SMALL CONSIDERATIONS BETWEEN PARTNERS

BY

AllyinthekeyofX

Summary – A series of vignettes that feature moments of friendship and love between our two favourite agents. One for each season and also both movies with some being more along mature lines. All will be canon compliant, a couple will be post episode.

SEASON ONE – Chocolate drops do not constitute medicine.

I can feel Mulder watching me from across the room.

I hate it when he watches me like this; it makes me feel uncomfortable to know he is filling his working hours scrutinising me instead of concentrating on the job in hand and God knows he must surely be aware that they are just looking for a reason to shut us down. Working but not working isn't exactly going to further his cause should we be called to question as to why the reports requested by Skinner and which litter his chaotic workspace are being largely ignored by him right now.

But today I'm aware that really, I only have myself to blame because when I woke up this morning with a pounding headache, limbs that alternated between a dragging heaviness and a nauseating ache that settled right in the marrow of my bones and a throat that felt like someone had miniaturised themselves to an extent that they were able to climb in there at some point during the night and do a sandblasting job with powdered glass, I probably should have just admitted defeat and called in sick.

I didn't of course because being sick constitutes being weak and Dana Scully does not show weakness. No Siree. So I just self-medicated; hoping for the best as I forced myself in to the shower where I stood limply, hoping the heat of the water would in some small way chase away the chills that were racing up and down my back at fairly regular intervals.

I kind of knew this was coming – a rare day out this past weekend in the sole company of my small Godson had seemed like a precious gift at the time – but as the day wore on the gift became less enjoyable as his six year old self escalated in crankiness at roughly the same rate as his temperature had risen and by the time Ellen arrived to pick him up, Trent was clinging to me like a four-limbed limpet; heat radiating off him as he coated my shoulder in a not inconsiderable layer of snot and drool and I was already steeling myself for the inevitable.

Because I've noticed during the course of the months I have been working alongside Mulder that I seem to pick up every bug going. Maybe it's the fact that we spend relatively long periods just with each other that makes me an easy target when I finally venture out in to the germ ridden world above or it's simply that I don't take such meticulous care of myself as I did in my pre-Mulder existence; that having him as a partner pretty much negates adequate sleep and regular wholesome meals.

Annoyingly though, Mulder seems to positively thrive on the disjointed lifestyle that working on the X-Files demands; able to function at the top of his game on scant rest and a diet of greasy take-out food.

Because he is never sick.

Ever.

You would be forgiven for thinking that, as is often the case with irritatingly healthy individuals, that he has no patience with illness in others and certainly my Father had enjoyed years of rude good health before the coronary unexpectedly and cruelly took him from us just a few short months ago; and back when we were kids only impending death or a temperature close to combustible levels were sufficient for us to be tucked in to bed and fed chicken soup. If neither applied we were just expected to suck it up.

But Mulder? Mulder is different. Maybe it's due to his fine New England upbringing or maybe it's simply due to the fact that he hasn't had anyone to be concerned about for a very long time but I have noticed, even from right at the very beginning when he clearly didn't trust me and resented my reasons for me being thrust in to his domain, that he has always been extremely sensitive regarding my continued wellbeing.

In fact, "Are you okay Scully?" has been levelled at me so many times that I now find myself always automatically assuring him that I'm fine even when I'm not and it's not that I want to hurt his feelings, nor that I am immune to his concern, but frankly I am a grown woman and more than capable of taking care of myself.

Well, except on days like today of course where a wholly misplaced pride prevented me from listening to the little voice inside my head that told me the smart thing to do would be to simply turn up the heat in my apartment to tropical and crawl back to bed where I could quietly wallow in a pit of misery until such time as my body deigned fit to fight off the virus that had invaded it courtesy of Trent.

But I hadn't. I had instead dragged myself to work and tried to hide from my partner that in reality, I felt pretty much like death warmed over and I should have known better than to try to fool a man who can strip me inside out with a single glance. Hiding things from Mulder is like trying to knit with the wind – a lot of effort with nothing to show for it at the end. And right now as I feel his eyes boring in to me, I know that he is building himself up in order to address his concerns.

His words though, when they finally come, are as far away from what I was expecting as they could possibly be.

"Chocolate drops Scully."

I jerk my head up and wonder suddenly if my slight fever is actually worse than I had thought and is in fact, giving way to auditory hallucinations.

I glance across at where he is lounging back in his chair, relieved in part to find he is looking straight at me.

"Chocolate drops Mulder?"

"Yep. Best medicine there is for sore throats."

"Mulder I haven't got a sore..."

He holds his hand up and like Pavlov's dog I immediately stop, recognising the futility of denial where this man is concerned.

"Scully I know you're sick. From the minute you walked in this morning it was obvious; you look like hell and every time you swallow you pull this face..."

He grimaces and closes his eyes briefly in a pretty accurate representation of a baby sucking on a lemon then grins apologetically at me. Clearly my attempts to appear normal have been less than successful but I decide to let it go in order to address the bigger issue.

"Chocolate drops do not in any way constitute medicine Mulder." I assert with all the dignity I can muster.

He shrugs, still grinning.

"Suit yourself Doctor Scully but it's the truth. My Mom used to give us chocolate when we had sore throats. Forms a coating or some such thing and I'm no medical doctor but...whatever; it worked."

I immediately bristle on the slightly teasing inflection given to his use of the word Doctor, because despite the way he is looking at me, eyes soft with concern, a slight frown worrying his brow, I am in no mood to play games with him.

"Placebo effect Mulder" I snap

He nods sagely

"If you say so."

"And besides" I continue. "I'm fine. It's just a cold and even if it were more serious I have a whole host of tried and tested remedies sitting in my bathroom cabinet to fall back on. Chocolate drops I might add are not amongst them."

I probably shouldn't have told him I was fine because for Mulder, me denying what he has already convinced himself of just makes him more determined to be proven right; whether it be seeking validation regarding the existence of life on other worlds, weird paranormal mumbo-jumbo or missing time phenomena, Mulder believes what he believes and he rigidly stands by those beliefs; directing the same unwavering certainty when making assertions as to my state of health and while on some level I admire him for it, today I just find it invasive and mildly annoying.

I'm unsurprised though when he pushes himself to his feet in one graceful fluid movement and crosses the small space that separates us, standing before me and rendering me immediately at a strategic disadvantage by his looming presence over me. I probably should feel slightly unnerved by his close proximity, not least because my eyes are now at roughly the same level as his crotch, and try as I might I can't seem to make myself avert my gaze. Thankfully though, Mulder drops down to rest on his haunches and places his palm gently against my forehead and his touch is so deliciously cool that I make no attempt to pull away from him.

"Christ Scully you're burning up. You should be at home in bed."

My shoulders slump slightly because deep down I know he's right but at the same time I'm annoyed that he feels such a need to state the obvious all the time.

"It's not that bad Mulder."

Maybe he hears the slight warning tone in my voice that he needs to back off right now, because he removes his hand and checks his watch.

"Look, it's almost four-thirty. I've got a couple of errands to run first but why don't you stay here and finish up and then I'll run you home? Is your car here?"

I shake my head, less annoyed than I was a few seconds ago because it seems that, today at least he is prepared to offer a compromise.

"No I didn't feel like driving so I caught a cab."

"Okay then good. I'll be forty-five minutes; maybe an hour and then we'll call it a day, and Scully? Try not to die on me while I'm gone; the paperwork would be a bitch."

Despite myself I can't help a smile that tugs at my lips and he nods, clearly satisfied as he grabs his coat and exits the office.

XXXXXXXXXXX

As good as his word Mulder drove me home and despite myself I was grateful that I was with him and not some faceless stranger in an unfamiliar vehicle as he negotiated his way through rush hour traffic, glancing across at me every now and again but not passing further comment as to my state of health; he merely cranked up the heat in the car and found a radio station that helped to create an atmosphere of such relaxation that I was asleep within minutes.

I have hazy recollections of him waking me up with a light touch to my face as he smoothed a few errant strands of hair from where it had stuck to the corner of my mouth and I was pleasantly surprised when, seeing me start to shiver once I was out of the warm cocoon he had created in the car, he put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me against him, sharing his warmth with me against the frigid winter air as he walked me to my apartment.

He had, with an impish smile that made him look like a little boy, offered his help to get me undressed and in to bed but I had refused, shaking my head as I brushed off his playful banter lightly, even as a small part of me wondered what would happen if I decided to accept his offer. I suspect though he would have turned tail and exited as fast as his long legs could carry him. Mulder I have discovered seems to be all talk.

As it was though, he waited until he was sure I was all tucked up in my warmest flannel pyjamas and fluffy robe, staying in the apartment on the pretext of needing a coffee before he drove home; I didn't hear him leave though because I was asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow and I think I may have been dreaming when I felt the heat of his lips press gently and briefly to the centre of my forehead, imagining the sound of his voice murmuring above me.

"Sweet dreams Scully."

When I awoke hours later there was a glass of water and a couple of pills on my bedside table along with a small, beautifully wrapped square box. It was about the size of a baseball I guess and I couldn't imagine what he might have bought for me; or why for that matter.

But now, as I hold the opened package in my hands I can't help but smile at both the contents and the message of the small tag that I carefully removed from its ribbon tie.

'Take one as required'

And as I feel the rich dark chocolate melting on my tongue and coating my throat with smooth mellow sweetness I decide he might actually be right about this whole medicinal chocolate thing.

Maybe I will call him later and tell him so.

Maybe.

End