Sick Leave

Nicole Clevenger (c) 1998

Fandom: XFiles

Pairing: Mulder/Scully

Note This one's an x-files fic, set back in the good ol' days of mulder and scully prime. there's a vague reference to "Kitsunegari," which puts it in Season 5. i apologize if it's somewhat hard to read - the italics were lost and i just don't have the patience right now to put them all back in. (of
course, maybe you won't even notice, because i'm being a bit nitpicky. whatever.)

Authors Note: Yes, there’s absolutely no plot to this one. I just wanted to do this scene, especially after the horrible nightmares I was having on the pain pills I was taking after my wisdom teeth came out. The nightmare scene is also for Elizabeth Gerber, since her request for these scenes was a partial inspiration. Elizabeth, thanks for the great feedback. And more big thanks to Frances Hayman for her help and comments. There’s a bit more UST in here than I was expecting, but I think it’s still safe for non-shipper consumption.

Disclaimer: Chris Carter, 1013 Productions. I didn’t break your toys, Chris... just warped them a little.

Sick Leave
Nicole Clevenger (c) 1998

"You shouldn’t be up."

"Yeah, well... If you weren’t pounding on my door, I wouldn’t have to get up to answer it."

The unexpectedly hard edge to his voice made her reflexively pull back as if he’d slapped her. She took a slow breath and kept her voice level. "I wasn’t pounding, Mulder. I wanted to knock before I used the key so that you didn’t think I was someone trying to break in to your apartment and shoot me. I think *one* of us on medical leave is plenty."

He looked at her for a moment, saying nothing. The medical part of her mind took in his appearance, automatically cataloguing the pallor of his skin, the very faint sheen of sweat across his forehead, the way he held his right arm stiffly around himself. Before she could comment, though, he turned and left her standing in the doorway, her arms full of grocery bags.

She watched him move to the couch and gingerly lower himself onto the black leather. The TV was on, some black and white movie, and he gave that his complete attention. She could have turned around and left then, and he probably wouldn’t have cared. Or acknowledged it.

She didn’t leave. He’s injured, she reminded herself silently. He’s hurting and probably already going crazy being stuck in this apartment. That would put anyone in a bad mood. Okay, Mulder, I’ll play for a while...

Scully moved into the apartment, closing the door behind her with her heel. The sun was just going down, and there were no lights on inside. She made her way to the kitchen cautiously, doing her best to avoid all furniture as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. Mulder didn’t turn around once.

She flipped on the light in the kitchen, blinking at the brightness, and immediately set about putting away the food she’d brought with her. Mulder’s refrigerator was almost completely empty, save for a couple of cans of soda, half a six-pack of cheap beer, mayonnaise, and something almost resembling a hunk of American cheese. There were a couple of *extremely* frozen dinners in the freezer, and a new jar of peanut butter in the cupboard. She assumed there was more (how could a grown man live on just *that*?), but she didn’t feel entirely comfortable scavenging through his kitchen, especially considering the mood he was in. So she just put away the things she came with, gratified now that her mother had pressed the idea upon her.

Once the kitchen was sufficiently stocked with food, Scully moved to throw out the one-time cheese. I hope this isn’t some kind of X-File I’m about to throw away here, she thought as she stepped on the foot lever to open the trashcan. Then he’ll *really* be pissed. Another glance at the almost-unidentifiable object in the baggie and she decided that she didn’t really care. If he wanted it, he could fish it back out of the garbage.

The dull reflection of light off dark plastic caught her attention. Frowning, she reached in and closed her hand around the object. Her suspicions were confirmed by the white label stuck to the bottle: Mulder, Fox. Take one every four hours as needed...

Dammit, Mulder...

***

The television was on, but he had no idea what was playing; he didn’t really have the attention to watch anyway. He caught himself staring at some point *beyond* the small screen, and forced himself to blink.

He hadn’t intended to snap at her. It was just that he was so tired, and *everything* seemed to hurt. And she had met him at the door with that ridiculous statement, almost an accusation. Something he definitely didn’t feel like dealing with. The words were out of his mouth without a pause for thought.

Now she was in his apartment somewhere, maybe the kitchen. Yes, probably the kitchen... She had had grocery bags with her, right? A man and a woman, dressed in costumes out of the twenties, were dancing on TV. What was he watching? Maybe he should get up, go find her. Apologize for being such an asshole...

A deep breath shot sudden white hot agony through his body. Damn damn damn... He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember how to breathe again, short pants just under the layer of pain. Slowly, far too slowly, he was past the worst of it. He opened his eyes cautiously, waiting a beat
until everything swam back into focus.

Note to self: Don’t do that again.

Dark humor at its finest.

***

She dropped the cheese into the trash and stalked out into the other room. He didn’t look up at her, just kept his eyes on the television. So she moved around the couch, between him and the TV. He glanced up at her then, an unfocused, almost bored look on his face.

"Why were these in the garbage?"

His gaze shifted to the pill bottle in her hand, as if that was the first time he noticed it. But, instead of answering, he countered with another question: "Why were you going *through* my garbage?"

"I wasn’t. And that doesn’t answer my question. Why’d you throw away your medication, Mulder?"

He shrugged, a barely perceptible movement of his shoulders, and he still winced. He glared up at her, holding her eyes as if daring her to comment.

She set the plastic container down hard on the coffee table, suddenly tired of all this resistance she was getting from him. "Fine. If you want to suffer, that’s your business. But I’m not going to sit around here and watch you act like a child. There’s food in the kitchen for you. Call me if you need anything." She turned on her heel, heading for the door. There was a load of paperwork waiting for her, more than usual since she didn’t have her partner to take half of it. If he didn’t want her here, she could be doing much more productive things.

She got as far as her car before the flare of anger began to cool. He hadn’t done anything, really, besides just being typical stubborn Mulder. You know he’s a horrible patient. God knows you’ve had enough experience with him like this.

Her eyes went up to his window almost automatically. The light of the TV flickered off the partially-closed blinds. He’s got three broken ribs. You can’t expect him to be Mr. Charming like that.

So what? Just go up and apologize? Apologize for...? Wanting to be treated with a little respect?

Forget it.

She was most of the way home when a different answer came to her.

Apologize for having so little patience with him.

She blew a stream of air out between her pursed lips, her eyes on the road but not really focusing there. You shouldn’t have left him. He gets into enough trouble when you leave him alone and he’s *healthy.* Besides, you know he’s not going to eat anything if there’s not someone there to nag him about it.

Dana Katherine Scully. Nursemaid and doormat.

Not this time.

***

He’d done it again. How had he managed to do it *again*?

That time she’d deserved it, though. What right did she think she had to go digging around through his garbage? Did she do it at work too? Maybe she went through all his things, his desk drawers and his files and the trash can at work and the cabinets at his apartment, just looking for –

Looking for what? Evidence to use against you? Things to show to the government shadows? Information to help her debunk your work? You’ve done an excellent job of that yourself, you jerk. She’s your partner. Your *friend.*

Sure, things had been difficult lately... But he still trusted her, right? There was some explanation for her finding those pills he had thrown out. Maybe just pure chance.

Yeah, she just *happened* to look in your trash can. Totally accidental...

He forced that sarcastic line of thought to end. There had to be a rational answer, and he just wasn’t seeing it. It was *Scully,* after all. His Scully. The same Scully he had pushed out of the way, without a thought for himself, when Brugg tried to hit her with his car as he escaped them. The memory brought the pain into sharp new focus and his stomach rolled, but somewhere in his fuzzy thoughts he knew that he wouldn’t hesitate to do it again. Despite the rift that had been inching between them, he would still offer his life for hers if the choice had to be made.

So, if you’re *so* close, why didn’t you tell her why you threw away the pills?

Oh, sure. Well, you see, Scully, I didn’t want to take them anymore. Why? I couldn’t get much sleep, what with the constant film reel featuring your brutal death, over and over, every time I tried to close my eyes... Come on, you know what a gunshot wound to the head looks like. Picture that repeating continuously, with a petite redhead as the gore donor. Add to that the mind-shattering knowledge that the person lying dead on the floor is your best friend in all the world...

Mulder’s eyes snapped open. He could feel his heart racing, and for a moment he thought he was going to be sick. He concentrated on the image on the television, the dancing couple holding hands as they walked through a park at night. He fought to hold that focus, to use it to anchor himself to
reality, away from the nightmare that had almost sucked him back in yet again. He realized he was shaking, and pulled his arms around himself. The pressure on his ribs hurt like hell, but the position was somewhat comforting. And the existence of the discomfort helped to ground him a
little.

He never imagined that he would find something that would make his usual nightmares pale in comparison. Much easier to face the pain.

"I’m not going to sit around here and watch you act like a child..."

He’d definitely pissed her off this time. She’d actually walked out on him, left him alone when he was injured. Not that he wasn’t perfectly capable of taking care of himself, but usually she wouldn’t let him even try. Of course, he appreciated the attention from her... Soft, gentle hands. That smile, a smile that was such a treat every single time. Her voice, quiet and soothing, strong and commanding, depending on what was needed. He should call and tell her he was sorry... The woman in the movie was gone, and the man was looking for her. She’d been taken, but he didn’t know where to begin his search. He was lost without her, wandering around in the darkness, alone. It was really dark in the room; maybe he should get up and turn a light on. But there was light coming from somewhere, behind him. Scully probably turned on a light in the other room, the kitchen. He should call Scully. Where had Scully gone? She was missing, like the woman in the
colorless movie. No, Scully was dead. Scully was gone. Can’t call her ever again...

Scully, don’t leave me...

***

Her own apartment seemed annoyingly empty. There were no messages on her machine – not that she had expected any. She went into the bedroom and changed out of her suit and into a pair of jeans and her favorite clingy pale blue sweater, all the while trying not to think about her partner. Comfortably dressed and barefoot, she moved back into the living/dining room. The file folders from their last case sat on her table, waiting to be tied up. Her laptop sat closed beside the stack of manila, and she went over and opened it. A glance away from the flat screen and to the phone before she caught herself. Work. Work to do. She pulled out the chair and sat down, pulling her hair back into a loose ponytail and booting up her computer.

An hour later, she was about half-way through her report. A gentle complaint from her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten anything since that morning. Just as soon as I finish this up, she promised herself.

Agent Mulder was injured...

A flash of headlights, coming out of the shadows that clung to the side of the warehouse. Just enough time for her brain to register that it was a car – Brugg’s car, coming right for her – before she was pushed to the ground. The brilliant panic of not being able to breathe for a long moment, the fall having knocked the wind out of her. A thud, the screech of tires, the receding sound of an engine. She noticed with some shock that she hadn’t been run over just as she registered that their perp had gotten away. Only a split second before the realization that she didn’t hear Mulder moving around behind her...

She deleted the sentence and tried again.

Agent Mulder sustained injuries when...

He doesn’t have anyone to look out for him, Dana. Except for you.

Those where the words her mother said to her on the phone. And it had made sense, enough sense to send her over to Mulder’s apartment on her way home from work. But, dammit, she wasn’t going to force her company on him. If he thought he could take care of himself, he could do that. He was a grownup, after all. He’d survived for most of his life without her around. He could do it now.

Her mind had blocked on the unfinished phrase on her screen. The cursor blinked patiently, waiting for her to continue. But she just kept reading those words: Agent Mulder sustained injuries...

Maybe she should call him. Just to see if he was alright. That wouldn’t be the same as going back over there, would it?

She was reaching for the phone when it rang almost in her hand. Startled, she just looked at the cordless for a few seconds, not moving. Then her brain kicked in (answer the damn thing) and she punched the button to turn it on.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Scully..."

The words were almost hesitant, but she recognized the voice immediately. Besides, how many other people called her by her last name? "Mulder."

"Are you busy? I could call back later..."

"No, I’m not... Well, I was just working on this paperwork." There. Make sure he knows you weren’t just sitting by the phone thinking about calling him.

"Oh..." A pause. Then, "Well, that’s actually why I called. You shouldn’t have to do all that by yourself. So I was, uh, thinking that you could come over here and we could work on it." He stopped, as if waiting for her response, but then rushed on before she could answer. "But you were just over here, and you probably don’t want to drive all the way back..."

"Wow, Mulder, you must be pretty bored if you’re *asking* for paperwork."

Another moment of silence, and she instantly wished she hadn’t said anything. He was obviously trying to apologize, and she practically threw it back in his face with the sarcasm. Her eyes fell to the cursor again, blinking there at the end of that incomplete phrase.

She hit save and turned the computer off. "Actually, you’re right, I could use some help. You feel like doing this now? Because I’d like to get it finished as soon as we can. I’m hoping for some pseudo-vacation time myself while you’re out. At the very least, light duty in the basement."

She wasn’t sure, but she thought she could hear the hint of a smile in his voice when he spoke. "Sure, Scully, just use my pain for your own personal pleasure."

"That’s the idea. You want me to bring anything over for you?"

"Thanks to you, I already have more food than my kitchen has ever seen at one time. I’ll leave the door unlocked this time. Just let yourself in."

Okay. Apology accepted, Mulder.

She hung up the phone and set it on the table. Her stomach grumbled again as she went in search of shoes, but she decided just to wait and eat over at Mulder’s. He certainly had plenty of food, after all.

She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror on the inside of the open closet door. Her hand moved up to pull out the tie in her hair, but she decided to leave it at the last minute. So I look a little more casual than usual. He’ll live with the shock... She dug a pair of tennis shoes out of the closet and pulled them on with a pair of socks. Giving her image one more glance and finding everything satisfactory, she shut the door and left the room.

Scully scooped up her files and the laptop. The white phone grabbed her attention, and she remembered her mother’s instructions to call with a report of Mulder’s condition. There was a brief mental debate as to whether she should call before she left; the matter was decided by the realization that if she told her mother she was going over there to do some work, she would probably get a lecture about letting "poor Fox" get his rest. And if she mentioned the part about the pills in the trash... Her mother would quite possibly show up on Mulder’s doorstep and refuse to leave until he was healed.

Much easier to just call her in the morning.

That decided, Scully was out the door. The drive over was spent trying to decide whether to pressure him into taking his medication. She knew he hated prescription drugs, but she also knew that his injuries had to have him in a lot of pain. To recover, he had to rest. And he wasn’t going to get much rest unless he was comfortable. And then there was the very real risk of pneumonia, because the discomfort wouldn’t allow him to breathe normally. Something the medication would help with by lessening the pain, at least a little...

She doubted this line of thinking, logical as it might be, was going to have any effect on him, however. He’s probably trying to prove that he doesn’t need them. So instead he’s just going to suffer in silence... Just like a typical male.

Though it wasn’t really like him to play the whole macho chauvinist role. But he had to have some reason. And no doubt it was ridiculous. It had to be...

***

The shower proved to be another mistake in a long day of the same. He had thought that it would wake him up, help him to break away from the lingering terrors of the dreams. Hot showers were supposed to make you feel better, right? Clear your head, ease those aches...

Apparently the axiom didn’t apply when one had broken ribs. The stabbing needles of hard water brought on such exquisite pain that he almost blacked out. He sank slowly to the white floor of the shower, arms hugging himself in a poor imitation of protection. The spikes of water didn’t hurt him like this, but that didn’t do much to ease the suffering. The dull ache that had been hiding behind his eyes all day was now spreading to encompass his entire head, and he didn’t think he had the energy to move just yet.

Mulder leaned against the wall, pressing his cheek against the cool plastic that the warm water didn’t reach. The combination of that coldness on his face with the heat from the water that ran down his exposed back was actually relaxing, in a way, and he let his eyes drift close. He just wanted to sleep, just for a little while. An escape from the pain in his ribs, his chest, his head...

His eyes opened as he remembered again exactly why it was that he couldn’t sleep. Had to hold the dreams off. For as long as possible. Even those like the one that had driven him up off the couch, to the phone. Not the horrible images of Scully’s violent death, but an older, more familiar scenario. The abduction of his partner, the void left by her sudden absence. The knowledge that it was quite possibly all his fault.

Scully wasn’t gone. She was back, she was safe, and she was coming over. Which meant that he had to get up, make himself look presentable. Put on a happy face, and all that. Don’t worry her with any of this. And don’t say anything to make her angry this time. Or try, anyway. Because if she leaves again, the darkness is going to fill the void...

Snap out of it, Mulder. It’s just another nightmare. You’ve been dealing with those for almost your entire life. Deal now.

***

She tapped lightly on the door while turning the knob. He had said that she should just let herself in, but she still felt strange just entering someone’s apartment without any warning at all. But, not wanting to get into the same argument that had begun things the last time, she didn’t wait to push the door open.

Mulder wasn’t in the living room as she’d expected him to be. The television was still on, and the blinds were still open. The light in the kitchen was on, but nothing else. Just as she’d left it. She might have just stepped out into the hall, instead of having left and returned more than an hour later.

She flipped the light switch by the door – not adding all that much light to the room – before moving around the couch to put her things down on the coffee table. There were rings on the polished wood that she hadn’t noticed before, and she absently rubbed at one with her thumb. It was a nice table, or had been before the water stains.

"Gathering evidence, Agent Scully?"

The unexpected voice behind her made her straighten up instantly. A loose piece of hair fell into her eyes, and she brushed it away with the back of her hand as she turned.

Mulder was leaning against the wall, both long arms wrapped carefully around himself. He was wearing different clothes from the last time she’d seen him: in jeans as she was, topped with a plain white T-shirt. His hair was wet, as if he’d just stepped from the shower when she arrived.

She indicated the coffee table. "If I had known, I would have gotten you a set of coasters for Christmas."

He pushed himself off the wall and moved slowly over to the couch. "What, and pass up on that great Marvin the Martian tie I got instead? No thank you."

Scully smiled. This felt much better than the tension that had been between them earlier. It always unsettled her way too much when they weren’t getting along. He was her partner. And her friend. She needed that from him.

Her stomach growled loudly enough that he looked over at her with a raised eyebrow. She could feel a warm blush rising in her cheeks, and she hoped he couldn’t make it out in the dimness of the half-lit room. "I’m going to make myself something to eat. You want anything?"

He shook his head lightly. She considered pushing the issue, lecturing him on how he needed to eat in order to give his body the strength to heal itself. But she decided to let it go for now. *She* was hungry. She’d convince him to have something later.

She ended up making him a sandwich to match her own ham-and-cheese on fresh sourdough. He could eat it or he could just look at it. But this way the option would be there. When she carried both back into the other room, she found him just sitting there, staring blankly at the television. He didn’t even glance in her direction.

"Mulder?"

A couple of rapid blinks and he was apparently back with her. But even in this light she could see the glassy look to his eyes, as if he was still not quite able to focus. Frowning, she set the plates down on the table and turned off the TV. "You know, we really don’t have to do this right now, if
you don’t feel like it..."

He blinked a couple more times, then a ghost of a smile touched his lips. "You’re tired of my company already?"

She sat down next to him, looking him over. He seemed a little more alert now than he had moments before. "You know what I mean, Mulder. If you’re tired, I can go and come back in the morning."

"No. Stay." He pulled himself up a little straighter on the couch and looked at her. "Please, Scully, stay. I’m fine."

Scully rolled her eyes. "I don’t know why you always say that. I never believe you." But she could see that, for whatever reason, he wanted her there. So she relented. "Alright, we’ll work then. You know, Skinner would be so happy about this new devotion you’ve developed to your job," she
teased.

"Maybe we should attach a note at the end of the report then."

***

She looked so different then he was used to seeing her. In jeans, with her hair pulled back from her face. And that sweater, that sweater that lightly embraced every curve and brought out the color of her eyes. Not that he’d *never* seen her "out of uniform," but Special Agent Dana Scully was the one he interacted with most often. Whenever she wore something other than her professional clothing, it always took him a moment to adjust. And he had done just that when he came out of the bedroom to find her leaning over his coffee table. Just stood there and watched for a minute, grateful that she was there. Trying to replace the brutal pictures from his dreams with this one image, before she turned and saw him there.

But she didn’t turn, and he began to feel uncomfortable watching her like that. As if he were spying on her or something. Intruding on what she obviously thought was solitude. So he’d made some comment, something about her looking for evidence, and that got her attention. She’d stood up quickly, as if startled. He put his everything’s-okay-Scully mask firmly in place, made a joke for her benefit, and moved over to the couch on rubbery legs, hoping she didn’t notice.

She didn’t comment, so he figured she hadn’t seen how much effort it had taken for him to get all the way across the room. Then she was up again, gone to the kitchen to make some food. The idea made his stomach do a back flip. There was a new movie on TV... or was the same one? Still black and white, so it was hard to tell. He didn't see the couple from before, but maybe they just weren’t in this scene...

"Mulder?"

Scully? He blinked, trying to force himself back to the present. He didn’t know where he’d been, but it certainly wasn’t here... She was watching him, looking worried. He wondered how long it had taken her to get his attention. Had she said anything to him?

"You know, we really don’t have to do this right now, if you don’t feel like it."

He resolutely ignored the food on the table in front of him. She was studying him, and he had to come up with something to make her happy. To make her not worry. "You’re tired of my company already?" It sounded lame to his ears, a feeble attempt. But he concentrated on focusing, on trying to appear aware of what was going on. He even managed to fake a smile.

"You know what I mean, Mulder. If you’re tired, I can go and come back in the morning."

Panic surged through him, and he sat up as far as he could before his ribs screamed. No, no Scully, I’m okay, I’m fine. Just don’t go, don’t leave me here alone again. Please, Scully, don’t go...

He was able to come up with a request that he hoped sounded a little less hysterical than the mental terror. Must have worked, because she seemed to relax then. She teased him about wanting to work, and he came back with what he trusted was a suitably witty reply. He was still exhausted and a bit fuzzy around the edges, but the thought of losing her had given him a boost of energy. Better make the best of it...

***

They spent the next hour or so discussing the events of their last case. As usual, Mulder didn’t see things the way she did. Which provoked an argument. Not like the fight they had had before; this was one of their usual arguments, a somewhat heated *discussion* with both sides using the same evidence to prove completely different points. It always amazed her that one thing could be interpreted so diversely. And frustrated her, too. But this felt good all the same, because it was comfortable. This was the way things were *supposed* to be between them.

Scully finished off her sandwich, listening to him again push the point that was crucial to his entire case. She had just put the empty plate down on the scarred table and was brushing a few stray crumbs off her jeans when he faltered in mid-sentence. Her head snapped around to see him with his eyes tightly closed, one hand gripping the black leather of the couch arm.

"Mulder? What’s wrong?"

She watched the tip of his tongue dart out and moisten his lips before the reply came. "I..." A quick breath, then another try. "Just dizzy. It’ll... it’ll go away..."

She didn’t like the way he said that, as if he was speaking from experience. He leaned back so that his head was resting against the back of the couch, shallow breaths coming out of his slightly parted mouth. There were beads of sweat along his hairline, and one arm held firmly around his rib cage.

Not able to do much else, Scully left him there and went into the kitchen. She returned with a glass of water and the pills she had found on the kitchen counter. At least he didn’t throw them away again. Mulder was just as she’d left him, and a streak of worry ran through her. Maybe he should be back in the hospital. Under constant observation. Maybe he was in worse shape than they had thought. For not the first time since she had been partnered with Mulder, Scully reconsidered her decision to go into pathology, as opposed to a field of medicine that would be of more use to her in these too-frequent situations. Yes, she had medical training. But her patients – with the exception of this one – were usually dead.

She sat down on the couch beside him, resting her weight there as carefully as she could. A touch of her cool hand to his forehead confirmed the fever she had suspected. You never make this easy, do you, Mulder?

"Here, I want you to take this," she instructed after she’d shook one of the little green pills into her hand.

"What is it?" he whispered, without opening his eyes, already half-reaching for whatever comfort she was offering.

"Something to make the vertigo and the pain go away." She couldn’t tell if he was even really listening to her words, but the soothing tone seemed to be getting across. She gave him the pill and the water glass, keeping hold of it as he drank. Had he taken *anything* at all for the pain? Or had he just thrown those pills in the trash as soon as he got home from the hospital? If it was the latter, he probably hadn’t gotten much sleep either...

Was it any wonder that he had been so irritable before?

She took the plastic cup from him and set it on the coffee table, not taking her eyes off him. His breathing was beginning to slow already, and she relaxed a little. But he was still pale, with a flush across his cheekbones, and he had yet to open his eyes. She reached for the pulse point at his
throat, ignoring for the moment his flinch when her fingers touched his skin. A little fast, but not any worse than she’d expected.

"I’ve never seen your hair like that..."

Her gaze came up from her watch at his hoarse observation. He was looking at her through half-open eyes, seemingly still a bit dazed. But obviously coherent enough, although the statement was somewhat random. She tucked a piece of loose hair behind her ear without noticing, still watching him.

"It’s different... Cute."

Cute?

***

The dizziness hit him completely unexpectedly. He was following a thread, trying *again* to just make her see, to get her to open her mind to possibilities beyond the realm of her scientific world, if only a little. He knew that she needed to hold on to her facts and her proven theorems, but he
wanted her to be able to look beyond that too. Of course, he didn’t know what *he* believed in, these days. But there was something here, something that couldn’t be neatly wrapped up by her logic...

The thread was lost, replaced by the unbalanced, spinning feeling of the vertigo. He closed his eyes, hoping to block it out, to make things stop moving. But the sickening sensation was still there, as if he was moving, or the room was moving around him. Maybe both.

Just ride it out. It’ll pass... Just hold on to that thought.

Scully was near him, and he could practically feel the concern radiating off her. He tried to reassure her, to convince her that everything was alright. He struggled to sound like he was in control, even if he wasn’t anywhere *near* that. It’s okay, Scully. I’m okay...

A cool spot on his forehead, like she’d put a cool cloth or her hand there. How could she have such cold hands? It felt wonderful... though it did nothing to lessen the intense lightheadedness. Come on, Mulder, focus. Make this go away...

But he didn’t know how to make it stop. Another wave of vertigo crashed over him. The frustration brought tears to his eyes, and he squeezed his eyelids closed even tighter to prevent them from escaping. He just wanted to rest, that was all... Just a little sleep. He was so tired...

"Here, I want you to take this." Scully’s voice, quiet and gentle, offering him peace. She would help him. She would make this all go away so that he could sleep... She put something in his hand, and he swallowed it, knowing that Scully would take care of him. Scully would protect him.

Slowly, the dizziness began to abate. Was Scully still beside him? He didn’t want to open his eyes just yet, afraid that that would bring it all back. Everything still felt vaguely off-center, but it was far better than the crazy whirling.

You have to open your eyes sometime. Might as well be now. Besides, she needs to know that you’re okay. Don’t scare her any more than you already have...

She was the first thing he saw. She wasn’t looking at him, but at her watch, apparently checking his pulse. She wasn’t scowling, which he guessed was probably a good sign. But she looked far from happy... With her hair pulled back from her face like that, her cheekbones had more of an impact. And the pale skin of her neck, something he hadn’t really noticed before...

"I’ve never seen your hair like that."

She looked up at him, surprise in her eyes. He watched her tuck a stray piece of red behind her ear, an endearing gesture because it was so unintentional. "It’s different." Different how, Mulder? Beautiful, charming, attractive, unexpected, wonderful... "Cute."

It had just slipped out. Cute? Mulder, you idiot... Come up with something else. Explain, correct, add... I can’t believe you said that...

He wanted to move out of her line of sight. Maybe if he hid for a while, she’d forget what he said. Cute? Cute. He shifted positions, intending to get up off the couch and escape for a couple of minutes. But before he could offer some excuse, a searing pain shot through him and all other thoughts crumbled away.

***

She was trying to come up with a response to that one when he winced sharply, sucking in a breath. "Mulder?"

"... hurts, Scully..."

There was almost a pleading note in his voice, as if he was begging her to do something. She ran her fingers lightly through his hair. "I know it does. Just give the medication a few minutes to start working..."

She continued stroking his hair until she saw that he was beginning to relax. The lines of tension on his face smoothed out and his muscles unclenched a little, though she could see that he was still holding himself stiffly, as if he expected the pain to return the second he got too comfortable.

"Better?" she asked gently, when his eyes crept open again.

The gray eyes slid slowly over to her. Mulder licked his lips sluggishly before replying. "It’s okay..."

"Good." Scully got to her feet, holding a hand out to him. "Come on."

He looked up at her. "Dancing? Dressed like this?" he quipped weakly.

Reflexively, she immediately looked down at her clothing. Shaking her head in mock-irritation, she smiled down at him. "No, Mulder, we’re not going dancing. *You’re* going to bed."

At those words, he seemed a lot more awake. He even forced himself to sit up, though she didn’t miss the look of pain that flickered across his features. "No, Scully, I... I’m not tired..."

She could feel the faint frown replace her smile. Where had this sudden burst of energy come from? Why didn’t he want to go to sleep? "Mulder, you need to get all the rest you can."

"Sure, later. But... can’t we just watch TV for a while or something? What’s Friday Night without popcorn and a movie?"

His words were practically climbing over each other in an attempt to get out. She just looked at him for a moment, unable to fathom what this was all about. Unless, for some reason, he didn’t want her to leave. Finally she pointed out: "We don’t have any popcorn."

"Oh." He blinked, considering this. "Isn’t there some kind of popcorn delivery place we could call?"

"No."

"Well there should be..."

He looked so very tired, but there was no doubt in her mind that he was going to fight going to bed until he was ready. For whatever reason. With a sigh, she sat down next to him again, using the remote to turn on the television.

"Any requests?" she asked as she flipped through the channels. "Maybe a video?" She started to get up with the intention of skimming through the collection of tapes on the bottom shelf of the small bookcase.

"Uh..."

Scully stopped, glancing over at Mulder to see him fidgeting. "What?"

"Um... Let’s just watch a movie channel or something."

She sat back down, her right eyebrow arched in curiosity. "Okay, Mulder. Whatever you want..." She found the classics channel after some searching, but she didn’t recognize the movie that was playing. So she kept looking, finally settling on the Sci-Fi Channel’s showing of Planet of the Apes. Or at least that was how Mulder identified it. She’d never seen the movie herself. But if he wanted to watch it, they’d watch it... And maybe, she thought, he’d fall asleep more quickly if his attention was occupied.

They sat together on the couch, with Mulder filling her in on what she’d missed during the segment that had already played. As they watched, he would occasionally throw in a drowsy comment here or a bit of a quiet explanation there. Normally this would have annoyed her, but she could tell he was enjoying himself, and it was probably distracting him from the pain. Not to mention that it let her assess his condition without having to watch him constantly.

After about twenty minutes of the movie, the interjections began to get less frequent. When nothing came for ten minutes, Scully looked away from the screen and over at her partner. He was fighting a losing battle with sleep, trying to force his eyes open every time they slipped shut. A little boy trying desperately to stay awake until Dad gets home.

She laid a hand lightly on his arm; he looked up at her sleepily. "Okay, Mulder, let’s get you to bed."

She helped him up, realizing how surprised she was at the absence of one of his dry remarks. She could almost fill one in herself, his voice taking her words and finding a joke in them somewhere. Intelligence combined with a strong sense of humor that never failed to make her laugh, at least
internally, even though she might also be completely exasperated with him at the same time. That was her Mulder...

*My* Mulder?

She pushed the thought away and concentrated on assisting him into the bedroom. He moved slowly, an effect of both the pain and the drug. Once they got to his room she debated whether to try and get his clothes off, to make him more comfortable. But he was already sliding into sleep, and she decided that it would be more of a hassle (plus an aggravation to his injuries) to bother. If he woke up later, he could decide for himself. She did manage to get him under the covers, however – through no small effort on her part – and, when she left him, he was already sliding into the arms of a drug-induced sleep.

Scully wandered back out into the living room. It took her a few seconds of staring at the TV in confusion before she realized that the movie had paused for a commercial break. (Well, how am I supposed to know that there’s no talking sun in Planet of the Apes?) Feeling a bit restless, she busied herself with taking her empty plate and Mulder’s uneaten sandwich into the kitchen. She refilled the water glass he had drunk out of and used it herself. She even washed the plate she had eaten off of, replacing it where she got it from. When she caught herself starting to clean his white counters with a sponge, she forced herself to stop.

The movie had just come back on when she walked into the living room again. She decided to sit down and watch some more of it, just until she was sure that Mulder was going to be alright for the night. With a yawn, she settled herself on the couch, pulling her legs up beneath her and resting a cheek on the palm of her hand...

***

It was a trap, he knew that. Okay, maybe not *knew* that, but the suspicion was definitely tugging at his thoughts. He shouldn’t have come. Scully was going to be so angry with him. But he had to come, had to come *alone* to face this. It was his battle, a battle he almost lost the last time.

And last time he’d almost lost her as well...

No chance of that this time. No chance of hurting innocent bystanders, especially not her. He couldn’t take that chance. Which was why he’d left her behind, again. To face the darkness alone...

And then she was there. She was there, in front of him. How had she gotten there ahead of him? How had she known that this is where he’d be?

She had her gun out, pointing at him. "She’s making me do this, Mulder."

Why, why, Scully? Why are you here, why are you pointing your gun at me? Fight it, Scully, fight her influence. Don’t let her make you do it. You can fight, I know you can. You’re the strongest person I know... Fight her...

"Make her stop, Mulder. Make her stop..."

The pleading in her voice, the absolute terror. And he couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t do anything as she turned that gun to her head, the cold metal against her temple... No, Scully, no don’t do it, Scully, fight her, fight it, don’t Scully oh please oh please don’t...

"Make her stop, Mulder..."

The loud bang of the gunshot, echoing around the warehouse, Scully beautiful wonderful Scully falling lifeless to the concrete floor... Blood and bone and brains indistinguishable from one another, oozing out of dead Scully, staining the floor as his tears stained his cheeks. Scully gone, Scully dead, all your fault because you couldn’t help her you failed you let her go you let them win she’s gone she’s gone forever you gave her up your fault make her stop mulder make her stop mulder make her stopmuldermakeherstopmuldermakeherstop...

***

... screaming.

No, not screaming. A kind of twisted union between screaming and strangled sobs, that was a more accurate description. She should definitely turn down the volume before the movie sound effects woke Mulder up...

Mulder.

Scully’s eyes snapped open even as her foggy brain was just beginning to register that the horrible pained noise wasn’t coming from the television. Reflexively, her hand went for her gun, before she remembered that she had left her weapon in her purse, next to her laptop. She had the gun in her hand and was on her feet when the tortured cry came again, from the direction of Mulder’s bedroom.

There was no assailant in black, no little gray men, no shape-shifters or human flukeworms to face when she burst into the room. Only the sight of her best friend on the bed, curled up on himself, screaming like the world was coming to an end.

Oh, God, Mulder...

Scully moved around the side of the bed, flicking on the gun’s safety and setting it on the little bedside table. The small lamp was on as she’d left it, giving her enough light to see, from this angle, that his eyes were closed. A nightmare? What could he be dreaming about that was this terrible? His sister? He’d occasionally made vague references to not being able to sleep because of dreams, dreams that generally seemed to be about the missing Samantha. But she never once imagined that he suffered through anything like this...

It didn’t matter what the nightmare was about. Not the thing that needed to be dealt with immediately, she told herself. First, she had to wake him up before the neighbors called in a noise disturbance complaint. Then she could do her best to try and help him.

He moaned loudly; another sob escaped. She whispered his name, but it had no effect. Leaning over him, a tentative hand on his trembling arm, she was close enough to hear the undecipherable murmuring. Mumbled words spilling out between the whimpering, like the babbling of a person in a
fever-delirium. He tried to pull away from her, still caught in the throes of the nightmare, but she tightened her grip on his arm.

"Mulder. Mulder, it’s me. It’s Scully. Wake up..."

If anything, the trembling seemed to get worse. Not knowing what else to do, other than dialing 911 and having him hauled off to the hospital for another physical (and probably a *psychological*) examination, she got into the bed with him. She pulled his head and shoulders into her lap, wrapping her arms around his lanky frame as best she could from the awkward angle.

"Mulder..." No response, other than another moan. Every time he made that noise, it felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. This couldn’t go on much longer... She shook him, harder than she really wanted to. "*Mulder...*"

His breath caught, and his eyes opened. The shaking hadn’t stopped, however, and he was breathing in short fast gasps. She tightened her hold on him carefully, not wanting to aggravate the injured ribs, but needing to offer him some kind of comfort to bring him out of the nightmare. "It’s okay, Mulder... It was just a dream..."

"Scully..." It was less than a whisper, almost inaudible.

"Shhh... Mulder, listen to me. You have to breathe more slowly, or you’re going to hyperventilate."

"Scully?" Frightened, confused.

"I’m here, Mulder. It’s okay. Try to calm down..."

It wasn’t working. He was still trembling uncontrollably and was obviously agitated. Still caught in the last threads of the nightmare? "Mulder, it’s over. It was just a dream... Look at me."

"Scully..." Her name came out like a faint moan, a pained despairing whisper. There was such sadness in the way he said it. She wanted to cry at the sound of so much hopelessness, but it was as if he were talking about someone else, someone completely disconnected from her. And, recognizing that it *was* her he was talking about... she wanted to know how she could be the source of so much agony. Was there something he wasn’t telling her?

His eyes were closed again, and he was murmuring "No, no, no," over and over again. She couldn’t tell whether he was asleep or awake now, but she brushed the back of her hand lightly across his cheek. "Mulder..." Tell me. Tell me what it is that you see.

His eyes flew open, and for a brief second they met hers. Then he suddenly bolted off the bed, out of her arms, before she had the chance to react. She heard the bathroom door slam shut, but it didn’t block the sound of his violent retching. She got up and went to him.

She knocked on the door to the bathroom, and inside the toilet flushed. "Mulder? Can I come in there?"

"Go away."

She blinked, stopped by the unexpected words. There was no anger or threat in them, however – more like a plea. "Why?"

A pause. "Just... I’m okay. Go home."

His voice sounded about to break, like he was on the verge of tears. But she couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t just her imagination. Then he was throwing up again, and the thought of calling for medical assistance came back to her. But she really didn’t want to do that until she was sure that this was a problem that she couldn’t handle herself. And, to determine that, she had to get a look at him.

Time to go no-nonsense. In situations like this one, when he was sick or injured, he usually responded to her strength. So she did what she always did: She swallowed her fears and tried to order her thoughts, at least enough that she *sounded* like she had everything under control. With the usual promise to herself that she could collapse later, in private, if need be.

"Mulder, you’re obviously not fine. And I’m coming in now." She pushed open the door. Mulder was curled up on himself on the floor, his back against the wall, almost under the toilet. Shudders ran through his long body, and the white T-shirt was stuck to him with sweat.

She crouched beside him. "Look at me, Mulder."

A hesitation, and then his eyes opened. They were bloodshot and glazed over, but they were open. (Small victories.) She waited until they found her face before continuing. "I know it hurts, but I need you to get up." She could see in his eyes that he didn’t want to, so she added, "If you don’t help me here, I’m going to have to take you back to the hospital and let them check you out." It was a threat, unmistakably, but voiced as gently as possible.

He started to move, and she helped him to sit up. His arms were encircling his ribs protectively, and she could see the pain in his expression. He was biting down on his lower lip, but still a soft whimper escaped.

"Let me help you back to the bedroom. It’ll be warmer, and you’ll be more –"

"No."

It was said too quickly and with a little too much force to sound even the slightest bit nonchalant. "Are you still nauseous?" she asked.

A tentative nod, his eyes tightly closed. "Okay, you can stay in here for a while longer, until you’re ready to move." He seemed to relax just a little at that, though the trembling hadn’t gone. He tried to pull his legs up so that his knees were close to his chest, but it apparently hurt too much and he stretched them back out on the cold tile floor. He was pale, paler than before. She tried to unfold his arms so she could lift up his shirt and have a look at the bruise covering his ribcage, but he wouldn’t move.

"Mulder, I need to look under your shirt."

For a moment she thought he might make a joke, but either it was too much of an effort or the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. Both possibilities worried her. A Mulder too out of it to show off his wit was a very sick Mulder.

He didn’t move his arms. "...can’t think right..." he murmured.

She pushed a piece of hair off his forehead. "It’s the medication. It’ll pass. Right now, I need you to move your arms for me."

He let her shift his position and lift his shirt without further protest. As gently as she could, Scully unwrapped the bandage that braced his ribs. He sucked in a breath, but didn’t comment. The ugly bruise looked about the same size and shape it had before, which was a good sign.

She wanted to try and distract him from the pain, so she talked to him as she rebound his ribs. "Have you been sick before, Mulder? Since you started taking this medication?"

He was biting down so hard on his lip that she expected to see blood. "After... ughh... after last time..."

"Last time?"

She was almost done, and she tried to finish up as quickly as she could so as not to prolong this. After a few seconds of silence, she was beginning to think he wasn’t going to answer her. But the word was forced out at the end of a low moan: "...nightmare..."

He threw the pills away because they were giving him terrible nightmares. And you forced him to take them again. The thought never even crossed your mind, did it, *Doctor* Scully?

She knew it wasn’t her fault, but that did nothing to stop the guilt. As she clasped the hooks on the bandage and eased down his shirt, she tried to banish the mental image of her partner huddled against the headboard, screaming.

"Mulder, why didn’t you say something?" she asked softly.

He was slowly sliding down the wall, trying to lie down on the tile. She sat down beside him, cautiously pulling his head into her lap again. She ran her fingers through his hair, remembering how the repetitive motion calmed him the last time. His eyes were closed once more, and she could feel the tension in his body. But she knew how exhausted he was, and she prayed he would be able to fall asleep soon. This time without the nightmares.

They stayed like that, in silence. She thought he’d drifted off when he began to talk quietly, in broken phrases that faded in and out like a bad recording. She didn’t move, as if she were hypnotized by the words. "Blood... so much blood... you were just lying there, not... moving... ughh... never moving...again dead, lots of blood because... gunshot wound to the head... ughh... Scully... Scully, you’re dead...don’t...ugh...don’t be dead, Scully...I don’t want...to lose you..."

"I’m not dead, Mulder. I’m right here..."

And I won’t leave you.

***

Here. Where was here? Right, okay, here. His bathroom. The floor of his bathroom, with his head in Scully’s lap. She wasn’t dead? No, not dead. Scully was here, safe... Why couldn’t he think properly? There was so much confusion, like there was fog in his brain. The medication, Scully had said it was the medication, right? No more meds, no more pills. He hated this feeling. Maybe if he slept, it would go away...

No, no sleep. Can’t sleep, or the nightmares will come back. Just nightmares. Scully’s not really dead... No. Remember that. She’s not dead. She’s holding you, keeping you safe.

Okay, focus. Wake up. She’s worried about you; you made her worry again. Show her that you’re alright, that she doesn’t have to be concerned. Sit up, get up, go back out to the living room and watch TV or something...

"Mulder? Where are you trying to go?"

Dizzy, nauseous. Can’t throw up again, not in front of Scully. Lie back down and it’ll go away... Must prove that you’re okay...

Who do you think you’re kidding?

Muddy thoughts, not something he was used to. An entirely unpleasant feeling for someone who usually thought so very clearly. Scully said his name again, questioning. What had the question been? Ah, yes... Where was he trying to go? He couldn’t remember...

Enough, Mulder. Snap out of this...

"Nowhere, Scully. I’m okay..."

Her fingers were running softly through his hair. It was making him feel sleepy, safe. Loved. Had his mother ever done that when he was sick? He couldn’t remember... but he didn’t think so. It was nice...

"Do you think you’re ready to go back to bed, Mulder?"

Bed? He almost choked on the rush of panic. "Scully, don’t leave me..."

The fingers tripped in their smooth continuous motion. "I’m not going anywhere, Mulder," she whispered above his ear. "I won’t leave. But I think you’ll be more comfortable –"

"No." He forced himself to sound calmer, far more than he felt. "No, not yet, Scully..."

A beat, and then the soothing fingers picked up where they left off. "Okay, Mulder. Whenever you’re ready."

He was safe. She was safe. And maybe, for just this moment, he could relax the vigil, give in to the comfort she was offering. She wasn’t going to
leave him.

His eyes drifted closed.


End.