The tub was quickly filled to Mulder's satisfaction. He shut off the faucet and double-checked the temperature of the water, making sure it wasn't too warm or too cool. He had dumped a capful of her bubble bath in with the running water, and it smelled heavenly. Confirming that the water was tepid, he went back into his bedroom. "Alright, Scully. Let's get you in the tub." Rather than let her try and get up herself, he scooped her up in his arms once more. She didn't fight it, but instead wrapped her arms around his neck and let him carry her, nuzzling her head ever-so-slightly into his chest. "Don't get used to this, Scully," he joked. His heart leapt and he chuckled when she gave him what she could manage of a genuine, full-toothed smile upon hearing his words.
Inside the bathroom, he set her down to sit on top of the toilet. He crouched down to kneel in front of her and took her hands in his. "You think you can take it from here, Scully?"
She nodded slowly, and Mulder noted the glazed-over look she had in her eyes. He was unsure about leaving her alone, but he was also hesitant to stay with her. "There's a towel right here on the counter. I'm gonna be right outside the door; if you need anything, just say so." She nodded again, indicating she understood, but Mulder wasn't totally convinced. Not seeing any other choice, he got up and went into the hallway, closing the door softly behind him. He fought the urge to place his ear up against the door, knowing she would certainly not appreciate the invasion of privacy. He was amazed that she had tolerated his hovering up to this point without putting up any kind of fight. This fact also concerned him.
He turned his focus to figuring out what to do once she got out of the bath. He had packed an extra pair of pajamas in the bag he had thrown together before leaving her apartment. They were also long-sleeved, and he wondered if it would just be better to put her in a pair of his basketball shorts with one of his t-shirts. He quickly decided that was also something he didn't want to think about, but for an entirely different reason. He was leaning with his back against the wall opposite the bathroom door, concentrating with his eyes closed, when he heard her. Barely.
"Mulder... Mulder..."
"Scully?" he called softly, moving closer to the door. When she didn't answer, he knocked softly as a warning, then turned the knob and opened the door. He found her in essentially the same way he had left her. Essentially, as she was shivering almost violently, still sitting on the toilet seat, fully clothed. She hadn't even been able to move from the spot. "Jesus," he whispered, dropping to his knees in front of her again. Her eyes were wide open, but she couldn't focus them. Sweat was beginning to sheen on her brow. With one hand he grabbed her upper arm to hold her steady, with the other he felt her forehead. Her skin was on fire. He wasn't going to wait any more.
"Okay, Scully, here we go," he said as he picked her up once again, lifting her off the seat and slowly lowering her into the tub, still fully clothed in her pajamas. The water rose to the tops of her breasts, and the white thermal top she was wearing was just thin enough to reveal the pinks of her nipples, but thick enough to blur them so that he could only see the outline. The bubbles helped obscure the view as well. He mentally chastised himself for even looking at all, and turned his attention back to her face.
Her lids were heavy and he could tell she was starting to become delirious. He hoped and prayed in that moment that he could bring her fever down at home, and that they could avoid the hospital. He would do whatever was needed to get her well again, but they both hated hospitals. Too many times they had sat at each others' bedside, pinning their hopes on one more chance, and had somehow come out of it each time basically unscathed, with a few scars to show for it here and there. Too many bad memories. He decided to keep trying to lower her fever for another hour or two, but that after that he would have to get medical help for her if he was unsuccessful. She had stopped shivering once she had gotten in the tub though, and Mulder felt some relief at that small victory.
She began mumbling unintelligibly, her words coming out sluggishly and nonsensically. He could make out a few words here and there. "Muuhlllller..."
"I'm right here, Scully. I've got you, I'm right here." He wasn't sure what was going on, but he tried his best to reassure her as he ran another washcloth over her skin. He dipped it in the water and began gently wiping her face, still stained with faint tear streaks and sweat. His words seemed to have no effect on her, and she grew more and more restless, her voice getting slightly louder each time she said his name.
"Muuhllllllerr... Muuuhhhhhllllller." Even through her exhaustion, he could tell she was starting to panic.
It was obvious now that she was delirious. He continued to reassure her by speaking softly to her and occasionally running his hand through her hair while he continued his ministrations with the washcloth.
"Faster," she said, her brow furrowed and a look of dread across her face.
"It's okay Scully," he replied. "We're gonna take it nice and slow. Just relax."
"Faster, no..." she murmured desperately. Her breathing was becoming ragged.
He was becoming more and more confused. "Scully, it's ok. Try to relax."
Tears began to run down her cheeks once again. Mulder was starting to feel defeated. Perhaps an hour or two was too long to wait to get her to a doctor. "Please," she choked out in a whisper. "Faster, you're supposed to be dead."
In an instant, his heart jumped violently into his throat and his stomach tightened into a burning knot. He felt as though the floor had given way underneath him. Waves of nausea started rippling through him, and he felt tears begin to sting his eyes.
She wasn't saying 'faster.' She was saying 'Pfaster.'
She was hallucinating and thought that Donnie Pfaster was bathing her, like he had done to all of his victims, like he had attempted to do to her.
His response was immediate. "No, no no no no no, Scully." Mulder softly tilted her chin with his index finger, turning her head to make her look directly at him. Glassy-eyed and resisting his efforts, he wasn't sure if she would understand him, but he had to try. "Scully, look at me. Scully--Dana. Dana, it's me, it's Mulder. It's Fox Mulder."
"Pfaster, please, leave them alone! Don't hurt them! They're just babies. Don't hurt the babies!" She was near-hysterical at this point, begging with a desperation so intense it scared him, and it seemed to Mulder that she was now blending the actions of Sutton, the child murderer from their most recent case, with those of Pfaster. Ironic that they were both native-Minnesotans.
'So help me God,' he thought, 'I'm never letting her set foot in that state ever again.'
"Pfaster, don't hurt them," she continued, whispering harshly once more. "Take me instead."
That did it. Fox Mulder could have died right then and there from the pain wrenched in his chest at the utterance of those words. Donnie Pfaster had shaken his partner to the core while they had been working that case. To hear her beg him, even in a delusion, to spare the children she was imagining him hurting, to take her in their place, was more than he could bear. It also spoke volumes about her character--as much as he was disturbed by what was going on, he was in awe of his partner's resolve to protect others from this perceived evil, offering herself in spite of her distress and the sheer terror she was feeling. How precious this woman was to him, even more so now than ever before. Sadness, heartbreak, and anger gripped his heart like a vice and made it hard for him to breathe. He had to work to maintain his composure.
"Scully." His voice was more firm than it had been in his previous attempts to break her of her reverie, yet still gentle so as to avoid startling her. "Dana, l want you to look at me." When she didn't immediately respond, Mulder draped the washcloth over the side of the tub and calmly took her face in his hands. "Scully," he whispered, looking her right in the eye, tears threatening to spill from his eyes and pouring from hers.
A gleam of recognition sparked in her eyes and he felt relief almost instantly. "Mulller?" she questioned, seeming confused.
"Yeah, it's Mulder. I've got you, you're in my apartment, and you're safe. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you." She nodded and seemed satisfied with that, and calmed significantly. He was shaken, but continued sponging her down with the cloth, running it over her arms and legs, and gently over the features of her face. Her hair, which had dried completely since they had gotten to his place, was once again wet at the tips and around her face. The rest of it was an array of auburn waves, flowing freely from her head.
Mulder continued rinsing her while she seemed to come slowly back to reality. The tightness he had felt in his chest was beginning to ease, and he too was starting to feel better. It seemed as though her fever had finally broken, reaching its terrifying climax in her both physically and psychologically. Her eyes drooped even more heavily now, and for a moment he could have sworn she had fallen asleep sitting up right there in the tub. He decided after a several minutes that the water was beginning to get just a bit too cold, that it was time to get her out before she started getting chills again.
"Scully," he asked gingerly.
"Hmmm?" Her eyes remained closed, but both eyebrows arched just noticeably.
"Time's up, we've gotta get you out of the tub."
Her eyes did open then, and, to his great relief, the empty look in them had disappeared. She looked more exhausted now than even before, but he would take the exchange gladly. "Hey," he whispered to her with a smile, exceedingly happy that she was no longer having delusions.
"Hey," she answered breathlessly, a faint smile crossing her lips. Had he not known her so well, he might have missed it. Mulder wasn't sure how much of the past several minutes she remembered, but he was not prepared to question her about what had transpired just yet. If he did broach the subject, it would have to be delicately, when she was making more progress toward becoming well. He wondered absently if the trauma she had suffered during Sutton case was somehow manifesting itself through flashbacks of other trying times Scully had experienced while working with him. Pfaster was someone he hadn't thought of in a very long time, and it was apparent now that Scully had not completely gotten over that case either. Feeling tears begin to fill his eyes yet again, Mulder gathered his wits about him and reminded himself to focus on Scully's present physical needs. They could work through the psychological ones later.
They could and they would.
His focus shifted back to getting her out of the bath. "Here's what I'm gonna do," he said, thinking on the spot. In truth, he had no plan, but he would wing it so he could be strong for her. "On the count of three, I'm gonna get you out of the tub. Ready?" At her nod, he bent down, counted, picked her up, and set her down softly on the tile of the floor. He spun around to grab the towel on the counter and covered her up with it. "Sit right there for a second, ok?" He ran to his bedroom and pulled out a clean pair of his basketball shorts and an undershirt, then hurried back to her side.
She now appeared much more lucid and was no longer sweating or shivering. He was relieved. He knew she wasn't out of the woods yet, but it was a good start. He set the new clothes on the toilet seat and turned back to his partner. Squatting on his haunches, he began to pull her shirt sleeves back down her arms, the sopping fabric resisting his efforts and making him work to reach his goal. There was no easy way to go about this, so he decided to be an adult and just deal with it. Nothing he hadn't done or seen before, but he still felt like he was violating her in some way.
"You trust me Scully?" he asked, already knowing the answer. It didn't matter though, he needed her reassurance. When she nodded, he quickly went to work. 'Keep it together ol' boy,' he thought to himself. In seconds, her wet top was off of her. He quickly but delicately dried her torso off with the towel, doing his damndest to avoid looking at her chest. It was a bittersweet torture and he hated himself for even thinking the way that he was. He reached behind him and grabbed the clean white t-shirt, slipping it over her head and getting her arms through. He quickly did the same with her pajama pants after standing her up and supporting her weight. Mercifully, his t-shirt was long enough on her to cover her up, and his shorts were on her in no time flat. He had to pull the drawstrings on the waistband as tight as they would go, and even then they barely hung on to her hips. In spite of everything, he was rather proud of himself for making it through the change of clothes with relatively little complication.
He sat her down on the toilet seat once again, and he pulled the plug from the drain and threw the towel on the floor where she had been sitting. Her sopping clothes were piled there too. He would deal with the cleanup later.
"Mulder?" she questioned softly. Once again, he could hear mild panic in her voice and felt his heart speed up. He turned to face her.
"What is it Scully?" he asked as calmly as he could.
"I think I'm gonna... Ohh..." That was all she needed to say. Her words, combined with the look on her face, told him that she was about to throw up. In one smooth motion, he gathered her off of the toilet seat, lifted the lid, and sat down on the floor, holding her between his legs. As she began to lose it, he carefully gathered her hair in his hand and held it so it was out of her way. He rubbed her back in an attempt to soothe her, his heart aching to take this illness from her body and make her healthy once again. In the back of his mind though, he knew that vomiting was a good sign, that her body was working to purge the infection from her system. He could also tell from the close contact that the bath had helped lower her temperature, though he still wanted an accurate reading from the thermometer. Despite the commotion of the moment, he was relieved.
When she finished, she leaned back against him, her head resting on his chest. He could tell she was depleted of all energy and decided to let her rest for a few minutes before moving her back to his bed. He wrapped his arms protectively around her shoulders to both comfort her and ward off any chills. Without realizing at first, he dusted the top of her head with feather-light kisses, inhaling the scent of her shampoo from earlier combined with that of the bubble bath she had just soaked in. She relaxed into him and sighed, letting him support the full brunt of her weight.
"Sorry, Mulder," she said slowly and heavy-lidded, but for the first time all evening without much of a slur.
He chuckled softly at her words and stopped his soft pecks on her hair. "Would you stop with the apologizing?" It was a light-hearted rhetorical question, but she replied anyway.
"I'll try. Thank you."
His next words were spoken softly, whispered in her ear. "Of course. You know I would do anything for you Scully. Besides," he added lightheartedly, "I'd take your puke over a good majority of fluids we run into in the field ANY day."
He couldn't see her face, but he could tell she was smiling. "Gee, Mulder, you sure know how to make a girl feel special," she quipped. He couldn't help but smile either. God, it was good to banter with her again. He felt the tension and fear he had been experiencing for the good part of the day begin to subside.
It was obvious that she still was not feeling well, but it seemed as though her fever had broken and that the worst of that symptom was behind them. Now it would be a battle to keep her hydrated, warm, and well-rested.
And, God help him, he was going to get her to work through the horror of this case.
***