When she awoke, the first thing she was aware of was the complete and utter discomfort she felt. Her throat burned, her chest was heavy and tight, and her head throbbed. Her skin ached in the odd way it only does when fighting a high fever, and it constricted tightly as the chills, seemingly unending, took her over once again. She struggled mightily to clear hear head, feeling a bit disoriented and unsure at first of where she was. Quickly, the familiar sights of her living room registered in her mind and she felt a tad more at ease. It was almost completely dark in the apartment, which told her it was either dusk or dawn. It was very cold in the apartment, and as much as she hated the idea of getting up from under the warm blanket, she knew she had to crank up the heat.
Sitting up slowly, she kept the blanket wrapped around her as snuggly as she could, a bit surprised to discover just how cold it really was inside. 'Did I turn the heater off earlier?' she wondered to herself. She lifted her right hand to rub the bridge of her nose, the beginnings of a pounding headache coursing through her veins. She summoned the strength to stand up and, on wobbly legs, made her way over to the thermostat. It was still turned on, set to what should have been a comfortable 70 degrees. Confusion set in, but she quickly brushed it off and set it a bit higher, turning to go back to the couch. Stopping to see what time it was on the way back, she noticed the clock above her mantel had stopped. She paused as a flood of dread swept over her. "No, no, please..." she pled exhaustedly, to no one in particular. She drug herself into the kitchen, noticing immediately that the clock on the stove was also out. "Damn it."
On her way back to the couch, she lit the candles that rested on the side table in order to have at least some light in the room. She knew that without heat in the apartment, it wouldn't be long before the temperature dipped too low to reasoably withstand. Judging by the amount of sunlight still streaming into the apartment, however slight, night hadn't fully set in yet, and that meant it was only going to get colder.
She couldn't tell exactly how long she had been lying on the couch, but she knew she couldn't handle the cold any longer. She was delirious, and feeling worse than she had at any point since coming down with this ailment. She couldn't think straight and was having a hard time concentrating on anything other than staying warm. She accepted defeat easily, something she knew was another indication of just how sick she really was. Without so much as a second thought, she picked up the phone and dialed the only person she wanted to take care of her.
Her partner picked up after the first ring.
"Yeah. Sorry." He sounded gruff and mildly irritated. She was having second thoughts about calling him.
Had it not been for the mounting dizziness and naseua building within her, she would have hung up. "Mulder?" she managed to eek out.
"Scully?" he replied. His voice had become so soft and gentle that she was questioning whether she had even heard it at all.
"Mulder?" she asked again.
"Yeah, Scully, I'm here."
She fought through chattering teeth to continue. "Mulder, can I come over?" She rambled on, and she knew she was stIll talking, but for the life of her had no idea what she was actually saying. She only stopped when she was forced to by a wracking cough.
The next thing she knew, he was telling her to stay where she was and that he was on his way to come get her. He asked her a question, she could tell from the inflection of his voice, but once again, she couldn't understand what he was saying. She could only think to respond with a half-hearted "yeah," lacking the energy and coherence to do anything else. She hated feeling as vulnerable as she did at that moment, and though she had no doubt of her partner's respect for her, she didn't want to be a burden. She felt as though she could burst into tears at any moment. "Please hurry, Mulder."
After she hung up, she was overcome with cold. Her skin was covered in goose bumps and felt drawn and taught, as her body struggled to keep her warm. She broke into a cold sweat, the drying persperation only making her feel even more cold. She felt as though she had ice running through her veins, and she was beginning to shake with chlls. The rational, medical doctor side of her knew that her body was fighting the fever, that physically she was doing all she could to recover. However, she couldn't tamp down the panic that was slowly rising within her. The aches, pains, exhaustion, and, though she was wont to admit it, the trauma from the last case, had all gotten to her. She felt as though she had no more fight left in her, and was grateful she could turn to her partner for strength and refuge.
Giving in to her desire for warmth and comfort, she quickly stripped down and got in the shower, turning the water on as hot as she could stand it, ignoring the small, screaming voice in the back of her head that told her she knew better. The hot water, though a temporary fix for her symptoms, would only end up making her body fight harder to regulate her temperature. She didn't care about that at the moment though, surrendering with abandon to the steamy spray and relishing in the way it soothed her muscles and cleared the tightness and congestion in her chest.
She stood under the water as long as she could, dizziness and a lack of energy to stand up any longer forcing her out before she wanted to be. In a daze, she turned off the shower and toweled off, the chills she had experienced earlier returning triple-fold. She dressed as fast as she could, throwing on a long-sleeved white thermal top and her thickest pair of pajama pants, blue flannel and instantly warming, though she was still trembling.
She was towel drying her hair when she realized she wouldn't be able to use her blow dryer. She wanted to shoot herself. 'Way to go, Dana,' she admonished herself. Fighting tears, she grabbed her cell phone from the living room, climbed into her bed and got under the covers, figuring it would be the warmest place to wait until Mulder arrived. She closed her eyes, but made an effort to listen for her partner's knock. She was sure he was hurrying, but it already felt like it had been an eternity since she had called him.
She was startled later when she heard her partner call her name. "Scully?"
"Mulder?" She wanted to cry, she was so out of it. She hadn't even heard him come in. She watched from her cocoon of sheets and linens as he slowly approached the bed. She could see fear and concern etched into her partner's features and instantly felt guilty. 'I shouldn't have bothered him.'
She held her breath as he fell to his knees next to the bed frame, allowing herself to take comfort in his touch as he gently pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, then became worried once more when his expression changed from concern to panic. "Scully, why is your hair all wet?" He was whispering, and she had to strain to hear him, but as soon as the words left his mouth, she felt her guilt increase ten-fold. She couldn't stop the flood of emotion that took over, fighting with all of her strength to keep it together and not break down over something that she knew, rationally, was so silly.
"I was so c-c-cold Mu-Mulder." She felt like she owed him an explanation for her stupidity. "I got in the shower to try and w-warm up..." Once again, she knew she continued talking, but she lost track of her own thoughts and couldn't even concentrate on what she was saying. She continued to babble until Mulder shushed her.
"Shhh. Okay, okay. It's alright." He was running his hand over her hair, trying to calm her down. "Try and take some deep breaths for me, ok? We're gonna get you someplace warm and let you rest. Just try and relax." At his reassurances, she immediately felt at peace, having complete faith and trust in him to take care of her and help her get well. She tried desperately to follow his instructions of breathing deeply. "I'm gonna get a few things together first though, if that's okay." She could only nod in response. Truth be told, he could have asked her to sing the national anthem in her birthday suit and she would have complied, she was so out of it.
She could hear him rummaging around in her dresser drawers and in her bathroom, no doubt filling her overnight bag with essentials that she would need while staying at his place. In true Scully fashion, despite her current condition, she couldn't help praying that the bathroom was still relatively clean from the last time she had been able to give it a good scrub. It was such a ridiculous thought that she wanted to laugh, the delirium setting in and grabbing hold of her firmly. As she was trying to remember the last time she had rendezvoused with the Scrubbing Bubbles, her partner's voice snapped her back to reality once more.
"Alright, Scully, can you get up?" She felt him help her as she very slowly rose to a sitting position, fighting with all of her strength to ward off the chills. She felt as though she were moving in slow motion, and she was suddenly struck by a dry, stale taste in her mouth. Somehow, her tennis shoes had made it onto her feet and she was walking slowly towards her front door. Mulder stopped her by the entryway and helped her put her trench coat on, followed by her scarf. She felt like a child being dressed by her mother before going out to play in the snow. Mulder reached for the doorknob, then stopped as if having second thoughts, then took off his own jacket. She was about to question his actions when he wrapped the garment around her like a blanket, zipping her up and placing the hood over the mass of wet curls atop her head. She stood and waited while he blew out the candles she had lit earlier. She knew they were ready to go when he placed his hand on the small of her back. It was a familiar touch that made her feel a tad bit better, as silly as she knew that was.
He said something to her about being out front, but she could only focus on putting one foot in front of the other. She was slightly puzzled to see snow on the ground as they made their way to Mulder's car. 'When did it start snowing?' she wondered. The next thing she knew, she was sitting in the passenger seat of her partner's car, buckled in securely with heat from the air vents blasting at her from every direction. She could feel his hand on her knee, a comforting and welcome presence, along with his words. "Alright, Scully. You're gonna be alright. Everything's alright."
She believed him.
