Title: Down With the Sickness
Fandom: The X Files
Disclaimer: I do not own The X-Files or its characters, they belong to Chris Carter, 1013 productions, and Fox. David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson in a sense own Mulder and Scully as well because they bring the characters to life.
Summary: Set in the 3rd season, not long after the episode Grotesque. Mulder is very sick and Scully looks after him, this fic should have at least three chapters.
Dana Scully raised her warm blue eyes from her half of their latest expense report, eying her partner speculatively through curled lashes. The man in question sat perched on the edge of his office chair, half hunched over his desk as he seemingly tried to hack up a lung. She sighed, this was the third severe coughing fit he'd succumbed to, within the span of an hour, and when he wasn't coughing she could hear the deep rattling wheeze that had taken up residence in his chest some time between Friday evening, when she'd last seen him, and this very morning.
She studied him with concern, wondering whether or not he'd even bothered to treat what had undoubtedly been a nasty cold, over the course of the weekend. Knowing Mulder, with his complete lack of common sense concerning his health, probably not she surmised. As he coughed he made no attempt to cover his mouth, instead allowing his left hand to convulsively open and close around the armrest as if to anchor himself. He used his right hand to pluck at his tie in jerky spasmodic movements as if it was constricting his chest, therefore his ability to draw breath.
That in and of itself was all she needed to know; if his chest was bothering him enough that he would be incapable of successfully hiding his discomfort from anyone who might walk into their basement office then he needed to be home in bed at the very least. Scully would prefer he be checked out by a doctor, her doctor, but she knew it would be like pulling teeth to convince him that he needed to go. She pushed herself away from her table, rising from her chair, and striding over to his side purposefully, her heels clicking on the concrete floor. She reached for him just as his coughing fit came crashing to a halt; she could feel an intense heat radiating from his body long before she made contact with his skin. He jumped when her hand settled on the exposed skin at the nape of his neck, her soft fingertips lightly grazing the short spiky hair there.
"Jesus, your hands are freezing Scully." he exclaimed, his voice cracking on a wheeze, as he ducked away from her touch. A full body shiver wracked his lean frame, and not the good kind.
"No Mulder, my hands aren't freezing, you my friend are burning up." she responded matter of factly.
"Nah. I feel fine, it's just a cold." he insisted, turning his chair around so he was facing her. He shot her a small smirk, it was a half-assed attempt to dissuade her at best, and his eyes lacked sincerity.
She stared at Mulder appraisingly, his beautiful hazel eyes were unfocused, glassy with fever, and there were dark circles under them. They stood out in stark relief against the pallor of his skin, and she found herself wondering absently when he'd last gotten at least four consecutive hours of sleep. His cheeks were flushed pink and his face pinched with pain and shining with a thick sheen of sweat, all sure signs of a fever. Scully raised one russet eyebrow, shooting him the look that sent most people running for the hills.
"Bullshit." she challenged. "Mulder you shouldn't have even come into work this morning you clearly have a fever!"
"I just didn't…" he mumbled, trailing off as he bowed his head. Whatever he'd intended to say he found embarrassing. She'd always found this particular habit of his peculiar. For someone so articulate when it came to everything else, he had a surprisingly difficult time expressing his needs. She supposed he wasn't used to being dependent on other people because he'd practically raised himself in the aftermath of Samantha's disappearance, and most likely he'd forgotten how to ask for what he needed. He probably only came into work today because he didn't feel like being alone, and she wasn't planning to leave him for a second.
Ever since that case with John Mostow and what happened with Bill Patterson she'd been worried about his well-being. He'd run himself ragged on that case and he still hadn't completely bounced back. She'd thought the X Files cases were hard on him, but they were nothing compared to what profiling did to him. She'd done some digging after that case, and suffice to say she now knew why he got the hell out of the ISU, and she can't say she blames him. Nope, not in the slightest.
The ISU had used him and abused him, preyed on his unadulterated compassion for the victims, sending him on case after case, with barely any respite to speak of. They'd used up all his reserves and it had nearly drove him over the edge into insanity, never mind the physical toll it'd had taken on him. If what she'd heard was correct it was always as bad if not worse than the Mostow case for him when he was profiling. He didn't eat, he barely slept, lived off of coffee, worked all hours -day and night- existed in limbo, and drove himself to physical and emotional exhaustion until the UNSUB was apprehended.
She was glad he wasn't profiling anymore, she couldn't imagine watching him go through that hell on a regular basis. She loved him, yeah she was ready to admit to herself that he was more than just her best friend, and God knows how she hated to see him hurting. Scully was so damn tired of ignoring the undeniable urge she had to look after him, so she gave into it. She put a hand to his forehead under the guise of checking his temperature, but in reality she hoped he would find her touch comforting. He leaned into the touch with none of his normal imperceptibility; for him to acquiesce to her affection so overtly, especially at the office he had to be feeling pretty awful.
"Alright Mulder, it's time to go home." Scully said. Pushing his sweat-soaked bangs off of his forehead with a tenderness he wasn't accustomed to being on the recieving end of.
Glassy gray-green eyes shot up and locked with clear cobalt-blue. "But Scully…" he whined, plaintively.
"Don't, But Scully me, Mulder." she huffed.
"But…" he started again.
"Mulder, quite frankly you look like shit! You need to be home resting." She interrupted, her voice tinged with exasperation.
"Thanks for the brutal honesty Scully." He replied sardonically, chuckling to himself in self-deprecation.
Her face softened slightly at that, and she spoke firmly but with care. "Mulder you need to take care of yourself. C'mon lets get out of here."
She nudged his shoulder to spur him on.
"Wait, what do you mean let's get of here?" he inquired. His dark eyebrows knitting together in confusion.
"Mulder you can't seriously think I'd let you drive yourself home in this condition." She replied incredulously.
He shrugged his shoulders, staring at her with consternation, before sighing dejectedly.
'Jesus Christ. Had the man been on his own so long that just the idea of someone bothering to look out for him while he was sick was so totally foreign?' she wondered with ire. She wasn't angry with him, but she was angry for him. His parents hadn't deserved him, such a beautiful, brilliant son, and as far as she was concerned their reaction to him after Samantha's abduction was bordering on criminal. Mulder may not speak ill of either of them, but from the little she knew of his childhood they'd deserted him when he needed them most. Instead of cherishing the only child they had left, they'd turned away from him, leaving the fractured twelve-year-old to fend for himself.
Well he wasn't on his own anymore, he had her and she wasn't leaving him to fend for himself. No, never. "Mulder just let me call Skinner to tell him I'm taking you home, okay?" she said.
He nodded, mopping the sweat off his forehead with his shirt sleeve. She picked up the phone receiver, dialing the familiar number with nimble fingers. When Kim transferred the call to Skinner she filled him in on Mulder's condition and he agreed that it would be best if she brought the sick man home.
"C'mon Mulder we got the all clear from Skinner." She said softly.
He began to rise from his chair, and apparently he'd risen too quickly for the room swam before his eyes. He felt strangely off kilter and his stomach churned relentlessly. "Scully I think I'm gonna be sick." He whimpered. He then bolted across the hall into the men's bathroom.
She followed him at a more sedate pace, watching as he stumbled through the stall door, fell to his knees and began retching into the toilet bowl violently. As she came nearer he waved her off, not wanting her to see him like this, but she ignored him. It wasn't as if this was the first time she'd seen him vomit, she was very familiar with his post-nightmare routine and it usually included an unpleasant trip to the bathroom. She hunkered down behind him and began rubbing his back in a soothing circular motion. He leant back into the touch ever so slightly as his body convulsed through the dry heaves. She leant closer, still rubbing his back and began cooing nonsensical words of comfort in his ear.
When he finally finished heaving he slumped against the toilet seat in exhaustion, breathing with some difficulty. She got up and grabbed a few paper towels, wet them in the sink, and headed back over to Mulder. Scully hunkered down again, gently placing one paper towel on the back of Mulder's neck, to which he sighed gratefully. She then pulled him back to lean against her, and began tenderly washing away the perspiration that coated his deathly pale face. He leant into the coolness, shivering again.
"Alright Mulder, lets get you up off this cold and dirty floor." She spoke kindly, before helping him up.
He stood on shaky legs, swaying just slightly. Scully reached out, wrapping her right arm around his too slender waist in order to lend him some support. He'd lost some weight over the weekend she noted, which worried her because Mulder wasn't very big to begin with. You see, he had a runner's body, a swimmer's body, and a fast metabolism as well so when he stopped eating, for however brief a time, he became too thin.
She could feel his hip bones jutting out, and she knew if she were to wrap her arm around his midriff she'd be able to feel his ribs protruding. She had to get some meat on his bones, maybe she'd call her mother later. Maggie Scully was very fond of Fox Mulder, and Dana knew if she spoke to her mother about Mulder's illness there would be no stopping her from mothering the hell out of him. Yeah, she'll do just that, just as soon as he gets checked out by her PCP, Rob Fuller.
She knows Rob from med. school and if she were to trust anyone with Mulder's medical care it would be him. Now all she had to do was convince Mulder, which was no easy task mind you. She turned to look at him just as he shot her a grateful, but wan smile. Scully smiled back as he swung his left arm casually over her shoulder, doing his best not to lean on her too heavily. They steadily made there way out of the bathroom and headed in the direction of the elevator.
Fifteen minutes later found them at her car, and she walked him over to the passenger side door. He leant against the side of the car as she opened the door for him. Mulder slowly ducked into the car, slumped down in the seat and began struggling with the blasted seatbelt. Scully could clearly see his frustration, and eying him with affection she took the belt from his hand and buckled it into place herself. "Let me get that for you Mulder, okay?"
When he didn't rebuke her for doing something for him that he felt he was quite capable of doing himself, as per-usual, she was surprised. Then she noticed the sweat dotting his brow, his labored breathing, and his pinched expression and she realized why. She caressed his cheek sweetly. "Oh Mulder, you're miserable aren't you?"
He didn't respond to her words at first, just leant into her touch, but then he nodded, his delectable lower lip jutting out in the adorable pout she was now so familiar with. She hated that pout, but loved it at the same time, he commonly used it when she was angry with him and he was looking for forgiveness. That pout was usually coupled with those damn lost little boy eyes, and when he looked at her with that wounded expression she never could stay mad at him. She would never admit it to him nor anyone else, but she was a sucker for that look. She wondered what the other agents would say if they had any idea that all it took to make the Ice Queen melt was one doleful look from Spooky Mulder.
She leant down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, and his eyes shot wide open at that. He stared up at her with a look of such awe, such wonder that it nearly took her breath away. 'When was he last touched with some tenderness? When was he last shown how much he was cared for? Cherished even?' she thought to herself with a pang. She had a feeling she was the only one, maybe besides her mother who'd bothered to in a long time. She pretended as if she hadn't noticed that look because she didn't want him to feel uncomfortable, and she made her way over to the driver's side and got in the car. She turned the key in the ignition and started the car up, before slowly backing out of the parking space. "Mulder why don't you try to get some sleep." Scully suggested, eying her partner peripherally.
He nodded, acquiescing, and closing weary hazel eyes on a deep sigh.
When they finally reached her apartment in Georgetown she shook him awake, and he nearly scared the crap out of her when he bolted upright, hunched over and acceded to another coughing fit. She reached out patting his back in hopes of helping him to clear his lungs. He clearly had an upper respiratory infection and there was no way he was getting out of going to that doctors appointment now.
"Mulder," Scully said, when his coughing fit was over, " I want you to go to the doctor today. I'm going to make you an appointment, and I'll take you."
"I've already got my very own personal physician right here next to me." Mulder rasped, nodding in her direction.
"You, my friend are forgetting something extremely important here." Scully replied, her lips upturned in a small smile.
"Oh yeah, and what pray tell is that?" he questioned with a lopsided grin.
"Mulder I'm not a practicing doctor, all my patients are already dead. I perform autopsies." She reminded, not unkindly.
"I know that Scully, but I trust you, as a doctor, partner, and friend.", he responded earnestly.
"Mulder, I know that, but I'd feel much better if you were checked out by a practicing doctor. I feel that you have a respiratory infection and I'm worried about you contracting pneumonia, okay. I don't want you to end up in the hospital, it's better just to head things off before it gets any worse, plus I'll be there." Scully said, stating her case.
"Okay Scully, I capitulate, you win." Mulder said.
"Do my ears deceive me or is Fox William Mulder actually agreeing to see a medical professional." She quipped, with a sly smirk.
"Ha ha. I mean it okay, I trust you, and if you think I should go, I'll go. I don't want to end up in the hospital, you know I hate them. I figure going to the doctor's office is the lesser of two evils." he answered honestly, but with humor. "Plus I really do feel like shit."
She smiled at his sense of humor. "Thank you, now c'mon lets go, you can get some much needed rest, finally."
Mulder took a moment to look at his surroundings, realizing for the first time since he woke up that he wasn't in front of his apartment building, but Scully's. "Scully this is your place." Mulder said, stating the obvious.
"Yes, Mulder it is." Scully replied, with a grin, reaching out and ruffling his sweaty hair. "C'mon lets go upstairs."
TBC
Author's Note: Let me know if you want more, but I'll continue writing regardless of reviews, this story is pure self-indulgence.