TITLE: "For a Friend?"
AUTHORS: Jen & Lauren
EMAILS: JenR13@aol.com (Jen) & JRDG1013@aol.com (Lauren)
RATING: PG (for one or two words)
SPOILERS: "One Breath" and a small mentions of "Beyond the Sea" and "The
Erlenmeyer Flask"
CLASSIFICATION: SA
KEYWORDS: M/S friendship, Muldertorure
ARCHIVE: Yes, with our blessing :-)
SUMMARY: "One Breath" post-ep. Muldertorture thrown in for free.

DISCLAIMER: Ok, back to a normal disclaimer. Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and
all other X-Files characters we have used in this fic are not ours. They
belong to the talented Chris Carter, 1013 Productions (I made this!) and Fox
Television and are brought to life by equally talented actors.

AUTHORS’ NOTES: Ok, this story started as merely a completely different
idea. We wanted to write another story that was "postep" but this is
probably further from the type of story you would expect from "One Breath."
But we dug back to the 2nd season and the story wouldn’t go away! It just
kept coming! So here it is. Enjoy. As always, we are not doctors, we just
like to pretend every once in awhile. It’s fun :-).

"For a Friend?"
by Jen & Lauren
(Begun: March ’99; Completed April ’99)

<I'm home.>

To Dana Scully those words never feel better. She was back in here own
apartment, with her own belongings, with her life.

All back.

And she?

She was no worse for the wear. A little weak, but okay.

She was alive.

And she was loving it.

Everything seemed to bigger, brighter, better, then she had ever remembered
it. Hadn't she read something about how near-death experiences did that to
you?

That's what she had. A near-death experience. Her boat was out to sea, but
it had returned home.

And she was ready to celebrate.

As she set the suitcase her mother had brought to the hospital for her on her
bed, she smiled. Ready to celebrate indeed.

Her mother was in kitchen, making her the first _real_ meal she's had in,
well, it seemed ages. Hospital food was horrible, and the only time she's
tasted decent food was when Mulder had managed to sneak in some Chinese food
for her.

And gotten caught. And scolded. But that didn't phase him. She smiled and
realized that getting Chinese food was not all Mulder would do for her.

She knew there was more, but she hadn't realized it till now.

Then again, she hadn't nearly died till now.

Partners supported each other. Not, it was more like....

Friends supported each other.

She heard her mother saying that lunch was ready and Scully realized that the
simple act of sitting down with her mother was exactly what she needed now.

She was alive.

And she was going to enjoy it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He held a plastic bag clumsily in his hand. The other was poised in front of
her
door, hesitating, now knowing whether he should knock.

<She's probably resting.>

Fox Mulder's brain was throwing him logic, but it was something else that
made his hand rap softly on the door.

He wasn't sure what, but at this point he didn't care.

He heard footsteps on the rug, then the door was opened.

He held his plastic bag up.

"Brought dinner. This time I won't get yelled at."

Her lips curved into a smile.

"Thank you. It's just what I was craving. Come in." Her tone was light and
friendly, a touch different than he ever remembered it had been.

Near-death will do that to you.

He should know.

1990. VCS. Bullet in the chest tying to apprehend a suspect. First time
he'd been shot and the first time of many he had been hurt.

But he wasn't shot again until he met up with Boggs.

Yes, Fox Mulder had his share of near-death experiences.

But they weren't epiphanies. Religion had never been his forte.

They were just warnings.

He entered her apartment and set the bag on the table as she rummaged around
for plates.

"Your mother leave?"

"Yes, I finally told her I was okay. But I'm having lunch with her on
Tuesday. I'm on medical leave till next week."

He nodded and sighed, happy to know she was all right.

Relieved to know she was all right.

Because if not......

Well he wasn't going to dwell on "what ifs."

He was suddenly tired.

Dinner was nice, like a meal between two good friends.

He'd been partnered with Scully less then two years. He'd never had a
partner like her before.

Then again, he'd never had a friend like her before.

First a spy, then a friend.

He had to give her a lot of credit.

And although he would never admit it, he always had.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Before leaving for the night, Mulder made sure that his partner had
everything she would possibly need to sustain her until tomorrow morning,
when he was planning to come back, with fresh bagels. He was so, so tired;
just physically drained, and, though he was happy to have his partner home
and well, he couldn't get his mind off of his couch at home. Still, Mulder
stayed until nearly eleven p.m., and washed the dishes and even did the
laundry for her, since her clothes had not been washed in so long. Then he
waited patiently in the living room while she got ready for bed, and escorted
her to her bedroom when she emerged from the bathroom in pajamas and a robe.

"Mulder, you're going to drive me crazy with all this pampering," Scully
said, blunt as always, though she tried to keep her tone light. She knew
that her partner just wanted to make sure she was all right, but his constant
hovering was starting to get to her. She hoped his obsessive protectiveness
didn't last long, otherwise she might end up shooting him. That would be a
first.

"I'm fine, Mulder, go home," she told him gently. She studied him in the
half light from the lamp on her bedside table. "You look tired."

He shrugged and walked toward the door. Before he left the room he said,
"Call me if you need anything. _Anything_." He left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lying at home on his couch, Mulder could feel himself drifting off, but he
wasn't ready to sleep, not just yet. He still had things he had to think
about. Like how he could protect Scully. She was all alone in her
apartment, anybody could come and... take her. He swallowed hard and propped
himself up on his elbow, less tired now that he was deep in thought. Maybe
he should call the Lone Gunmen right now and ask them to install a security
system in her home. Of course, Scully probably wouldn't appreciate that too
much. She might feel stupid with a laser beam acting as a bar across her
door twenty four/ seven, and surveillance cameras hidden between books on her
bookshelf. Any sane person would. Then what could he do? Get a guard for
her door? Someone from the FBI, maybe. Or he could just stay over there for
a while.

But Scully wouldn't like that either. Mulder sighed and pushed the security
issue out of his mind. Momentarily, he told himself. I'll think about it
later. What he really needed to think about _now_, he knew, was the report
on his latest case due to A.D. Skinner tomorrow. It had been a stupid case
that he had worked with some green young agent on, and had been the young
agent's idea. Yet, Mulder got stuck doing the report. He had been
procrastinating on it up till now. Couldn't the A.D. give a guy a break once
in a while? He knew that Mulder was taking care of Scully. But no, Mulder
knew that his boss was _not_ going to give him a break, so he'd better get
cracking on that report.

Sitting up, he groaned, his muscles overtired from days on end without rest.
Mulder couldn't even remember the last time he had gotten more than an hour
of sleep at a time. He turned on the light on the coffee table, wincing as
it flashed a second of pain through his head (stress, he thought), and
crossed the room to his computer. He grabbed his reading glasses from the
surface of the computer table and put them on. Then he started up the
computer, opened a new word document and began typing. The report was easy
to write, but tedious, and too boring for words. Mulder finished in less
than forty-five minutes. He then printed it out, and stuck it in a folder in
his briefcase to bring to work tomorrow. Mentally, he reviewed tomorrow's
agenda. Wake up _early_ to get bagels for Scully. Stay around and eat with
her if there is enough time. Go to work. Meeting at 7:30 a.m. Nothing else
to do tomorrow, but he knew Skinner wouldn't let him skip out early.
Scully's house at 7 p.m. (leaves him time to change quickly so he won't have
to show up in his suit and tie), make sure she's all right, maybe bring her
dinner if she hasn't had. Go home. Sleep.

Ahh, sleep sounded good. Mulder collapsed on the couch and shut his eyes,
then realized that he had left the light on. He had to get up again to turn
off the light, then make his way across the room in pitch black, causing him
to walk into unknown objects twice. Then he could feel the cool material of
his couch against his cheek and the cushions sank in under his weight.
Should he turn on the TV? No, he was too tired.

The phone ringing woke him up not fifteen minutes later. "Mulder," he
mumbled almost incoherently into the receiver.

"Mulder, it's me. Scully," Scully said. Mulder sighed and squinted down at
his watch. One twenty a.m.

"Yeah?" Mulder asked. He tried to summon up the energy to sound a little bit
more interested in why she called, but couldn't.

"I'm sorry for calling," she said, sounding almost timid. "I... I had a bad
dream. And you said I could call you if..."

Shit. She had had a nightmare and he had answered the phone sounding as
unsoothing as A.D. Skinner when he found out Mulder had lost another gun or
cell phone. Mulder pulled himself up to a sitting position on the couch and
said into the phone, "Do you want to tell me about it? Are you okay?"

Scully sounded shaky as she said, "No, it's okay, I'm okay."

"Are you _sure_? Do you want me to come over?" Mulder asked.

Scully paused, like she was considering this, then said, "No, it's fine. I
just wanted to talk to someone, but I'm okay now." She was sounding more
sure by the second.

" 'K, Scully," Mulder said. "Call me again if you need anything."

"I will. Thanks, bye." She hung up.

Mulder slowly stretched him arm out enough to hang up the receiver without
having to move his whole body. He was bone tired. He stretched out again
and pillowed his head on his arm in an attempt to get comfortable. He really
ought to start using his bed, no doubt it was more practical a sleeping
environment than this. Oh, well.

He lay there in the dark and felt his muscles strained, his body plain
over-tired. But his mind was racing now. What if Scully had another bad
dream? Maybe he should go over there and stay with her. No, he shouldn't do
that. Scully had said she didn't want him there and he wasn't going to hover.

After trying to fall asleep for half an hour, he decided that his mind just
wasn't going to let him rest, though his body was perfectly willing to. He
got up and slipped on his running shoes. He was wearing sweatpants and a
T-shirt, he should be fine. Just a quick jog would clear his mind.

It was about four-thirty in the morning, not the best time for jog, but it
wasn’t going to stop Mulder. He paced himself; he would jog for a half-hour
or so, then return home, shower, get to the bagel place early, and surprise
Scully.

Surprise Scully. A year ago he would have found himself annoyed and perhaps
a little disgusted at the fact he was so worried about her. About a spy.

But that was a year ago. Things change.

People change.

Opinions change.

Well, perhaps not all of them. Dana Scully was still as skeptical as the day
she walked in the door of his basement office.

<People can change> he reminded himself. A day turns to a month which turns
to a year, and it leads to change. At least he’d thought it did in his book.

Then again, Fox Mulder hadn’t remembered the last time he was up worrying
about someone.

Especially a female someone.

<That has _nothing_ to do with it!>

He stared at the thin air. Why was he defending his actions? And to thin
air at that? He was helping out a friend.

He was worried about a friend.

He didn’t have that many of them to worry about these days.

All this thinking was giving him a headache.

He turned another corner, not even looking to see where he was going. He
knew the route. He could jog his daily routine with his eyes closed.

Which was why he was surprised when he tripped over a curb, landing in the
street, his hands barely breaking a fall which still hurt like hell.

He sat up, looking at the dark pink sky, his hands bleeding from the scrapes
they’d gotten from taking the force of his topple.

He never fell on a jog. He never tripped.

He knew the route. Knew that curb.

But he tripped anyway.

He frowned in frustration, finally getting back up into his feet with much
more difficulty then he’d thought he’d have.

<Tired> the logical part of his mind told him. <Get sleep.>

But since when did Fox Mulder listen to the logical part of his brain? It
could be shut down for lack of use.

He never fell before.

And that haunted him.

He stopped his jog short, and just jogged back to his apartment, and jumped
in the shower. Another fifteen minutes was spent bandaging his scraped
hands. A glance at his clock told him it was approaching six a.m.

He grabbed his keys off his desk, made sure he had his wallet, and darted out
the door to get breakfast.

Still, it bothered him.

He never fell before.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She was up with the sun, just standing in front of his window, watching the
purples and pinks turn to blues. It really was a beautiful sight, and she
loved it. Loved every second of it.

Why didn’t she watch the sun rise more often?

Her night hadn’t been the best, plagued with nightmares that she could never
grasp, ones that slipped away as she woke up. She could never remember, yet
somehow deep inside she knew that she knew _something_. It was a frustrating
situation. And a frightening one. She could never remember the dreams, but
she could remember one thing.

Fear.

And that was one emotion she didn’t care for.

She hugged her bathrobe closer to her body, feeling a slight chill in the
surprisingly warm November air. It felt like winter may hold off a little
this year.

Scully was shaken out of her thoughts by a gentle knock Her brow furrowed,
she headed to the door, wondering who was here at 6:30 in the morning.

She was surprised to find a bag holding Fox Mulder at her door.

"Sorry if it’s early, but I figured you’d be up, and I, well," -he stumbled a
bit- "wanted to see if you were up for breakfast. Bagels and coffee." He
held the bag up to her as prove.

"Food shopping a new hobby, Mulder?’ she inquired with a smile, opening the
door wider to let him in.

"Be careful what you say Scully, or I’ll _really_ start grocery shopping.
It’s a pretty sight." She laughed, pulled some butter out of her fridge.

"Sorry don’t have any cream cheese," she admitted as she took a seat at the
table.

"I brought," he said pulling some out of the bag. She raised her eyebrows in
surprise. She’d never seen Mulder like this. She watched him pull other
items out of the bag, and caught a glance of something white on his palm.

She grabbed his hand in midair. "Mulder, what’s this?"

He pulled his hand away. "Nothing, I just fell this morning. Tripped in
front of my apartment."

<Mulder tripped?> Somehow it didn’t make sense to her.

"There’s coffee. Cream, no sugar, right?"

"Huh?" She looked up distracted.

"I said ‘There’s coffee. Cream, no sugar, right?’"

She nodded. "That’s right. I didn’t think- never mind."

He sat down. "You didn’t think what? That I would remember how you take
your coffee? Scully, you underestimate me."

She smiled. Perhaps she did underestimate him. Breakfast was a very nice
gesture.

A _very_ nice gesture. She should her thoughts aside and picked out a bagel
from the variety Mulder had bought. Still, she glanced again at the white on
his palms.

<He just fell. And this is a very nice thing for him to do for you.>

Then why was something bothering her?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Mulder," Scully said, and tried to sound pleasantly surprised. Truth was,
she wasn't very much surprised at all, and she certainly wasn't feeling
pleasant at the arrival of her partner. All day he had called her, like
clockwork, every twenty minutes.

"Just checkin' up on you," he'd say, and make some small talk, then hang up.
Now, as he stood in front of the door to her apartment, he said the same
phrase.

"Hey, Scully, I'm just checking up on you." There was an awkward pause and
he said, "How are you feeling?"

"_Fine_, Mulder," she said a little more tersely than she'd meant to. She
took the bag from his hand and walked over to the kitchen with it. Mulder
shut the door behind himself and followed her.

Scully pulled the cartons out of the bag and had to admit it smelled very
good, whatever he had brought her. She glanced at the insignia on the bag.
"Chez Francois!" Scully exclaimed out loud. Her favorite. A smile appeared
on Mulder's face. "Mulder, Chez Francois is a half hour drive from work and
even longer on the way back to my apartment." She peered up at him. "You
went that far just to get me dinner??"

Mulder shrugged and moved into the kitchen area. "Where do you keep your
plates, Scully?" When she didn't move he said, "C'mon, it's going to get
cold. " But his voice was calm and gentle. She could strangle him.

"Second cabinet to the right, bottom shelf. You didn't have to do this, you
know. I could make myself dinner."

He spun around. "But you shouldn't need to do that, Scully. You're still
recovering and shouldn't be doing anything strenuous--"

"Strenuous!? Pouring a can of soup into a pot?!" The shock on Mulder's face
was enough to make her immediately regret saying anything. But he was
annoying her, and she wasn't going to let him continue to be so overbearing.
She took a minute to calm herself, then said, "Okay, let's just eat."

Mulder brought the food over to her table and said shyly, looking toward his
shoes, "Well, I only got it for you actually."

"What?"

He didn't want to tell her that he couldn't _afford_ to get dinner for the
both of them there (a simple green salad cost an arm and a leg over with
Francois, but he knew Scully loved it) so he shrugged and said, "I wasn't
hungry."

Scully looked at him strange. "Do you want some want something light to eat?
You can cook up some--"

"I'm fine," he cut her off, quietly. "Here, eat. I'm just going to sit over
here and work on this new case I have. I didn't get too much done today and
need to catch up."

"Was that because you were calling me every ten seconds?" Scully muttered
nastily. She hadn't meant for him to hear it, but from the look of hurt that
crossed his face (though he tried to hide it by rubbing his eyes), she knew
he had heard it.

"Uh, okay. Enjoy dinner, Scully," he said. "I'll just... be over... over
here."

She sat down at the table, feeling bad she had been so nasty, but irritated
at him at the same time. She ate her meal in silence, listening to the
clicking of Mulder's fingers on his laptop. The few times she glanced over
at him, he was either deep in thought, or yawning. The poor guy looked
exhausted.

<Serves him right> she thought. <For invading my privacy by watching my
every little move. If he wants to guard me twenty four hours a day, then let
_his_ sleep patterns suffer, not mine.>

Scully literally had to drive him out of her apartment an hour later.

"Yes, Mulder, I'm _sure_ that I can handle taking a shower."

"But, what if you fall or..." he protested weakly, but eventually picked up
his briefcase and left.

"Phew," Scully breathed in relief when he left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was two a.m. and Mulder needed to get some sleep. He sat on the floor in
his living room, back up against the couch, his laptop on the low coffee
table in front of him, casting an eerie white glow on his face. The room was
otherwise dark.

Letting out a huge yawn, he let his eyes close and relaxed against the side
of the couch. He fell asleep.

And the phone rang.

"What??" Mulder greeted.

"Uh, Agent Mulder, sir, this is Casey Ramos. I just had a question about the
case." Casey Ramos. Mulder's newest "partner." He wouldn't last long. He
was just a young agent who needed to be paired up with someone for a little
bit to keep him out of trouble.

"Yeah Casey," Mulder asked tiredly.

"Well, see I was wondering. This uh.... uh... what's the technical term for
the man who committed the murders?"

"The bad guy," Mulder said, his eyes sliding shut. He blinked abruptly,
forcing them to stay open long enough to finish what he knew was going to be
a pointless conversation with Casey.

Casey laughed nervously. "Yeah, well, uh the bad guy, what was his name
again?"

Mulder wasn't sure whether to laugh or to yell at the kid. "Weren't you
paying attention at ALL today during the briefing?"

"Yes!" Casey said defensively.

Mulder had to pause to yawn again before speaking. "Don't worry about it,
okay? Bye," he said and hung up before Casey had the chance to respond.

"Okay, enough work for me," he said aloud and shut down his laptop. He
flopped down on the couch and fell asleep right away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder woke slowly the next morning, squinting his eyes against the headache
that already pounded away inside his skull. he thought. His watch told him
that it was 6:49 p.m. Not enough time to drop in and see Scully. Not like
she'd want to see him anyway. He stiffened remembering the way she had
treated him last night when he had just been trying to help.

<Well, it's not her fault,> he thought. <She can't help it. She still needs
time to recover and might be..... moody, until then. Besides,> he told
himself. <She went through a very traumatic experience. She needs time.>

Time, was not something that Mulder had right now though. Skinner would be
after his ass if he didn't get into work by seven thirty. He got up from the
couch, against his body's protests, and threw on a suit and a relatively
plain tie, then combed his hair enough to make himself look human and, on the
way out, threw down two Exedrin with water from the tap.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder spent the day teaching Casey Ramos how to go through old case files to
try to find information on the case they were presently working on. They
searched back to 1984 and found information on the "bad guy" that would be
very helpful in future investigation.

At lunch time, Casey invited Mulder to go out to lunch with some of his
friends, but Mulder said he'd just stay at the office and possibly grab
something from the cafeteria later. He told Casey that he had a lot of work
to do and, not wanting to disturb the master, Casey left.

When he came back from lunch, Casey found Mulder stretched out on the couch
in his office, asleep. The phone on the desk was ringing steadily and didn't
seem to have intentions on stopping anytime soon, but the sleeping agent
didn't notice it at all. Casey hurried over to the desk and picked up the
phone.

"Mulder's office," he said.

"Ramos, where is Agent Mulder?" the voice asked. Casey recognized it as
Assistant Director Skinner.

He said, "Actually sir, he's sleeping. Here in his office."

"Excuse me Agent Ramos, did you say sleeping?" The A.D. actually sounded
sort of worried about Mulder.

"Yeah," Casey laughed. "He's completely zonked out. Do you want me to wake
him up? Do you need to talk to him?"

"No, it's okay," Skinner said. "Let him sleep."

Mulder woke up four hours later, at six thirty, and was surprised to find out
how late it was. He hadn't meant to sleep. Oh well, it didn't help much
anyway, his headache was still there and he still felt tired, but a little
better. Now where was he going to get Scully some dinner?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He yawned again, cursing himself for falling asleep in his office. He was
sitting in his car, in front of a pizza delivery place. He hesitantly pulled
his keys out of the ignition and walked toward the entrance. He was feeling
particularly nauseous at the moment, and his stomach protested in pain at the
slight thought of food.

Nevertheless, five minutes later he placed the pizza in the front seat, and
stifling another yawn and another round of nausea climbed into the driver
seat. The dark night stared back at him, and he cranked his window open as
he drove toward Scully’s apartment.

It sure was hot for November.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scully stared at the clock in front of her and could practically count the
seconds till he came.

<Five, four, three, two one…>

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.

<Right on time.>

And sure enough she opened the door and found a very haggard looking Mulder
at the other side of it. She sighed as she looked at the pizza he carried.

"You know, Mulder. All of this food is going to do nothing for both of our
health. Or your wallet for that matter. I can cook, Mulder-"

"And I can buy." He put the pizza down on her kitchen table. "I’d cook for
you, Scully, but unfortunately the meal would consist entirely of bacon, and
burned bacon at that."

She had to smile at his comment. She tried to throw her frustration away,
but throughout the meal, some of Mulder’s overprotective side began to creep
up again. She could finally breath a sigh of relief as he walked toward his
laptop. For five minutes she was content to wash the dishes in peace. She
had a dishwasher, but she chose instead to wash her dishes – a way to get a
few moments of peace. She listened to the sound of pencil on paper and then
the clicking of fingers on a keyboard as she washed. When she was done she
had very, very clean plates and a quiet living room.

Surprised she peered into the living room, expecting to see Mulder with his
face in either a notepad or laptop.

Well, he did has his face in a notebook, though it wasn’t quite the way she
thought it would be.

He was sitting on the couch, his glasses in his lap, and a yellow notebook
was covering half his face.

He was also sound asleep.

<Peace at last.>

Scully winced a little when she thought that, but it was nice to be free of
his constant "mothering." She didn’t know if she could call it "mothering",
but she couldn’t come up with a better term.

She walked over toward him, picked up his notebook, and shook him gently.
Hopefully she could get him to go home and get some rest (giving _her_ some
as well). Even while asleep he looked exhausted. She guessed Skinner must
still be handing out the cases, and he was probably still going solo.

But she would be back soon.

She surprised herself by smiling the thought.

She missed the X-Files.

What a thought.

Mulder wasn’t responding to her gentle shakes, so she shook a little harder,
and her hands came into contact with his arm.

His very warm arm.

"Mulder," she prodded, and leaned down to get a better look at him. Tiny
beads of sweat dotted his forehead. She reached her hand up to feel it.

Just as she thought. He was running a fever.

<That’s what all work and no sleep will do, I guess.>

"Mulder."

He groaned slightly and opened his eyes, blinking them, and staring up at her.

"Huh?" he said, sitting straight, but wincing as if he were in pain. His
right hand remained on his stomach.

"Mulder, you’re exhausted. Please do us both a favor, and go back to your
apartment and get a _good_ night’s sleep. And take some Tylenol ® for your
fever while you’re at it."

Mulder suddenly shook his head. "I’m ok, Scully. You’re the one that needs
rest."

She suddenly had the urge to throw him and his mothering habits out her
apartment window at this point.

"I need rest like I need a hole in the head, Mulder. _I’m_ the one who is
fine. No more coma. No ill effects. Maybe I was tired two days ago, but
now I’m just fine. I had a doctor’s appointment today, and you know what he
said? The same thing. That I’m fine." She sighed deeply and bent down to
close his laptop. "You need to put yourself to bed, Mulder. And take some
Tylenol ®, for your own good."

He sat up. "I was working on that, Scully. And regardless of what the
doctor says, you were in coma, you" -he swallowed painfully- "were almost
dead. Your family was about ready to give up on you."

"I’m not dead, Mulder. I’m still here." She sank down to the couch.

"I just want to make sure that you’re--"

"Mulder, at this rate I’m going to hang a sign around my neck that says ‘I’m
fine’ to stop me from repeating myself."

"But, if you were fine Scully you wouldn’t be having nightmares. Won’t be
calling me at two in the morning." He paused. "’Course it’s my fault you
were even in that coma," he mumbled, though Scully heard every word.

And she had enough.

She could stand pampering. It was nice.

She could stand mothering. To a certain degree.

Throw a little blame onto the pile and you got a mess.

"Mulder, get out," she said suddenly. She said it evenly.

"What?" He looked surprised, even though she held absolutely no anger in her
voice.

She was fed up with her partner. Anyone could see that.

"I said get out."

"But-"

"Just go home, Mulder."

She watched him look at her one more time, then gather his stuff and go,
letting the door slam behind him.

She stayed on the couch watching the door for several minutes after he had
already left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He stood in her hallway for a moment or two after he shut the door. He held
his laptop and papers in his hands and stared at the door for another minute
before finally descending the stairs.

He couldn’t believe it.

Scully had thrown him out.

His rubbed his stomach as the painful reminder of the conversation caused the
queasy feeling to return to his stomach, along with a dull ache.

She threw him out.

He rode in silence, and practically stumbled into his apartment, placing his
laptop down before collapsing on the couch.

He still couldn’t believe she threw him out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first light of the day was not welcome in the home of Special Agent Fox
Mulder, and brought on, amazing quickly, a headache. As if on cruise
control, he showered, dressed and got in his car and drove to work. Casey
Ramos greeted him at the door with a cup of coffee that Mulder accepted
gratefully and drank quickly. Then he settled down to work. He wanted to
get as much done as possible in the morning, so he could possibly get out a
little early and go visit Scully. He knew that she didn't really want to see
him, but he wanted to try and smooth over what had happened the night before.
As he was planning his apology, the phone rang.

Before he could say hello or anything, a voice called quite loudly into his
ear, "And don't even _think_ about coming after work today!" And then there
was a click.

Mulder let his head drop to the desk and winced when it smacked hard wood.
Scully sounded angry. Angry. That must be understatement of the year.

"Who was that?" Asked Casey who was sitting on the floor in the corner going
through an old case file.

"Santa Clause," Mulder said. He didn't really feel like explaining to Casey
why his partner (his other partner) was so mad at him. Truth was, he wasn't
quite sure himself.

"Oh, okay," Casey said cheerfully and returned to his paperwork. Mulder
wasn't sure he could stand another minute of Casey's cheerfulness. He
excused himself to the copy room and while there got another cup of coffee.

The rest of the day was dull and uneventful, except for a few bouts with
nausea that hit Mulder at strange and unexpected times, and went away without
further fuss after a minute or two. By four in the afternoon though, he was
ready to call it quits but, unfortunately, there was a meeting scheduled for
seven p.m.

"Casey," Mulder said, after thinking the matter over. "I'm going to go home
for a little bit, and come back in time for the meeting, all right?"

Casey looked nervous. "Okay, Agent Mulder. But what if Skinner comes in,
what do I tell him?"

"Tell him I'm in the bathroom," Mulder replied, and left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once home, Mulder threw off his shoes, tie, and jacket, and flopped down on
the couch. Then, upon second thought, he got up again and went into the
kitchen and took two Tylenol out from the cabinet above the sink. His head
hurt and so did his stomach. They both had been bothering him for a couple
of days, but he had been ignoring them, hoping they would go away. He had
ignored Scully's advice of taking medicine last night, but now he was willing
to try anything to make him feel better. After swallowing the pills with
some tap water, he went back into his living room and basically passed out on
the couch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The phone was ringing. He opened his eyes and immediately noticed that it
had gotten dark out.

"Mulder," he said into the phone, his voice sounding hoarse to his own ears.

"Agent Mulder, where _are_ you??" Casey sounded distressed. "You said you'd
be back for the meeting. Skinner's looking for you. I don't know what to
do!"

Shit. Meeting. Seven p.m. What time was it now? Mulder looked at his
watch. Shit! Seven fifteen!

"Casey, let them start without me, I'll be there in a second."

"But Agent Mulder--"

"Do it," Mulder said and hung up the phone. He felt bad for yelling at the
kid, but there was a more immediate issue at hand. Nearly falling off the
couch, he stumbled out of the living room and all the way to the other side
of his apartment, where he fell on his knees in the minuscule bathroom and
proceeded to lose everything that he had eaten over the last several hours.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scully hated to admit it, but she was getting seriously worried. First off,
Mulder hadn't called all day and second off....

She had no second off, the first was enough. Mulder called her literally
every two hours, it was a well known fact. Common knowledge. But he hadn't
called at all today. The only time she'd spoken to him was her nasty call
that morning (even she had to admit, it was a little harsh) and he hadn't
even had the chance to talk then. Maybe she should call him and see if he
was all right. He hadn't looked so good last time she saw him, but she was
pretty sure it was just tension getting to him.

Oh well. She wasn't going to call him. The day when _she_ called _him_
first would be.... well... well, maybe today.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Traffic.

<Damn it.>

To Mulder there was no other word in the entire dictionary that was more
hated at this moment then the word traffic.

He gripped his hands impatiently trying to come up with an excuse that would
seem even remotely plausible to say to Skinner.

He was drawing a complete blank. And kicking himself for it.

Hell, he’d thought up such far-fetched bullshit on so many other occasions,
why was his excuse-making imagination failing him now.

Perhaps it was the headache he had.

Or the nausea and vomiting.

Or maybe it was the stomach pain.

Maybe he should just tell Skinner the truth.

And maybe he should jump off a bridge. Didn’t mean he was going to do it.

He hastily pulled his car into the parking lot, and pulled into his normal
parking space.

Now all he had to do was come up with some bullshit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She glanced around her apartment, taking in the quiet, and the absence of a
clicking keyboard and a yellow notebook.

And she had to admit one thing:

She missed him.

Her apartment was silent, she had all the peace and quiet she could want and
she was……

Bored out of her mind.

And worried. Very worried.

She missed Mulder’s bringing her dinner. She had to admit that it was nice.
His overprotective attitude was a bit much, but she probably shouldn’t have
thrown him out.

He looked so tired when she saw him last.

That was what worried her.

He was tired and feverish and she threw him out of her apartment.

What kind of friend was she?

Her eyes strayed to the phone.

And she sighed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To Mulder the elevator ride might as well lasted a lifetime. Luckily he was
in it alone and no one saw him when he was suddenly hit by a particularly bad
stomach pain. Fortunately it faded quickly, leaving only a pain that was one
third the magnitude of it’s predecessor.

He took a look at himself in the shiny walls of the elevator and realized one
thing.

He looked like shit and nothing he could do was change that.

As if his day could get any worse.

He walked into the already started meeting when he realized he had totally
forgotten what the meeting was about.

<Shit.>

Well, he must have been owed a bit of luck for something, because he had
walked in the middle of another agents sentence.

"That should make the department more productive, I believe."

Department head meeting.

A.D. Skinner looked up in Mulder’s direction.

"Nice of you to join us Agent Mulder, but we’re about done. Agents
dismissed." Maybe this really was his lucky day. "Expect for you Agent
Mulder."

The other agents filed out of the room. Mulder just kept a straight face and
stared straight at Skinner.

"Sir, I’m sorry, I was-"

"I don’t need another of your bullshit excuses, Agent Mulder."

Oh, he was in deep shit.

"Agent Ramos came to my office and explained that you went home sick late
this afternoon. Wasn’t sure if he was covering for you or not." He paused.
"But, no offense, you look like shit, Agent Mulder. And when I called the
other afternoon, Ramos told me you were sleeping."

<Shit. Skinner called.>

"I-"

"Save it, Agent Mulder. I think that you should take a personal day or two."

"I can’t do that, sir." Mulder was surprised that the man was showing him
some sort of empathy. He’d never peg Skinner for that type of man. Then
again evil does came in disguise.

"I’m fine, sir. I was a little under the weather this afternoon, and a bit
this evening, but I’m sure it will clear up by tomorrow."

"I’m dismissing this because you look so terrible, Agent Mulder. Do not
think I will continue to do it in the future. You’re dismissed."

Mulder stood there a second, not truly understanding that fact that Skinner
had let him off.

"I said you’re dismissed, Agent."

Mulder quickly and walked out of the room, biting back the nausea his relief
seemed to be causing. A quick look to his left and he darted to the nearest
men’s room.

It was vacant; more people had gone home. But as soon as he reached the
stall, the nausea suddenly lifted and he just felt like crap. The pain in
his stomach was now in time with the pain in his head. He leaned against the
bathroom wall, wondering if would be able to get into his car and make it bad
to his apartment.

The stomach pain faded a little after a few minutes and he was able to make
it out into the parking lot to his car.

He sat in the car looking at his cell phone. He switched it on and started
the car, looking forward to crashing on his couch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The phone won.

After staring at it, she finally picked it up and dialed the familiar number.

And it rang.

And rang.

And rang.

Another glance at her door brought new worries. What if it wasn’t just
stress that was plaguing him?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder's phone was ringing as he stepped/ stumbled into his apartment. He
considered answering it, but decided that he wasn't in the mood to have any
long conversations with anyone. Even Scully.

Not quite coincidentally, it was Scully on the other end, who was getting
more and more worried as the phone kept ringing and no one was answering it.
She hung up and tried again. Nope, no answer. Was he at work? No, he
couldn't be, not so late. Well, she'd just try his cell phone number then.
His cell phone was one item that he kept with him at almost all times of the
day (and night).

When Mulder's cell rang in the pocket of his suit jacket, he jumped. He had
just hung the jacket over the top of a chair and was in the middle of taking
off his tie when the noise erupted from the jacket. Moving slowly, not
wanting to set off the pain in his stomach or head again, he walked over and
pulled out the phone, then promptly hit the off button.

Scully was quite shocked when the ringing that she had gotten so accustomed
to stopped suddenly. There was silence for three seconds, and then a perky
female voice informing her that the number she had tried to reach was not in
service, right now.
Scully hung up her phone in disgust and rose from the couch.

Mulder dropped down on his couch and, without even turning on the television,
fell asleep. He was woken up about half an hour later, when the real pain in
his stomach began. It was like nothing he had ever felt before. He rolled
onto his side and wrapped his arms around his ribcage, willing the pain to
stop.

It didn't, but after several agonizing minutes, Mulder was able to drop back
to sleep again and forget (temporarily) how bad he felt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fox Mulder had decidedly begun rubbing off on Casey. It was ten thirty at
night and still, Casey was sitting in Mulder's basement office, his feet
propped up on the desk, scribbling away on a pad of paper. This was his
first case he'd ever had and he was determined to solve it!

Unfortunately, though he looked like a professional detective working late
hours, Casey didn't yet have what it took to solve difficult cases like the
one he was working on presently. What he needed was a mentor, someone to
give him a little bit of direction.

Casey glanced at his watch. Ten thirty seven. Surely Mulder was still
awake. The older agent was notorious for staying up all hours of the night,
especially most recently when he was trying to find his partner Scully.
Casey picked up the phone and dialed Fox Mulder's home number.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder awoke with a start. His phone was ringing. _Again_. Damn it all to
hell. Since when had _he_ been so popular? In one swift, violent motion,
Mulder grabbed the phone and yanked it out of the jack. He then threw it on
the floor and it tumbled, then stilled, and he lay down again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scully was getting worried. When she tried to call his home number, she got
the out of service message, and his cell phone was still out of service.
What if someone had attacked him? What if someone had come into his
apartment and handcuffed him and stuck a gag in his mouth and then pulled out
all the phones so no one could call and find out that he wasn't there?

Shut up Dana, she told herself, but thought that, with Mulder's habits and
the strange manner of his friends, anything could happen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She stared at his door. She had her keys in one hand and her gun in the
other. She was all prepared to go into his apartment. The plaguing sense
that something was wrong was the only thing that had brought her here.

And after she knocked repetitively on the door with no answer, she began to
think her plaguing sense was right. She turned her head down to her key
chain and found the key Mulder had given her when he asked her to go into his
apartment and feed his fish. It was after Deep Throat’s death, after she had
traded an alien fetus for the safe return of Mulder, and he was in the
hospital recovering from his strange burns, and was worried his fish would
die. Well, they were dead when she got there, but he said that she should
keep the key. She now held in her hand and placed it in the lock. The door
came open easily seconds after she turned it.

The room was dark. She could hear the TV, and it’s eerie glow was the only
light source. Mulder was lying on the couch, sound asleep, but far from
peaceful. His face was twisted in pain, and he held one hand protectively
around his stomach area. She frowned at the sight, and found the light
switch. The brightness caused Mulder to stir and she walked over toward him.

"Mulder," she prodded as she let her hand fall to his forehead. He was
burning up.

"Huh?" His eyes popped open, and set a glassy stare on her. "Scully, I
thought you were still mad at me," he mumbled.

"Mulder, what’s wrong?" She asked, avoiding his comment, and unwrapping his
hand from his stomach. The slight movement caused him to gasp. "Does your
stomach hurt?"

Miserable, he nodded. She could tell the pain must be bad. She gently let
her hand fall to his stomach and pushed down softly where his hand had been.
Immediately, she saw him bite his lip, and gasp. It seemed to hurt him more
when she released her hand then when she actually pushed down. <Rebound
pain> her medical brain told her.

"That hurts," Mulder mumbled.

"I know." She felt like kicking herself. She reached for the phone.

"Scully, where are you going?" Mulder mumbled, seeing her go for the phone.

"I think you’ve got yourself a hot appendix, Mulder. We’ve got to get you to
the hospital."

He shook his head. "No hospital."

She dialed saying, "Sorry, Mulder. You don’t have a choice in this matter."


She quickly told the operator the address, once again remembering the fact
that _she’d_ kicked _him_ out of _her_ apartment. She remember how he’d had
his arm around his stomach then. What hadn’t she noticed it?

"They’ll be here in a few minutes," she promised. She wished she could help
him, but there wasn’t much she could do until the paramedics arrived. She
couldn’t even get him a glass of water when he asked for it. She knew that
if she was right, he’d be in surgery pretty soon. She remembered how badly
he’d reacted to the anesthesia in North Carolina during the Boggs case.
Giving him water would probably only make it worse.

She sat down on the floor, next to the couch, continuing looking up at
Mulder. A few minutes seemed to last a lifetime. She knew the ETA for
paramedics in this area couldn’t be more that ten minutes, but it still
seemed like forever to her.

She still couldn’t believe she’d thrown him out. She’d been annoyed, and had
never meant any harm, she was just beyond fed up. She had been enjoying
herself; she was alive and couldn’t be any happier with that statement, and
he had been treating her like a china doll. One that would fall off the
shelf and break if left unattended. Well, she wasn’t a china doll. She’d
_been_ ill, the important thing was that she was _ok_ now. Still, she
understood her concerns. Well now she did. And perhaps she understood why
she’d shoved them away.

She was scared.

Scared that perhaps something else was lurking in her body, just waiting to
rear its ugly head. She was sure Mulder probably had the same fear.

But she didn’t want to deal with that. And perhaps she hadn’t wanted to deal
with anyone who brought it to light.

Maybe she was afraid she’d go to the doctor one day and get horrible news.
And she didn’t want to face that thought.

But she was fine. She was ok. Right now, it was Mulder who wasn’t ok.

She still had her fears.

She could hear the paramedics outside the door, so she got up and let them
in, and led them to couch, and swallowed hard as her medical training kicked
in and she took charge. She had the feeling that the paramedics were a bit
fed up with her, but she ignored them and asked in she could ride in the back
of the ambulance. Sighing, they let her, and she figured her own car could
sit in an apartment building parking lot for a night or two, until she got a
ride to retrieve it.

Right now, her car was the least of her worries.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sitting, slouching really, in the third of a long row of chairs with cracked
fake leather seats and backs, and metal arms and structure, a cold Styrofoam
cup of coffee on her knee, a land loosely clasped around it too keep it from
falling, Scully waited. And waited. They were at their usual hospital
(usual hospital, ha, they practically lived there!) and the nurses who knew
Scully were coming over periodically to offer her a new cup of coffee, or ask
what her partner was in for this time.

Finally, the surgeon who had operated on Mulder came out. He smiled at
Scully and sat down in the chair next to her.

"How are you, Ms. Scully?" he asked politely.

<Aw, just cut to the chase, buster,> Scully thought. "Fine, thanks. How is
_Mulder_, though?"

The surgeon said, "He's going to be just fine, Ms. Scully."

"_Doctor_ Scully," Dr. Scully told him.

"Ah yes, Dr. Scully. Forgive me. Your partner is going to be just fine. He
was under the whole time, in fact, I think the anesthesia might have been a
little _too_ much, but that shouldn't be a problem, he'll just take a little
bit longer waking up."

"He has bad reactions to anesthesia," Scully said.

"Should I order Compazine?"

Scully thought, then said, "Let's wait and see how he is."

The doctor looked relieved. "Okay, we'll see." He sighed and looked at his
watch. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go home now. I recommend you do
the same, your partner isn't going to be awake for several hours yet."

"Thanks, but I'll stay," Scully said and watched the doctor walk off. She
went up to the nurses' station and found out what room Mulder was going to be
transferred to.

"But he won't be there for a while yet," the nurse told Scully.

"That's okay. I'll wait there."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder was wheeled in on a gurney and transferred to his bed, asleep, at
around 4:30 in the morning. Scully was awake the whole time, but when he
came, she was relieved and managed to fall asleep in the empty other bed for
about 6 hours before nurses and doctors started coming in checking Mulder's
vitals and prodding him and trying to wake him up. Scully knew that it
wasn't too strange that he was still sleeping (Mulder was affected pretty
strongly by certain anesthesia) but she didn't feel like telling the doctors
that. Not just yet. Let them fret.

Mulder finally opened his eyes around noon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first thing he was aware of was the fact that his TV was no longer
blaring in his ear. Had he turned it off? He also felt sheets underneath
him, and knew he definitely wasn’t on his couch. Where the hell was he?

As he came around more fully, and blinked open his eyes, he got his answer.

A hospital.

Damn it.

Then came confusion. How the hell did he get to a hospital? And why the
hell was he in a hospital. He felt a dull ache in his stomach and his foggy
brain told him it must have something to do with that, but he just couldn’t
put the two together.

Once he was able to focus, he did notice the person at his bedside. Scully.

< I thought we weren’t talking…> He remembered how she threw him out of her
apartment, and after that? It was still a blur.

"Hey," she said, warmly, not at all like the tone she used when she ordered
him out of her apartment.

He tried to say "hey" back, but it came out as nothing more then a grunt. As
if on cue she reached for a cup of ice chips beside his bed. They’d been
partners for less than two years (maybe not even a year and a half yet) and
he knew he dragged her to the hospital on his account a lot more than he
wished he did.

After swallowing a few spoonfuls of ice chips, he tried to voice again.
"How?"

"You weren’t picking up the phone, Mulder. I must have tried at least 10
times. On your cell, too. I finally just came over. Found you on couch, do
you remember?"

Just came over? But she was mad at him. Was he missing something? His
couch? Suddenly some of the blur started to come together.

He remembered coming home from his meeting with Skinner, getting sick
(again), and collapsing on his couch, his stomach in pure agony. He turned
on his TV, loud, hoping it would distract him from the pain. Then he fell
asleep. Next time he woke, in more pain then the last, Scully was there,
telling him something about hospitals. He just remembered weakly fighting
with her, but hearing her dial the familiar three digit number into the phone
anyway. He might have blanked out a little after that, cause the next thing
he could remember (and he was surprised he could remember) was getting to the
hospital and being poked and prodded by at least three different doctors, and
wishing they would just leave him alone. He remembered pieces of
conversations, one of the doctors telling him they had to take his appendix
out and that he had to sign next the X. He heard Scully saying he was too
out of it to sign, and that she had his medical power of attorney (he knew it
would come in handy!) and she would sign. After that….he could only remember
some needle pricks and someone telling him to take deep breaths, the rest was
hazy.

He swallowed painfully, his stomach suddenly deciding to do some twists and
turns. "Yeah, I guess. You came to my apartment and called 911, on my
phone, you didn’t bring your cell." His voice was low and raspy. "You
should always bring your cell."

She smiled. "You’re right, I forgot it. Guess I’m not as cell-phone
dependent as you."

He looked up at the ceiling, the churning in his stomach getting slightly
worse. "Appendix, right? Or did I just dream the intense pain in my
stomach?"

She nodded. "Pretty badly infected, too. You were lucky I decided to come
over."

He swallowed again, wishing he could have water, but knowing well he
couldn’t. It was probably just as well, at the rate his stomach was going,
he’d probably lose it along with what else his stomach held. Which was
probably nothing; because of his stomach, he hadn’t eaten much in the last 48
hours, and whatever he did, he just threw up.

"Why did you come over, Scully?" He knew it wasn’t just because he didn’t
pick up his phone. There had been other times when he hadn’t picked up his
phone, and she hadn’t come over then.

"You didn’t pick up your phone, Mulder." She stared down at the floor after
that, like she was hiding something.

He wanted to know what, he wanted to help her. She’d been through some much,
and now here she was, sitting with him in a hospital room, after barely
getting out of the hospital herself. He could see the circles under her eyes
and he silently cursed himself for causing her more pain. The last thing she
needed was more pain. He opened his mouth to speak, but his stomach had
other plans.

Fifteen minutes later, after he had been cleaned up, thrown up again (though
this time he made it to a basin provided by the nurse), and given a dose of
Compazine, he laid back, blinking his eyes open, contemplating why Scully was
still here. Why she cared. But keeping his eyes open was a difficult task
for him.

"Go to sleep, Mulder. I’m going to talk to your doctor anyway," she told him
and he obeyed.

After all she was there. She was his friend. And at that moment it didn’t
matter why.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She was tired, more than she would admit. Before her coma, she would have
been able to stay up "Mulder-sitting" for hours and it wouldn’t have made a
dent.

It was no longer "before" though. And that was something she would have to
deal with. She knew with time her strength would come back, a little each
day, and she would go on. But other thing would take more time.

Like the nightmares. And the continuing fear.

She would deal with it.

She found Mulder’s doctor and had in depth discussion with him. Mulder was
to be released, most likely, five days. A standard hospital stay after an
appendectomy was three days, but Mulder had come too close, and, especially
after his vomiting episode, the doctor wanted to be careful. She agreed and
decided she needed a cup of coffee that in no way even resembled the coffee
here. She drank enough of that to last a lifetime.

And she knew before her lifetime was over, she would probably drink more.

After all, who wouldn’t drink hospital coffee for anyone else but a friend?

"The End"

Yes, we ended it there. While it may not be the totally concrete ending you
may be looking for, we thought it worked :-). It was second season, and both
of us had to agree, while UST was there, MSR potential (well Jen thought
this, she’s the ‘shipper) was there, but it just didn’t fit into this story.
We hope you enjoyed it.

As always feedback is greatly appreciated. JenR13@aol.com & JRDG1013@aol.com.

Yes! We have more stories, and they have a website:
http://members.tripod.com/~Jen1121/laurenjen.html