"What Goes Around...." (1/1) by Danyara M'Sang (danyara.m@juno.com) Disclaimer: *The X-Files* and its characters belong to Fox, 1013, and Mr. Carter. I didn't write this for profit; in fact, for once the fact that I'm broke is actually helpful...the only things of any value I have are my debts, but they're valuable to someone else, and I'll gladly hand them over upon request. Needless to say, suing me would be pointless. Rating: PG for a couple of four-letter words and some sexual innuendo. Category: Who knows? I have no idea what most of that alphabet soup is. MSR, I guess (it's the only one that I remember!) Heavy UST with a pinch of Angst/Worry. ATTN: ARCHIVISTS: Please file this under MSang, *without* the apostrophe...Natasha and I discovered that the apostrophe seems to throw a wrench in the database. Spoilers: I've seen the folks who publish TREK novels put in "Historian's Notes" to let the readers know if there's a particular point in the series during which the story takes place, and I really like that idea, so I'm shamelessly stealing it for my own use. Historian's Note: This story takes place sometime after "One Breath" and before "Paper Clip." TV GUIDE description: Mulder worries when Scully doesn't turn up at work. Man! All this stuff takes up nearly as much space as the story! On with the show.... "What Goes Around" (1/1) by Danyara M'Sang (danyara.m@juno.com) Mulder pounded on the door for the third time. Now he was getting worried. This wasn't like Scully at all. When she hadn't arrived at her usual prompt time, well, he thought, so she'd hit a bit of traffic. By the time an hour had passed, he'd lost all ability to concentrate on the case file in front of him. After an attempt to reach her by phone proved unsuccessful, he'd signed out a car and headed to her apartment. On the drive over, the worst had gone through his mind: Duane Barry, the trunk of the car, the empty months all had replayed in his mind in the short time it took to get there. he told himself, When she still didn't answer the door, he let himself in with the key she'd given him "just in case." "Scully?" At first his voice was tentative, much calmer than he felt. But, greeted by silence, the pitch rose when he tried again. This time he was answered by a thud from another room. He took out his weapon and cautiously moved toward the bedroom. He heard a small sound then, coming from the bathroom, and in one fluid movement he burst through the door, ready to confront whoever lay in wait for him there. He froze, his gun gripped tightly, his arms steady. "Scully!" He holstered his weapon and ran toward his partner. She sat on the floor, propped against the wall, her face pressed against the cool tile. Her auburn hair, still damp from the shower, clung to her forehead. Her blue silk kimono robe clung to her skin. "Scully?" He knelt down next to her and he could hear her breathing, fast and shallow and something else he couldn't put a finger on. "Mulder...?" It came out raspy. He grabbed the tissue box from the shelf and handed it to her. Her face was even more pale than her normal Irish-white. He put his hand to her forehead. "Jesus, Scully, you're burning up. Why the hell didn't you call me?" She turned to him as if to explain, but he waved it off. "Nevermind. Are you through? You should get back in bed." A weak nod was his reply. "Okay...c'mon." He steered her toward the door, but when she stopped at the sink he almost knocked her over. She gripped the counter with both hands and closed her eyes for several seconds before she grabbed her toothbrush. As she splashed her face with cold water, a buzzing sound began in her ears and quickly spread through her whole head...right down to her teeth--she could feel them vibrate with noise. There were hands on her waist--oh, yes, standing was good. The water dripped down her face, cool and soothing, but it was too much--it was running down her neck, onto her chest--maybe a bit too cold there. A supporting arm came around her, encircling her, and she somehow managed to pat her face dry. * * * Scully's legs buckled and he could tell that her sense of balance was gone. Mulder pulled her back to rest against him before she could fall, one arm still around her middle. He would never get her past the bathroom door if he waited for her to move under her own volition. When he picked her up he realized she was heavier than she looked--must be muscle, he thought--but still light enough to carry without much effort. She was, it seemed (he hoped), oblivious to the feeling of her leg hitting the wood as he miscalculated his way through her bedroom door. Tomorrow she'd probably wonder how that huge black and blue mark got there. He could see it forming even now. He had intended to simply set her down on her bed, but it didn't work out that way. Why should anything be simple? He was holding her the wrong way, and there was some stuff--a box...of books?--on the other side of her bed. And a lamp on her night stand. He looked at the lamp, at Scully's head, now resting partway on his shoulder, then at the deepening purple blotch on her leg, then back at the lamp, and decided against that plan. He sat down on the side of the bed. Her feet were now toward the head of the bed. "Okay...c'mon, Scully, sit up," he said as he helped her along. She was awake--he heard *something*--but not very anxious to move. He took her shoulders and gently turned her around. "Oh shit," he mumbled, discovering that the pillows were just out of reach. He sat down beside her and held her as he grabbed for the pillows, pulling them into place. Then he realized that she was already using *him* as a pillow. "C'mon, Scully, let me get up." No response. "You're not making this easy, you know," he said. he added in his head. Still nothing. "Oh hell..." he said, pulling the pillows behind his own back for support. * * * She was aware that something was going on...she could feel herself being moved...heard him speaking to her...but it was just too much effort to reply. She felt drained and weak, as if an energy leech had pulled every last ounce of strength from her. She thought about getting up...up...right...it's easy...just put one foot on the floor...that's all...yeah...well...maybe in a little while...she was comfortable just as she was. But boy did this pillow feel funny. It took a few minutes for her fuzzy brain to question it. Pillow...? With a heartbeat? Huh? She twisted her neck to see Mulder's face. His eyes were closed and his facial muscles relaxed. It was a strange sight. Never before had she seen him look so...so...so...peaceful. Just then a wave of nausea hit her. She clenched her jaw and made a small gagging sound. That was all it took to snap Mulder awake. * * * "Scully?" he said, groggily. "Nnnn..." she said, urgently, trying to get up and nearly rolling right to the floor. "You gonna be sick again?" She looked...green. He got her to the bathroom just in time. An hour later she was back in bed (he remembered to pick her up the other way), and he was in the kitchen in search of clear liquids. Orange juice, milk, Diet Coke, regular Coke, two bottles of YooHoo, and some science project way in the back of the fridge--didn't this woman ever drink apple juice? He had his head in the fridge--between the leftover pasta and what appeared to be some sort of mixture intended to be eaten with nacho chips--when the phone rang. The shrill sound in the otherwise silent apartment startled him and he lifted his head, smacking it into the upper shelf. Glass cracked against the top of his head and sent a pot-full of tomato sauce splattering all over the place. "Shit!" He pulled his head out of the fridge in time to hear another ring. "Damnit, hang up, whoever you are, you'll wake her up!" But by the time he reached the phone he heard the machine click on in the hallway. The voice was familiar, but he didn't recognize it at first. "Mulder? Mulder, I know you're there...pick up the phone...it's Melissa." He grabbed the one in the kitchen. "Melissa?" As they spoke, he reached for the nearest towel--he was dripping tomato sauce. "How'd you know I was here?" "Are you forgetting who you're talking to, Mulder?" He could hear the slight smile, the same one that would creep up on Scully's face when she knew she'd gotten him good. There were a few seconds of silence, then, "Don't worry, Mulder, it's not *you* I was sensing. Dana's sick, isn't she?" "Yeah, but how'd--" "Well who *else* would worry about her enough to go to her apartment and see what's the matter? Well, except me...and Mom, I mean." "So why aren't *you* here?" "Because whatever it is, Mom's got it too. I'm at her place now." "Oh." "How bad is she?" "Bad enough. Hey, you don't happen to know the name of her G.P., do you?" "No. You know Dana: she can take care of herself, or so she thinks. Besides, there's no real point in taking her to the doctor, anyway. All they do is prescribe antibiotics, and Dana doesn't like taking them. It's best just to let it run its course. Give her a few aspirin for the fever and some clear liquids: apple juice, chicken soup, you know...just make sure she doesn't get dehydrated." "I guess you're right. You don't happen to--" "In the freezer, Mulder. Frozen concentrate." Mulder threw the towel over his shoulder and opened the freezer door. "Ah," he said, spotting the small cylindrical containers. "If you look in the drawer between the fridge and the oven, you should find Dana's favorite cookbook." He opened the drawer and sure enough, located the book. "That's the one with all of Mom's recipes. Should be one in there for her chicken soup. But leave out the parsley--Dana hates that." Mulder smiled at the thought of a young Dana Scully picking the little green pieces out of her soup. "Oh, I've gotta go, I hear Mom moving around upstairs." "Give her my best. And thanks, Melissa." "You're welcome." He was just about to hang up when she added, "Oh, and Mulder? Better clean up that mess before Dana sees it." Mulder heard the click at the other end of the line, but stood there several seconds before he hung the phone up. * * * After removing as much of the tomato sauce as he could from his hair and the kitchen floor, Mulder rooted around the kitchen for the ingredients listed in the soup recipe. He skinned the chicken, put the water on to boil, and then remembered seeing some carrots in the fridge. He took a couple, scraped them clean, chopped off the ends, and started slicing them into thin, round pieces. He was about halfway through when he hit a finger. "Shit!" he mumbled, sticking the cut finger in his mouth. "Well, that'll have to be enough carrots for you, Scully," he said, scooping up what he'd sliced with his other hand and tossing it into the pot. After finding a Band-Aid for his finger, he looked around in search of a mop. When he got done mopping, not only was there no trace of sauce, but the floor, he noted with pleasure, was cleaner than when he started out. The water was boiling by the time he got back from checking on Scully, who was fast asleep; her fever had come down a bit, but it was still there. He put the chicken and various spices into the pot, and headed to the bathroom to remove the tomato sauce before it dried in his hair. Deciding after a minute of contemplation that it would be too messy to do this over the sink, he took a towel from the linen closet and then stripped and hopped in the shower. The sauce was thick and smelled delicious, and took several lathers to get out of his hair. He could smell the strawberry-based scent of Scully's shampoo on himself, which meant it must be pretty potent. Not that this was bad--at least it smelled like something you put in your hair and not something you pour over pasta. And it smelled like *her*, like Dana Scully. The strawberry scent somehow went with her fiery red hair and creamy white complexion-it was a bit of softness for those who got close enough to her to know the part of her beneath the by-the-book agent in the conservative business suits. He toweled himself dry and threw his clothes back on--everything but his suit jacket, which had taken the brunt of the run-in with the pot of tomato sauce. *That* he wondered what to do with. Should he try to remove what he could before it dried? Or leave it for the cleaner? Just then he heard some intermittent sizzling noises coming from the kitchen. He left the jacket on the doorknob of the bathroom and went back to the kitchen. When he got there the pot was boiling over, but the splatters weren't too bad yet. He turned the flame down and left the soup to simmer while he went back to the bathroom, where he once again found Scully hanging over the toilet. Mulder sighed. "Oh, Scully, not again." Her fever had gone back up again: her forehead felt hot to the touch. Again he helped her stand so she could clean herself up, and again he led her back to her room, this time supporting her with an arm around her back, practically lifting her off the floor as she walked. He pressed his lower lip to her forehead as he laid her down, "Oh, yeah, definitely back up," he said aloud to himself. "Scully?" "Nnnn?" She was barely conscious. "Do you think you can down a couple more aspirin?" "Mnnn," she replied. He interpreted it as a yes and ran to the bathroom for the tablets. She got the tablets down, and he had been dripping water on the carpet from a washcloth intended for her forehead when he heard more sizzling noises from the kitchen. Quickly dabbing her face with the cool cloth, he set it down on her forehead and ran back to the kitchen. * * * The sound of someone crying out in pain brought Scully to a semi-aware state. She propped herself up on one elbow, and there was a muted "plop" as something wet hit her arm. She could feel cold water running down the sides of her face, but was too exhausted to do much of anything about it. "Damn!" she heard from...the kitchen? Was that *Mulder's* voice? She vaguely remembered hearing him earlier. She thought. Her mind was fuzzy. Come to think of it, so was the room. Something metallic crashed to the floor in the other room, the sound lingering in diminishing volume--a pot lid, she decided. Then another, unidentifiable noise emanated from in there. She sat there for almost a whole minute trying to place the sound, but couldn't. She started to push herself up from the bed, but it seemed that up on her elbow was as far as she was meant to get. Her limbs all felt like they had anvils attached to them. She fought back a yawn. She wanted to get up and see what in the hell was going on in the other room, but not even the thought of catching Mulder in the midst of some kitchen disaster could convince her body to make the trip. She couldn't remember *ever* feeling this tired. Not after a particularly long and stressful case, not after her return from God-knows-where during her missing time, *never*. Then she remembered the description of one of her friends of the virus she was just getting over last week. She had described the feeling to Scully as having had someone suddenly increase the gravity tenfold. Now Scully understood what she had meant. She laid herself back down, giving in to the heavy feeling that gripped her entire body, right down to her eyelids. * * * The next thing she knew the phone was ringing. Her body didn't respond to commands from her mind to get up, but the phone stopped midway through a ring, and she heard a muffled voice somewhere outside her bedroom door. A few minutes later, the door opened, and Mulder entered bearing a glass of apple juice. "Well, well, Sleeping Beauty awakens," he said, and she managed a small smile in answer to his. Before she could speak he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her up to a sitting position. "Here, drink this." She was too tired to argue, and quite relieved that she *could* drink the juice. Well, at least she was getting it down. Whether it *stayed* down remained to be seen. "Who was on the phone?" she asked between sips. As she drank he rattled off her messages. "That last call was Melissa. Again. Apparently your mom's got the same thing you have. She was telling me what fun lies ahead." That got a smirk. "Your mom called before that, while Melissa thought she was sleeping, so don't tell Melissa. And Skinner says he hopes you feel better." At that she managed to raise a tired eyebrow. "Don't ask," Mulder said in reply. He leaned over to touch his bottom lip to her forehead. "Uh...Mulder?" "Just checking your temperature, Scully. I think it's time for more aspirin." "You know they *do* make thermometers for that purpose." "Yeah, I know. But this way is more fun," he said with a mischievous smile. She couldn't help but smile too. He took two aspirin tablets from the bottle on the nightstand and gave them to her to wash down with the last of her juice. "So," he said, taking the glass from her hand, "how do you feel?" She yawned. "Exhausted." She yawned again. "Yeah, Melissa did say it wiped your mom out. Do you think you could take some soup?" "Hmm...maybe I should see how the apple juice does first?" He nodded in agreement. She yawned again, and he tucked her back into bed. "Why don't you go back to sleep?" "Okay," she agreed, a little too quickly. he thought, sitting down in the chair next to her bed and picking up a book from a nearby shelf. * * * It was still light out when Scully woke up. But the sunlight diffused by her curtains that usually cheered her was only making her aware of what she wasn't doing today because she was at home in bed, sick. Mulder was still in the chair next to her bed. He was fast asleep in his suit-pants and shirt, his tie hanging over the back of the chair, and his jacket nowhere in sight. A book, opened to about the half-way point, lay on his chest, his fingers still holding onto it. His fingers. She noted the assortment of bandages covering some of them. His head was tilted to one side against the back of the chair, his lips slightly parted. Not wanting to wake him, she rolled out of bed, and, with effort, dragged herself into the bathroom. She felt sticky and grimy, not to mention hot--