiet click, then Mulder mumbled, "Scleee?" "Mulder? Yeah, it's me! Mulder, stay with me now. I can find you now. You have to stay on the line!" Scully was frantically waving at Skinner, and he already had his phone to his ear, talking to DC. "They're on it," he whispered, and she nodded in relief. "How you doing, Mulder? You still with me?" she asked and was rewarded with another mumbled response. Please, please, stay conscious. Got to keep him talking. "You were hurt pretty bad, Mulder. Can you tell me what happened?" "Car," came through in a weak voice. He sounded terrible. In addition to the obvious difficulty he was having with articulation, he sounded sluggish. Was it the cold? Or was he in shock? Blood loss? "Are you bleeding, Mulder?" "Uh-huh." Oh, God. He was bleeding. How much? And for how long? And from where? "Can you tell me where, Mulder? Where's the blood?" There was a long silence, and Scully began to call his name again. When he still didn't answer her repeated requests, she was afraid she had lost him. She looked up at Skinner and demanded, "Are they getting this?" He murmured into the phone, then nodded. OK, deep breath, still connected. Talk to him, Dana. Keep talking. "Mulder, c'mon partner, I need you to answer me. Is your head bleeding?" A mumbled response, almost unheard, unintelligible. "I need more, Mulder. A little louder. Is your head bleeding?" Whispered. "Uh-huh." "What else, Mulder? What else?" "Hurts." Several deep gasps. "Scleee ..." A moan. Her heart was breaking. How long was this going to take? She glared at Skinner impatiently, daring anything to go wrong, then turned her attention back to her injured partner. "I'm coming, Mulder. Skinner's got people tracking you. As soon as the trace comes through, we're on our way. Hang in there, partner, I'm coming." A sob of her own snuck through, and she took a deep breath to regain control. "Mulder? Do you hear me?" She said his name several more times with no response. She was once again glaring in Skinner's direction, when he closed his phone, said "Got it!" and rose to walk to stand beside her. "Lost again," she said worriedly, then slowly closed the phone when it became clear the connection was broken. "It's all right," Skinner said comfortingly. "We've got the coordinates. Let's go get him." He strode briskly to the command post outside, climbed the two steps up to the door, then stepped inside, waiting for Scully to follow. "Chief? We've got coordinates. Let's take a look at that map." The two men spread a map and sought out the specified coordinates. Skinner finally pointed and said, "There!" "That's down by the river," the chief said. "How far away?" Scully asked. "He's injured." " 'Bout an hour to the road above the site. Gonna have to go down the embankment to get there. Not a real accessible area. It's off the road to the old mill." "I don't care how inaccessible it is. Let's roll," Skinner ordered, then turned and marched out the door. "Medical?" she asked, as she followed him to the car. "Coming with us. Locals, FBI, Search and Rescue, and medical. We got it all. Let's pick him up." ************************************************ 1:26 pm Mulder woke to ringing again, and this time knew immediately it was from the phone that lay before his face on the ground. He scrambled to pick it up, open it, and say, "Scleee?" It was a pretty garbled version of her name, but she would know he meant her. She was talking to him now, her voice a dull, but comforting buzz beneath the roar of the pain in his head. He smiled, content to hear her, but she was asking him something, he could tell by the inflection in her voice. What had she said? "... what happened?" Oh, God, Scully, haven't we done this? He struggled to remember. What happened? "Car ..." he wheezed. The car was involved. He was in the car? Where was she? He looked around, suddenly concerned. Where was Scully? He pulled himself upright again, ready to resume his search, when he realized he was still holding the phone and she was talking to him. "... bleeding ..." Bleeding? He looked down at himself. Oh, yeah, there was bleeding. "Uh-huh." She was talking again. Scully, it hurts. Stop talking and come get me. It hurts so bad. And I'm cold. I'm really cold. Please come get me. "Hurts." He was gasping now. It was too hard to try to talk to her. Didn't she understand? "Scleee ..." he moaned. She wasn't talking anymore, and he was too tired to ask her why. He was gathering his strength to try to speak, when he heard her say, "Lost again." Scully was lost? He had to find her. He closed the phone once more, and staggered off into the trees. When the closed phone slid from his numb fingers, he didn't even realize. He had one thought now -- keep moving and find Scully. ******************************************** 2:35 pm There was the car. You could see it on its side in the river. Skinner looked at the embankment, searching for a safe way down. He was going to insist they move on over the hill and go down to the mill, then work back along the river-bank. Scully wasn't going to like it, but there was no way they could get the teams down this escarpment. He looked up at the people awaiting his commands, then looked again, realizing Scully was missing from the group. "Where's Agent Scully?" he barked. A murmur rippled through the group, as people looked around and spoke quietly to one another, but there was no answer. Oh shit! I'm busy studying avenues of approach, she's *taking* the avenue of approach. He looked down over the edge and let his eyes scan back and forth. Sure enough, there she was, off to the east and moving down the embankment at a breakneck pace. "Damn it, Scully! Stop before you kill yourself!" He was annoyed, but not surprised when she didn't respond. He turned to the others. "Chief? Would you take the team to the mill and work back to this position along the river?" At the chief's nod, he continued, "I'm going after my *other* wayward agent." He held up his phone. "Keep in touch." One of the Bureau people stepped forward, holding a small, metal cylinder. "Here," he said to Skinner, "if we're splitting up, you take this, turn it on, and keep it on your person. It will let us find you with the Global Positioning uplink." Skinner nodded as he accepted the beacon and slipped it into a pocket. He then looked at the dog handlers with the Search and Rescue team. "Can your dogs get down there?" The others had dispersed, loading quickly into vehicles for the trip to the mill. The two handlers exchanged glances, then the younger man said, "I'll give it a go." He walked to the edge and looked over, saw Scully still working her way down, and commented, "Determined, isn't she?" Skinner nodded, "You have no idea." He turned and lowered himself over the edge and began scrambling for hand and toe-holds. The two dogs went barreling past him, slipping and sliding their way to the bottom. He looked over and saw the handler making his own way down the treacherous incline. Skinner was about a third of the way down when his foot slipped and he fell several yards before he caught himself. He clung to the earth wall, taking deep breaths, and thinking, 'Scully, if we live through this, I may just kill you myself. Damn, stubborn woman!' He made it the rest of the way to the bottom, to find the object of his immediate frustration wading back from the car that lay half submerged just beyond the river-bank. She shivered as she spoke. "He's not in there." Skinner took his jacket off, insisting she put it on as he said, "Damn it, Dana, you can't go charging off by yourself! That's why we work in *teams!*" He looked down at her, her shoes filled with water, pants soaked to her thighs. And now you're all wet! The water must be like ice!" "I had to check." She looked around, then ran forward several yards, pointing to the ground where it was disturbed. "Here! He came out here!" She knelt, touching a leaf dark with dried blood. "He's bleeding." Skinner called the handler over. He pointed to the leaves. "Have them start here." The man whistled and the dogs came. He leashed the animals then pointed to the ground and waited while they sniffed. He pulled on the leash, then said, "Find!" Both dogs took off with the three seekers behind them. They were following the river-bank, the dogs' noses to the ground. They walked along the river for a good 20 minutes, then the dogs began to pull into the trees. As they followed the animals into the woods, Skinner pulled his phone, and called the team. "ETA?" "We're at the mill, working our way back to you. I don't know how long it will take." "Are the dogs loose?" "Yeah, and we've got the coordinates logged into the GPS tracker. We should be able to come right to you." Skinner looked over at Scully, noticed her attention was fastened to the dogs, but lowered his voice anyway. "Get here fast. Full medical team. Bring *everything.* There's a lot of blood." He closed the phone and moved on deeper into the woods. They reached a fallen log, covered with the dark stains of half-dried blood and the dogs went crazy. Scully knelt by the log and gently touched the blood, then began rocking silently on her knees. A hushed keening came from her throat and Skinner dropped to his knees beside her. "Dana -- what? What is it?" he asked, the concern evident in his voice. "There's so much blood," she whispered. "Every step, everywhere we walked, there was blood everywhere." She lifted haunted eyes to his face. "How can he still be moving when there's so much blood?" "He's strong, Dana, and he knows you're coming. He'll be all right." He rose and gently lifted her to her feet. "C'mon, let's keep going. We'll find him." She nodded as she let him help her up, then staggered as stress and her own exhaustion threatened to overcome her. Skinner reached out quickly, holding her arm and steadying her while she regained her balance. She stood, unmoving, her eyes closed and taking deep breaths. Skinner stepped closer and moved his hand from her arm, reaching out to put his arm around her. "Are you OK?" he asked quietly. "Do you need to take a minute?" She took another deep breath, then straightened. "No. I'm fine. Mulder may not have any minutes for me to take." She lifted tormented eyes and said, "We have to keep looking." She started to step away, but he held her tightly, halting her forward motion. "If you need to rest, if you need to stop, if you need *anything,* you tell me," he whispered fiercely. "We're going to find him, but you are not going to hurt yourself in the process." She gazed into his dark brown eyes, surprisingly compassionate behind the steel-rimmed glasses that served to hide so much, and slowly nodded. She let herself relax into his strength for a second, then pulled away, and this time, he let her go. She stepped over the tree, eyes scanning the ground for signs of Mulder's passage. The dogs were milling about, noses to the ground, intent on their search. Scully stood silently, watching as they circled one another, and crossed back and forth across the semi-path they were following. In frustration, she pulled her cell phone again, hit '1,' and waited. She was soon answered in stereo, the ringing in her ear, echoed by a just audible ringing in the distance. Without further thought, she took off, racing through the woods, oblivious to the branches that clutched at her clothing, and scratched her face and hands. Skinner was right behind, trying to catch her, to pass her, to make a path for her that would not be so difficult, but she was beyond caring for those mundane things. All that mattered was to find the source of the ringing. She leapt over another fallen tree, landing hard, and almost stumbled forward into a small grove of closely set pines. The ringing was louder, right in front of her, and her eyes were seeking frantically for any sign of Mulder. "Mulder!" she cried. "I'm here!" She was still searching, still looking for the source of the ringing. It was so loud, so clear, it had to be here. "Mulder!" she called again, and was joined this time by Skinner's deeper baritone as he, too, called for his missing agent. Scully was circling the grove, the insistent ringing teasing them, tantalizingly close, but still unseen. She stepped around a tree, still hoping to find her partner, be he injured, bleeding, dazed, or unconscious, it did not matter as long as he was found. As she rounded the large tree trunk, she stopped so suddenly that Skinner plowed into her from behind and had to grab her to keep them both from toppling to the ground. They stood together, panting, as both looked in horror at the sight before them. There on the ground lay Mulder's cell phone. And he was nowhere to be seen. End of part 03/04 Seek Ye 04/04 2:57 pm Mulder shivered as a cloud passed over the sun, then looked up to see the daytime star emerge from its temporary shelter. To be shining so brightly, it sure wasn't helping the cold that still engulfed him. He shivered again, then forced his feet to move forward. He was getting weaker, he could tell. But he had to keep moving. Scully would want him to keep moving. She wouldn't want him to give up, to give in. Even through the constant pain, the fatigue that now threatened to overwhelm him, the cold that had him shivering in the middle of the day as if it were the darkest night in January, even through it all he could still feel her with him, connected to him in a way he could never explain. He stumbled forward, only his need to see Scully keeping him upright, keeping him moving. The pounding in his head, the roaring in his ears, the mind-numbing pain throughout his body, all made focus and concentration so difficult. He forced himself to lift his feet, shuffling forward toward some unseen, almost unknown goal, mindlessly chanting: I need to see Scully. I need to see Scully. I need to see Scully. Through the fog that filled his mind, he thought of his midnight visits to her room. She was so patient with him and his complexities. He would rise, panicked, consumed by fears half-seen and less understood, and go to her. Sometimes standing in the door, sometimes drawing near to her to take comfort. And always, just being with her worked its magic and he was healed. The mere memory of her soothing presence, her tolerance for his intrusions and her understanding of his compulsions, strengthened him, and he moved a little faster, with a bit more confidence. It became his mantra: I need. I need. I need. And in his clouded mind, his thoughts twisted and he wondered, 'What do I need?' I need to see Scully. I need to be with Scully. But I need to keep her safe. I need her to be secure. I need her to be happy. Those conflicting needs were what kept him from fulfilling his wants. He wanted to be with Scully. He wanted to stay with her always. But he also wanted to be out of the car. He stopped, swaying in place for a moment as he looked around confusedly. Well, he was out of the car. Now he wanted to be out of the woods. And out of the cold. And he wanted to not hurt for a while. And to sleep. Sleep would be really good right now. He was so tired. He'd learned at an early age the difference between need and want. He'd wanted Samantha to come home. He'd wanted Mom and Dad to stop fighting. He'd wanted everyone to be happy again. But all he'd been left with was a need to understand, a need to figure it all out, a need to know what happened. Oh, yes, he understood the difference between want and need. He began to stagger forward again, going uphill now. Movement was growing more difficult with each step. It hurt too much now. Everything hurt. It was too hard to keep moving. He just needed to rest, just for a minute. He tottered toward a large tree, thinking he could slide down and lean against it, rest a bit, then resume his journey to find Scully. He stood there, eyes closed against the coming pain of lowering himself, and let his mind drift once more to the comforting vision of Scully, asleep in her bed. He would come to her room and she would open her eyes, filling him with her care and acceptance. He felt a hot wetness on his cheek, and lifted a hand, surprised to find that he was crying. He stared at the tree before him, but saw only Scully. He wanted nothing more than to go to her, to slide into the bed with her, and join with her as man and woman were meant to be joined. And he felt she would welcome him, welcome him into her bed, into her heart, into her soul. And he would be safe, he would belong, he would be home. He closed his eyes again, the darkness coming for him as he took one more step forward. The ground dropped beneath his feet and he fell into an indentation in the earth. He landed upright, but barely, and then began to topple forward. As his head crashed into the unyielding tree trunk, and he crumpled to the ground, in his mind's eye he saw only Scully. He would find her. He would get to her. And then, things would be all right again. Until the next time. ****************************************************** 3:10 pm "How far could he have gone?" Scully asked, her frustration mounting. "And why can't these damn dogs find him?" Skinner looked at her. She was standing by a tree, eyes fastened to the dogs who milled about in a small space of open ground. She looked ridiculous in his jacket; it dwarfed her completely. But perhaps it was helping to keep her warm. He shivered as he thought that there would not be enough heat in the world to keep her warm if they did not find her partner in time. He scanned the woods -- once they had left the river-bank, the forest had deepened quickly and they were now in a thickly treed area, with little sunlight filtering through the closely spaced pines, elms, and maples. Saplings of all sizes vied for space, and light, and a chance for growth, making forward progress increasingly difficult. With no other clues to Mulder's whereabouts; they were at the mercy of the dogs. "He's wet, Scully," Skinner said in response to her question. "And the ground is wet as well. It's bound to make tracking harder." She nodded absently, and he knew he had been dismissed, her mind completely absorbed in the hunt for Mulder. He shivered again in the chill March air, and then breathed a sigh of relief as the dogs stiffened and then took off. "They got something," the handler said, and all three of them raced after the animals. They were climbing a small incline, Skinner finally able to lead and clear a way for Scully. He reached back and grabbed her hand, tugging her forward, trying to lend her a little of his strength. The dogs were pulling excitedly, and the handler was having trouble keeping them in areas clear enough for the humans to follow. They crested the rise, the dogs first, then the handler, finally Skinner, still holding Scully. As the terrain leveled, Scully broke free of Skinner's grasp, and stepped away, arms wrapped about herself. The dogs were sniffing the ground again, turning in circles and pawing the ground. Scully gave a snort of frustration, and took several steps forward across the clearing. The ground leveled out for a ways, then began to slope gently downward again, but in one place, there was a slight drop-off. As if following a beacon, she walked straight there, then stopped, and gasped. There, folded into himself at the base of a towering pine, was her partner. She jumped down beside him, calling, "I've got him, Sir!" He was laying face down, his left arm extended at an unnatural angle. As she knelt beside him, a trickle of dark blood oozed from his slightly opened mouth, joining a growing pool beneath his chin. "Oh, God, Mulder, what have you done?" she breathed. She watched his chest rise slowly, noting that he was at least breathing steadily despite the injuries she had already noted. She turned to Skinner as he knelt beside her. "Where's your medical team?" she demanded. He had his phone out already, and was speaking before she finished. "We've got him. Where are you?" He paused, listening, then snapped, "Well, move faster! I need you here *now!*" He turned to Scully. "They're on their way. Should be here any time now." He nodded to Mulder. "How is he?" Her hand was on his neck, fingers probing gently. "I've got a carotid pulse, weak but steady." She looked up. "Here, we need to turn him over. You take his hips. Hold him as straight as you can." She was maneuvering above Mulder's head, forming a cage for his skull with her arms, her hands on his shoulders. "We need to logroll him -- maintain the spine's relative positioning at all times. Understand?" Skinner nodded, and she began to count. "One, two, three, roll." They turned him carefully, and Scully released him at once. She was stripping off Skinner's coat, then her own sweater, and finally was down to her shirt. She pulled it off without thinking and began trying to rip it into strips. When the material resisted tearing, Skinner reached and took it, saying, "Here, I'll do that. Put your sweater back on before you freeze to death." He bit the cloth savagely, then pulled, and was rewarded with a mighty 'rip.' Scully glanced down at herself, colored slightly, and shrugged back into her sweater. She was examining his head, looking gently at his mouth for the source of the bleeding. "Hey, Mulder," she whispered, as she dabbed at his face, gently wiping blood away from the numerous lacerations and contusions. "Hey, partner, I'm here." "Mmmm," he moaned in response, then made a sound that could have been her name. She touched the gash over his brow, wincing as it began to bleed. "Ah, shit, Mulder, I'm sorry." Her eyes filled with tears as she touched him once again, noting the horribly swollen eye. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner. C'mon, Mulder, be all right." She touched Mulder's arm gently, wincing again at the bend between elbow and wrist, then moved swiftly to look at his leg. His pants were torn and blood soaked, and as she pulled the material back, the wound began to ooze again. She pointed to the leg and said, "Apply pressure to that. I need to look at his head." She took a couple of pieces of the torn shirt, and crawled back to Mulder's head, saying, "And where the hell is your medical team?" Skinner was listening to her murmured commentary as he wrapped the cloth tightly around Mulder's leg. As he pressed firmly against the open wound, Mulder moaned, and he found himself letting up on the force he used. "Not your fault, Scully," he said gruffly, as he pulled his makeshift bandage together, tucking the end under itself. She looked up, startled, as if she had forgotten she wasn't alone, and he saw her tears and her pain. "Here," he reached out to her, "look at this. Is it all right?" She moved again, checking his bandage, and shook her head. " 's OK. Thanks." She raised her head, scanning the clearing. "Where the *fuck* are they?" she muttered as she slid back up to crouch by Mulder's head again. "Coming," Skinner responded, and he nodded at the far edge of the clearing. He rose and called to the people, "Here! Over here!" Two paramedics approached quickly, a backboard held between them. As the police and FBI agents filled the clearing, forming a loose semicircle around Mulder and Scully, he noted that everyone, *everyone,* carried some piece of additional medical equipment. He smiled grimly. At least they had listened when he told them to bring everything. He only hoped it wouldn't be needed now. "Somebody give me a stethoscope," Scully ordered. "Aren't you his partner?" one of the paramedics asked. Skinner stepped forward and removed the stethoscope from the man's neck, placing it in Scully's outstretched hand, and quite possibly saving the man's life. "She's his partner *and* a doctor. You better listen to her," he warned. "This is a 38 year old male, status -- post motor vehicle accident, significant head and facial trauma, with obvious deformity of his left arm; avulsion laceration of right leg, and I need vitals immediately. He's breathing on his own, unresponsive to verbal, but responds to deep, painful stimuli." As he watched, the paramedics quickly placed a cervical collar around Mulder's neck. They rolled him gently onto the backboard and carefully strapped him down. Both legs, both arms, his torso, and his head were securely fastened to the molded poly-board. Scully had equipment now, and she was swiftly making a more in-depth assessment. "He's breathing all right; shallow but clear. No wheezes, no crackles, breath sounds are equal. I don't hear any fluids." She looked up. "You have his BP?" "Uh, yes, ma'am," the medic answered. "80/palp." "Get an IV going and open up the fluids." She reached out and touched Mulder's hand, "Sorry, Mulder, but you're gonna have to wake up and tell me if you don't want the IV. I know you can do it." She leaned over, touched his neck, her eyes on her watch as she counted his pulse. "Weak, but steady," she rapped out. "Are you getting this?" She looked up at an EMT who was standing near the backboard, and the man jumped, then answered, "Yes, ma'am," as he fumbled with a clipboard and began to make notes. "Not his left hand!" she said to the medic starting the IV. "Use the right one; we're going to have to splint the left arm." She looked around again. "You," she singled out the other medic. "Get his pants off and do something about the gouge on his leg. Clean it up and -- do we have a splint?" The man nodded, and scissors appeared, followed shortly by the gauze and tape. "And what's the matter with you people? Doesn't anyone know how to set up the oxygen? Get him started on high flow O2." Skinner stepped forward and touched her shoulder. "Easy, Dana. They know their job. Give them room to work." She took a deep breath, then murmured, "Sorry," as she turned back to Mulder. "C'mon, Mulder," she said, "stay with us." Someone had given her a flashlight and she was prying Mulder's eyes open, shining the light in as she continued to monitor everyone's activities. Oxygen was duly produced and a mask fitted carefully over Mulder's face. One of the medics was inserting the line into Mulder's good arm, as the other one was cutting his pants off to clear the way to the wicked looking wound on his calf. She applied a pressure bandage to the gouge, then splinted the leg in a cardboard splint that was produced from one of the many boxes being carried by the search team. Another splint was produced and the broken arm was immobilized as well. "Blanket?" she asked, then waited until one was given to her. Spreading it gently over her partner's still form, she whispered, "You're all right, Mulder, you're going to be all right. You just hang in there, and it's all going to work out." She reached out and gently pushed his hair away from his face as she waited for the last splint to be secured, then smoothed the blanket down over his left side. Beneath her touch, his right eye fluttered open, and a piercing gaze captured her. "Scleee," he croaked. "y'came." "Shh, Mulder, of course I came. What else would I do?" "Need ..." he panted. "Shhh, you don't need to do anything right now. Just rest. We're going to get you out of here and get you taken care of." "Need ..." he repeated stubbornly, his right hand clutching the air as he sought to grab onto her, the strap holding his arm in place. She reached out and seized his hand, cradling his larger one between both of her own. "Mulder, you need to stay awake, but if talking is painful, you don't have to talk. Just stay with me." Her voice broke and she suppressed a sob. In a mere whisper she repeated, "Just stay with me, Mulder. Stay with me ..." "Need ..." he tried again, but was overtaken with coughing. "Shhh, Mulder, hush now. It's all right. Calm down. You're going to be all right." She was speaking softly, and her soothing words soon helped to settle him. He closed his eye briefly, then opened it to stare at her and she knew he wouldn't give up until he had said his piece. She lifted the mask from his face, and asked, "What, Mulder? What do you need?" "Need. You." He closed his eye again, gave a little sigh, and released her hand as he relaxed, the tension visibly flowing from his body. "I'm here, Mulder," she whispered. Heedless of the audience watching her, she leaned over and gently kissed his cheek. "You've got me." She looked at him a moment longer, then lifted her head. "We ready?" she asked. At the paramedic's nod, she said, "Then let's get him to the hospital." She stood, bracing herself to take one corner of the board, but Skinner was there first, pulling her away. "Oh no you don't," he said. He waved at the circle of people. "Plenty of muscle for that. You come with me." Two agents stepped forward to assist the paramedics as they lifted the backboard and began the trek back to the waiting vehicles at the old mill. She bucked beneath his hand, but his grip was implacable. "No," he whispered, "You've done your part. You're the doctor here. Let them carry him. You watch him, make sure he's doing OK on the trip." He pulled her forward, following the paramedics as they moved back toward the mill. He looked down at her, then stopped a moment, and touched her chin, lifting her head to meet his eyes. He carefully brushed a tear from her cheek and said, "He's going to be OK, Dana. He's got a lot to live for." She gave a little sniff, then nodded, and he released her. "C'mon, I'll walk with you. Fox Mulder isn't going to let a little thing like a car wreck keep him down for long." ***************************************************** 11:18 pm "Scully," Skinner said sharply, then immediately felt guilty when she jumped. He softened his tone and said, "Come sit down. You're making me nervous." She shook her head and continued to pace. "This is taking too long," she said. "Scully, please," Skinner repeated. "Come and sit. You're making me nervous and *tired.*" "No!" she said sharply, continuing her back and forth movements. "All they needed to do was clean and close the wound on his leg. Why the hell is this taking so long?" Skinner was at a loss. He had no answers. But he certainly had a few questions. And top of the list right now was how much longer Dana Scully was going to be able to stay on her feet without falling over or falling apart. She'd been up since 5:30 that morning, frantic with fear and worry. She'd spent a good part of that day in heavy physical activity as they searched for Mulder, and she hadn't stopped for food or drink. And she hadn't sat down since they reached the hospital almost four hours ago. 'Enough,' he said to himself as he rose. He planted himself firmly in the path behind her, determined that she was going to sit, to rest, and to drink something, if not eat. She took two more steps, turned, and walked straight into a tall, broad, impenetrable barrier -- his chest. She glared up at him, then started to go around, but he reached out and stopped her, his hands gentle, but firm on her arms. She growled at him, an angry, pained sound, guttural and low, and he almost let her go. Instead, he tightened his grip and he could feel her trembling slightly beneath his touch. "Dana," he said, "You are exhausted. You *have* to rest or you won't be able to function. Mulder is going to need you, and he doesn't need you so depleted you can't think or see straight." He bent low, looked her directly in the eyes, "Now -- *sit down!*" He was saved from having to enforce his last command when a throat was cleared from the doorway to the waiting room. They both turned to see a man standing there, looking at them with open curiosity and mild amusement. "Excuse me," he said, "I'm Dr. Chao. I'm looking for a Dana Scully? Next of kin for Fox Mulder?" Scully pulled away from Skinner and answered, "That's me. I'm Dana Scully. How is he? When can I see him?" "All right, Ms. Scully," the doctor began, and was quickly interrupted by Skinner. "Doctor Scully," he corrected. The doctor looked up. "Pardon?" "Doctor Scully," Skinner repeated. "She's a doctor." "Oh, I see. My apologies, Dr. Scully." The man nodded at Scully then looked back at Skinner. "And you are?" "I'm Agent Mulder's supervisor, Walter Skinner." He extended his hand and the two men shook. "Would you please tell me how Mulder is?" Scully snapped. "And where he is? I need to see him." The doctor returned his attention to Scully. "Yes, of course, I'm sorry." He walked toward the couch and indicated she should be seated. "Have a seat and I'll bring you up to date." Scully sat reluctantly and Skinner smiled inwardly. At least this doctor had succeeded in getting her off her feet. He walked over to the couch and stood before them, listening as the doctor began. "Mr. Mulder has sustained numerous traumas from his accident. On arrival he was responsive, but disoriented, slightly combative, requiring sedation for scans. Head, abdomen, and pelvis scans were negative. After his arm was splinted in the ER, he was transferred to the OR for surgical debridement of the wound on his calf." "I know all this," Scully interrupted. "How is he? And what took you so long to finish the debridement?" Dr. Chao looked up at Skinner for a moment, almost questioning, then returned his gaze to Scully. "Recognizing that Mr. Mulder had been sedated upon arrival, the choice of anesthesia was critical." Scully's eyes widened. "Oh, no ..." she breathed. "What?" Skinner was lost. "What does that mean? What happened?" "How long?" Scully asked. "Almost three hours." Skinner spoke again. "What are you talking about?" Ignoring the AD for the time being, Scully asked, "Is he awake, now?" "Mr. Mulder has not come fully awake, no," Chao answered. "Enough doctor speak," Skinner ordered. "Agent Scully, explain what is going on to me, *now.*" Scully looked up, abashed, and said, "They weren't sure how much anesthesia Mulder could tolerate. Putting someone under is always tricky. But putting someone under who has a concussion and is already sedated is extremely tricky. You're sort of working blind as all of the normal responses are altered. They expected him to wake three hours ago, but he still hasn't come out of it." She turned to the surgeon and said, "I still need to see him. Where is he?" "They're moving him from recovery to a private room shortly. You can join him there in about half an hour. Room 306." Dr. Chao smiled at Scully. "Despite the nature and severity of his injuries, Mr. Mulder is in excellent physical shape. We have every hope that he will awaken on his own at any time now." "Thank you, Doctor," Scully said as the man rose. "We'll go down and wait for him." "No," Skinner said, causing both Chao and Scully to look at him. "You said half an hour, right Doctor?" The man nodded and Skinner turned to look sternly at Scully. "We are going to get something to eat, and then, and only then, will we go see Mulder." As Scully started to protest, Skinner crouched before her on the couch. "He's asleep -- out -- whatever. You said so yourself. He won't be in his room before midnight. You haven't eaten all day." A bit of pleading whine was creeping into what was supposed to be an authoritative directive. He shook himself mentally, and continued. "You need to take care of yourself as well as Mulder. Please -- come eat and I promise to have you back before your coach turns into a pumpkin." Seeing the genuine concern in Skinner's face, Scully nodded, then said, "Midnight. No later, all right?" The AD rose to his feet then pulled Scully up as well. "Deal," he said as he led her from the room. ******************************************************* 12:48 am Skinner had been good to his word, and they were back in the hospital by midnight. They had reached Room 306 as Mulder was being moved from the gurney to the room's bed. As the orderlies shifted him, the movement reached him in whatever state he was, and he moaned softly. "Careful," Scully hissed as she moved to stand by the bed. She had taken his hand, refusing to move as the nurse came in to take his vitals. It had been a battle, but she had finally succeeded in getting Skinner to go back to the hotel. He hadn't wanted to leave but she had needed some time with her partner, alone. Skinner was coming back in a few hours, with clean clothes for her and her travel case so she could wash up. She was taking advantage of her privacy to make her own examination of Mulder. His head was bandaged completely, providing him with an almost comic turban appearance. She touched his cheek gently, noting that the swelling around the left eye had receded somewhat, though it was still quite bruised and discolored. He'd been cleaned at some point, and just being able to see beyond the blood and grime made a difference as she noted the numerous lacerations and contusions that covered every inch of his body. His left arm had a cast on it now, the white of the plaster standing in stark contrast to the blue hospital gown he wore. She pulled back the covers to look at his leg, not surprised to see the wrapping covered his entire calf. While she had the covers back, she snuck a quick peek under his gown, checking his abdomen and noting the nasty bruise that covered his left side. She glanced down and was surprised that he hadn't been catheterized. Well, that was one threat that just might get him to respond. She moved to stand by his head and softly said, "Hey, Mulder, time to wake up." He didn't respond so she stroked his face gently. "Hey partner, it's me. You with me, Mulder?" He stirred slightly and she felt a flicker of excitement. She was holding his hand, cradling it carefully around the IV inserted into its back. "C'mon, Mulder, c'mon back to me." He moved again, and his eyelids fluttered. "That's it, Mulder. You can do it. Time to wake up, sleepy-head." One eye popped open and he murmured, "That's Sleeping Beauty, and you're s'posed to wake me with a kiss." She laughed at that, then said, "Maybe I would, if you really were Sleeping Beauty." He opened the other eye and whispered plaintively, "You could pretend." She looked down at him, this man that frustrated and exasperated her, worried and frightened her, challenged and excited her, and she thought of all the things that were about to change. Of the risk she was about to take. Of the unspoken rules that were about to be broken. She squeezed his hand gently, then leaned over and brushed her lips across his own. She pulled back to see his eyes widen in surprise, then she leaned in again, and kissed him once more. It was a feather of a caress, her lips skimming his own, mindful of his tender wounds, but it was an exchange of spirits that had been waiting for five years. She pulled back again, meeting his eyes, eyes that had moved from surprise to desire, and she said, "When I kiss you, Mulder, there's no need to pretend." End


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Baby leaving. No candy?

NewbornIt's no secret so much babies same to eat sweet. How around that?If a baby at least once strive a slice of patty or chocolate, so it will want such a treat again and again. About moms and dads turn a blind eye and, waving, saying, "Nothing! Who so a newborn did not eat sweets? "Meanwhile, a harm of such a huge bias, and do not you forget some it.There is an opinion - not to give babies sweets to 3 years, and after 3 years limited. This is more true, because a premature baby sugar consumption leads to such consequences as:A progress of food allergies;Overweight kid;The evolution of diabetes;With variable symptoms of the disease (intolerance to a particular type of sugar);Lactase deficiency (intolerance to natural milk sugar);Intolerance to sucrose (for lack of a specific intestinal enzyme);Galactosemia (intolerance to lactose and galactose);Disorders of a gastrointestinal tract;Caries.The increase in the volume of cane sugar consumed dulls the tasting for sweets, and a kid is not satisfied with a smaller quantity of it. There is a child of "vicious circle".  Resembling Mothers.articles:Baby. Breast-feedingChildBreastfeedingBabyNewborn upkeep. Thin hair loss later giving birthdayChild.

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Sunday, March 31, 2013

The Only Good Thing About Easter is the Pastel and Candy

Spring break has been fun with all the snowboarding and all, but i think my absolute favorite part was thrift shopping in a new town.  Whenever i travel i love thrift shopping.  Its always way more fun, i think this is also slightly to do with wondering what the person before you did with the clothes and how you are carrying on the life of that piece.
The most wonderful sweater that i have come across

I also picked up some sunnies and DIY gillered them. (glitter is now a verb)
Eggs I decorated with my brother (these were mine).  Thats one thing i love about having small siblings is the fact that when holidays come around I feel like a kid again.

Look what else i got!!!! finally!!!
A drawing i did of Ilia and I

Throughout this spring break i have been away from Ilia and I was so sad, but finally yesterday i got to see him again and i got so happy.  This is a drawing I did of the two of us because i was so happy.

Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Sunny Days

Hello!! i hope your spring break has been wonderful.  I am on a trip to Tahoe at the moment so beautiful pictures of the snow are soon to come.
I am looking for a couple new pen pals and i would love if some super cool people with some super cool blogs would like to be pen pals with me.
I hope you all have a wonderful spring break.

Friday, March 22, 2013

Spring is in the Air

A picture of me and my sister from her birthday

Well my friends.  I feel horrified in the lack of posting that has been happening this last month.  Ugh. I always have the intention of doing so and then just never get around to it.  This month has been crazy and I really wanted to tell you all about this fantastic assignment my english teacher has been having us do.  I know, school, ugh, but trust me, this is cool.  We are keeping a dream journal, so basically i'm getting a grade for what i already do.  We pretty much just record dreams and collage to our little hearts desires.  It is really fun.  Here are some example pages.

The most adorable baby picture of my friend Linkon
cartoon of me pretty much

So for spring break this year I am going up to Tahoe so there will be many snowboarding pictures coming up soon..  I hope you all have a marvelous spring break.

I am thinking about maybe making a Youtube? what do you think? yes? no? dont even think about doing that rain no one would ever spend time watching that?

Lovely Dovey stuff like that

Skirt and Shirt H&M
Well I feel sickened by the lack of posting that i have been doing lately   Like really, what is wrong with me. I just have been to busy with all the AP applications due and running for Student Delegate and all (if you are a high school student in the SFUSD area make sure to vote for me in the youth vote).
I wanted to make a cute valentines day post, but i never got around to it so i guess i'll just tell you about my Valentines Day.
All my wonderful presents

So I think that I have the most wonderful friends ever and they got me the best gifts.  My friend Robert got me a package of ramen.  My friend Lizzie make me a valentine (the translation is " I don't think you are horrible.  I know your shoe size").  My mom got me Reeses and a starbucks gift card and my stepdad got me the tabasco jelly beans for my love of hot spicy food.  My boyfriend got me a super sparkly hat and I give him total points for attempting to understand my style.
Me and my boyfriend spent our valentines day at his house just watching movies and being romantic.  It was quite nice.  I really do love him.  I have to say i made him some pretty great presents too.  I took a deck of cards and wrote one thing that i love about him on each one and i made him a batch of bacon cheesecake brownies (they are to die for).


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Champions in Action Awards Ceremony | July 10

Champions in Action invites you to join them at an award ceremony for Boston Natural Areas Network. The ceremony will be on July 10 from 9:30 to 10:30am. It will take place at Nightingale Garden - 512 Park Street, Dorchester MA. The event is rain or shine and you must RSVP by July 6. To RSVP, contact Meg McEntee at 617-994-7529 or


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FHS Band UIL Results

WebmasterFine Arts News, High School News

Congratulations to the four FHS Bands that participated in the UIL Concert and Sight-reading Contest on April 19-21, at Pearland HS.  All four bands: Wind Ensemble, Symphonic Band, Concert Band I & Concert Band II, earned Division One-Superior ratings in Concert & Sight-Reading earning each band the Sweepstakes Trophy.

Comments from the judges for each band:

Concert Band II – “Excellent style and pulse! Bravo, well rehearsed! What a great band”

Concert Band I – “Excellent maturity and understanding. What an example of great teaching and learning! I enjoyed it!”

Symphonic Band – “Overall superior performance. All elements planned for, taught, and executed at the highest level! I thoroughly enjoyed hearing you this morning.”

Wind Ensemble – “Bravo! Such artistic playing a spectacular performance. Beautiful music making. Please do not take for granted what you have here. Be sure to thank each other and your teachers for the opportunity to daily make music at this level!”

Gregory Dick, Aaron Brown and Julio Sanchez FHS Band Directors


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Thursday, November 10, 2011

Ignorance is Bliss...

This post has nothing to do with what I would normally post on here. But as a soon to be parent I feel like it's my right to speak my mind about the whole Penn State incident involving children. I've tried to speak my mind but every time I say something I get smacked with how ignorant I am and that I don't know the facts. No I didn't go to Penn State or go to a 4 year college or get a 'proper' education as some would call it after high school. But before you judge me you should also get your facts straight because you know nothing about me! I chose to be a Cosmetologist because it's something that I like to do. So for any human to sit and degrade someone for the career path that they chose and to call them ignorant and trash because of it is a very shallow person. There are plenty of people in this world who have degrees and spent plenty of money on college who can't even get a job and work at a burger joint. And there's also plenty of people who haven't gone to college not because they didn't want to but because they either couldn't afford it or what ever other reason. Did you ever think of that before you ran your mouth?! Your comments about being ignorant because of a lack of education makes you that much more ignorant. And I hope you can sleep at night knowing that. You are no better than anyone else!

On that note....I've tried to explain my feelings but I apparently can't get them across. The point of this whole matter is about the children involved. Not the coach. Not the school. And not the students. They plan on holding a candlelight vigil tomorrow yet earlier on the news all of the students were there chanting 'We Are Penn State'. Give me a break. This isn't about any of you! To turn a blind eye on a serious matter who ever it may be makes you just as much involved as the person who committed the crime. I fully get supporting your school but with in that school you are also supporting the people who did this. And these people say they have morals! I say good luck with that!

I saw this article just a minute ago that explains exactly how I feel. Some people will disagree but I hope that the people that are ignorant to the situation read it and that maybe it will be a wake up call for them. Because if you are a parent, You of ALL people should understand! Here's the link!

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