The Gurgle of Fish by Vickie Moseley
Title: The Gurgle of Fish
Author: Vickie Moseley
[email protected]
Spoilers: Tiny ones for the 7th Season
Rating: PG 13 for some naughty words
Category: MT, H, UST, A
Disclaimer: I don't make any money off these stories. Not to mention, I'm
not exactly the only one doing this. I won't infringe and you don't come
after us. Deal?
Archive: yes, just keep my name and disclaimer attached
Comments: This was a challenge, of sorts. The title is a bit of a give
away and won't make much sense until the end. There are a couple of places
were a SNORT WARNING might be applicable.
Dedicated to all the fan fic writers who will find themselves hidden in nurses uniforms in the story <G>
The Gurgle of Fish 1 of 6
Office of Agent Fox Mulder
Monday morning
8:47 am
Dana Scully looked at her watch for the seventh time in as many minutes. Mulder had assured her he would be in the office at eight o'clock sharp to complete the expense report that was due on AD Skinner's desk at not a minute past nine. By five after eight, she'd started on her half of the report, finishing that by eight thirty. But Mulder had the rental car receipt in his pocket, the motel receipt for his room, and the receipts for the lunch and two breakfasts that he put on his credit card. She was just about ready to call his apartment when the object of her considerable discontent decided to grace the office with his presence.
"Mulder, you promised…" She started, but he immediately cut her off with a wave of his hand and a disgruntled look to match her own.
"The laundry screwed up and gave me somebody else's shirts, Scully! And I over slept. And I have the headache from hell, not to mention my apartment was so dry last night that my throat is sore this morning. I know I promised to be here, but shit happens, ya know," he growled as she moved out of his chair and he dropped into his seat.
"Well, I'm sorry. At least the waterbed didn't spring a leak," she said with the ghost of a smile on her lips.
He looked at her with a totally blank expression. "It's way too early for your humor, Scully," he shot back.
"And it's going to be way too late for it, too, if you don't fork over those receipts you've had stuffed in your pocket for the weekend."
He sighed heavily then leaned back to fish in his pocket. She stood patiently, or as patiently as she could muster, watching his movements as he slowly pulled out the crumpled pieces of paper and tossed them on the surface of the desk. She was so busy snatching up the paper that she almost missed the grimace on his face as he sat back up again.
"Mulder, are you all right?"
He sat there, saying nothing. His face was still showing pain, but he wasn't saying a word. Finally, he let out a breath and licked his lips. "I'm fine," he croaked.
She stood there for a moment, then noticed the time on the clock on his desk. "Good. Because we have exactly seven minutes to finish this report and get it up to Skinner's assistant."
Whatever had been bothering him must have subsided, because Mulder grinned evilly. "Oh, Scully, someday remind me to show you the things I can do in seven minutes," he teased.
In the end, it was Scully who got the final numbers entered on the computer and then printed out. Mulder signed the appropriate lines and Scully grabbed it out of his hands as she ran out the door. At three minutes past nine, she was back and sitting in her chair, quickly moving on to the next item on her list of things to accomplish that morning.
Mulder was still sitting right where she'd left him, again wearing that pained expression.
She ignored him. Mulder was a big boy, but more than that, he hated it when she 'mothered' him. If he wanted to tell her something, he would just have to come out with it, she decided. If he was sick, she would gladly cover for him and he knew it. But she wasn't going to play 'try and make me go home, Scully' with him on a Monday morning. She had too much to do. She was soon engrossed in her report of an autopsy she'd been called in to consult on.
"Ga - haar," Mulder moaned after about a half an hour of silence.
Scully looked up and over to her partner. "Did you say something, Mulder?"
He had the good grace to look embarrassed. "Uh, no. Not really. It's nothing, Scully." He pulled at his shirt collar. "Damn that laundry. This is just too tight." He pulled on the knot of his tie and unbuttoned the first button on his shirt.
Scully shook her head and went back to the report. If she could just have another ninety minutes of quiet, she could finish the report and fax it off to Violent Crimes.
"Harrrgh."
Scully stopped typing and looked up. This time, Mulder was leaning back in his chair, rubbing… Well, she really didn't want to think about where he was rubbing.
"Mulder, did they get the wrong pants, too?" She asked with feigned innocence.
He immediately stopped the rubbing, looking mortified and contrite at the same time. "Uh, Scully, it's not what you think."
"Mulder, are you in pain?" She asked bluntly.
He chewed on his lip and she had her answer. If he weren't in pain, he would have said so immediately. If he had to think about it, he was hurting.
"Where is the pain located?" She asked gently, trying to convey concern. If he was hurting, she really did want to know about it. Mulder was always pulling muscles over the weekend, playing pick up basketball games with guys ten or fifteen years younger. Many was the time she ended up running out to the drugstore at lunch to bring him back some Ben-Gay or other sports cream. And then the office was left with that enticing 'locker room' aroma, she thought dourly.
Mulder wasn't talking yet. That didn't make sense. Where could he possibly have hurt himself that he would be too embarrassed to tell her?
"Mulder, you haven't answered my question," she reminded him.
He chewed on his lower lip. "Scully, can I ask you a question that I would never hesitate to ask you if we were the same gender?"
She almost choked, but quickly recovered. "Mulder, you can ask me anything, you know that."
"I know, Scully, but this. . . OK, let's do it this way. Pretend you're my doctor."
She raised an eyebrow. "Mulder, I've often considered myself your doctor," she told him dryly.
"Good, then you have practice. OK, so as a doctor, what would you say to someone who came to you with… Who presented a pain in…" In desperation, he finally just pointed down, toward his lap.
It took a minute to figure out exactly where he was pointing. "Mulder, did you pull a muscle in your groin?"
He shook his head solemnly. "It's not the groin, Scully. I've pulled a groin muscle and it felt nothing like this. It's… lower. And more to the middle." He was blushing just as much as he had when she caught him rubbing himself.
"Your penis?" She asked with what she hoped sounded like professional detachment.
He was blushing harder now, if that was possible. "Lower."
"Your testicles?" She guessed again.
"Bingo!" He said with a relieved sigh. "Scully, they really, really hurt. And I can't imagine, I mean, I haven't done any thing to make…" He finally gave up in exasperation. "Scully, those monks on that mountain in Greece have a more active sex life than I do! I can't for the life of me figure out how I did this." His face took on a very serious expression, one that spoke of the worry he was feeling.
"Scully, how old are you before you're a candidate for prostate cancer?" He asked in a hushed whisper.
She shook her head. "Mulder, you just had a full physical not three months ago. Something like that, especially something advanced enough to be presenting pain, would have shown up then. No, this is something…"
She stopped and got out of her chair, moving over to where he was sitting. She stopped when she was right on top of him. Defensively, he dropped both hands to his lap. "Scully, I don't think we want to take this doctor thing too far here in the office," he said nervously, but she wasn't listening.
She was pulling at his tie. Once it was loose, she was unbuttoning his shirt.
"Scully. The office is not the place…"
He stopped talking when she placed both hands under his jaw and pressed. He let out a yelp of pain. She placed one hand on his forehead and shook her head.
"Mulder, did you have the mumps as a child?"
He stared at her. "Of course I did, Scully. Every kid gets the mumps. I was…" He stopped and thought. "No, that was measles." He thought some more and then brightened. "When I was five…" A look of consternation passed his face. "No, wait, that was chicken pox."
Slowly, all the color drained from his face. "Oh God, Scully. Don't tell me…"
"I think I better drive you to your 'real' doctor, Mulder. Get your jacket."
The office of Dr. Greg Sullivan
10:15 am
"Well, I think I've seen enough," Dr. Sullivan said with a slight chuckle.
"I'm failing to find the humor in the situation," Mulder said, tugging at the hem of the hospital gown he'd been forced to wear. "Can I put my clothes on now?" He asked with a low growl.
"Yes, but don't get too comfortable. I want you to report over to the main hospital building. I'm admitting you."
Mulder was dressing behind the drawn curtain, but stuck his head out at the doctor's last pronouncement. "Why?" He demanded. "It's the mumps! I'll go home, sleep till I'm no longer contagious, what's the big deal?"
There was a slight knock on the door and Mulder could hear Scully's heels on the tile. "Scully, tell him. I'll be good. You'll make me be good. I won't go running off and I'll get better at home. I don't need to go to the hospital!"
Scully licked her lips and shrugged her shoulders at the doctor. Mulder pushed the curtain aside and stared at her. "Scully. Tell him."
"Mulder, if Dr. Sullivan is suggesting a hospital admit, I think I'd have to agree with him." At her partner's shocked and dismayed expression, she pressed further. "You are over 35 years of age. You have a disease that frequently presents complications in adults. And they have dropped, Mulder. That's why your… You hurt so much. I would feel a whole lot better if you were in the hospital. Just till the fever breaks and we know the danger of complications has passed."
"Oh, of all the …" Mulder stormed, but the pain in his throat, echoed further below, stopped him and he almost doubled over in agony.
"Maybe we better get a wheelchair," Dr. Sullivan said to Scully, who nodded in agreement.
Thirty minutes later, Mulder sat angrily in a wheelchair while Scully filled out his admitting paperwork.
"Due to the nature of Mr. Mulder's illness, we'll have to put him in a private room. Don't want to risk contagion," the perky admitting clerk said with an overly pleasant smile.
"Sure as hell wouldn't want that," Mulder groused from the chair. He yelped and glared at her when Scully kicked him in the shin.
The little clerk ignored the goings on across the counter and continued to type keys on her keyboard. As she typed, her expression changed from sunny and bright to concerned. "Um, well, this presents a problem," she said by way of explanation for her change in mood.
"You don't have enough rooms and I have to go home," Mulder offered.
This time it was Scully's turn to glare. "In your dreams, Mulder."
"Well, actually, Mr. Mulder isn't too far off. We do seem to have a large number of private room patients at the moment. And the doctor's orders make it clear that putting Mr. Mulder with a roommate is not acceptable." She screwed up her mouth into a bow and then typed furiously on her keyboard. "This will just have to do until something opens up. Hopefully tomorrow." She raised her eyes and smiled at Mulder. "You'll be first on the list for a new room, I promise, Mr. Mulder."
"Where is the room you're putting me now?" Mulder asked with more than a slight sense of dread settling in his stomach.
The Gurgle of Fish 2 of 6
A half hour later, Mulder was sitting on his new hospital bed, dressed in a hospital gown and giving his partner looks that could kill. "I can not believe this, Scully," Mulder said for the hundredth time. "I just can't fucking believe this."
"Mulder," Scully, sitting on the edge of his bed, scolded him immediately. "Watch your language. There are children…"
"All over this fucking ward, Scully! Yeah, I know! That's why they call it 'Pediatrics!'"
He was lying in the customary hospital bed, but that was where the normalcy stopped. The bedspread was Buzz Lightyear, defending the universe against the Emperor Zurr. The curtains were Blues Clues with Shovel and Pail dancing on a flowered hilltop while Slippery Soap and Tickety Tock smiled on. The walls were straight out of the Hundred Acre Woods. Tigger laughed at him from the ceiling over his bed.
"Well, at least the room is colorful," Scully offered, trying to stifle the laugh that had been sitting at the back of her throat since they'd arrived in the room.
"Let it out, Scully, before you break something," Mulder said dryly, with arms crossed over his chest. "This is just a laugh riot to you, isn't it?" He accused.
She sobered at his words. "No, Mulder, this is not. I don't like seeing you sick. And this might seem like a huge prank to you, but you are seriously ill. Mumps in an adult can be very serious. They can lead to infections in other organs, if not properly treated. And Mulder, quite frankly, you've had your share of complications. This is no laughing matter, as far as I'm concerned."
He looked contrite and blew out a long breath. "Is it true, about?" he hesitated then stared out the window. "Not that I'm making a killing at the sperm bank as a celebrity donor or anything," he shrugged nervously.
She reached over and took his hand. "Mulder, the cases of sterility are rare. But to be perfectly honest with you, it's one of the reasons Dr. Sullivan thought it would be best to error on the side of caution. If you're here, you'll definitely get the proper rest and nourishment. You won't be tempted to go running because you're bored. And by nightfall, when your fever goes up, you'll be glad there's someone here who can fetch your pain reliever and some ice for your throat."
"You could've fetched my ice for me," he whispered with a pout.
She smiled and shook her head again. "I could have, Mulder. Up to the moment when you threw me out of the apartment because I was 'hovering' too much," she said with arms crossing her chest, too.
"I never…"
"After I brought you home from the hospital in November, after I brought you home from Chicago, after I brought you home from the hospital on New Year's Day…" She ticked off the items on her fingers. "Face it, Mulder. It's best to pay people to take care of you."
His pout grew to cover his whole body language. "I'm sorry to be such a burden," he groused.
"You should be," she agreed with a twinkle in her eyes. Then she kissed him lightly on the forehead. "I gotta get back to work. But I'll be by later. Want me to see if I can sneak up some Ben and Jerry's for dinner?"
He brightened a little at that suggestion. "Just not Chunky Monkey, huh, Scully. Something smooth," he grimaced.
"I'll tell the nurse to bring you some Tylenol. Try to get some sleep, Mulder. I'll see you later." She squeezed his hand one last time before leaving him to his thoughts.
He sat for several minutes, flipping channels on the TV. Scooby Doo, too much like work. Franklin, the story of a whiney turtle and his goofball animal friends. Click. Bear and the Big Blue House, who in their right mind would keep a mouse in the kitchen? Total Request Live, just what he needed, music to grind teeth by. Static met him on all the other channels. He flipped off the television in disgust.
Finally the nurse came in with his Tylenol. Within twenty minutes, he had drifted off to sleep. When he woke up again, it was growing dark outside and he could hear and smell the food carts rolling up and down the halls.
His stomach was not pleased.
He hadn't been nauseous when he fell asleep, but his stomach was more than making up for it when he woke up. And his throat, which had just been sore earlier, now felt like it was on fire. Throwing up ranked right up there with dancing on hot coals in his bare feet on his scale of things to do. He was reaching for the nurse call button when a shadow fell across his bed.
He squinted against the light from the hallway. "Nurse?"
"Gosh, no," said a timid voice and the figure stepped into the room, coming all the way to the bed. It was a little boy, probably no more than eight or nine, as close as Mulder could tell.
"Hey, big guy, you need to go back to your room. I have the mumps. You could get them," Mulder warned him kindly.
The little boy screwed up his face and shook his head. "No way I can get the mumps. I had my MMR 'fore kindergarten. Didn't you get an MMR before you went to school, mister?"
"MMR?" Mulder rasped. Just the little bit of talking was making his throat ache.
"Measles, mumps and rebellion," the little boy answered seriously. "Everybody gets it. It's a shot. But I didn't cry," he added proudly "Wanna see my Digimon cards?" He asked brightly.
"Not right now, buddy. I'm not feeling too good," Mulder replied.
"Ya gonna be sick? I know where they keep the little bowls," the boy said, quickly moving into the small bathroom and returning with a curved blue bowl. He handed it to Mulder with a grin.
"Thank you," Mulder accepted the bowl. He hoped he wouldn't need it, but it was looking more and more like he would. "I think you should go back to your room now. Your dinner will be waiting for you."
"Yuck. It's just hospital food," the little boy frowned. "Well, I guess I better go. The nurse with my tray will come looking for me. I'll come back later, if I can."
"Sure, you do that," Mulder said weakly. He lay back on the pillow and willed his stomach to settle down. He thought he'd finally succeeded when there was a knock on his door and a nurse came in, depositing a tray on his bedside table and pulling the chain on the light bar above his bed at the same time.
"How are we feeling tonight, Fox?" she asked brightly, unwrapping a stethoscope from her neck and unwinding the stationary blood pressure cuff from the holder over his bed.
"Crummy, and the name's Mulder, if you don't mind," he croaked out, immediately throwing a hand to his throat to stave off the pain.
"You're due for more Tylenol. But I'd like you to try to eat a little first. It's easier on the old tummy."
"My 'tummy' as you put it, feels like crap," he informed her in a hoarse whisper. "I'm not eating tonight."
She waited until she had recorded his blood pressure before answering. "Doctor left strict orders. It's just beef tea and jello but you have to eat something."
"If I eat beef tea, you'll be wearing it," Mulder hissed. "And the doctor can take his orders and stick them…"
"Making nice with the locals again, Mulder," Scully's voice sounded from the doorway. "How is he doing?" She asked the nurse.
"Hi, Dr. Scully. His temp is up, a little over 102. And his tummy is causing him trouble. I'll give Dr. Sullivan a ring, see if we can give him something to settle it down so he can eat."
Scully flashed the nurse a thousand watt smile. "That would be great, Kathy. Thank you. I'll see if I can make some headway with the jello while you're gone."
Mulder waited for the nurse to leave before turning to his partner. "Dr. Scully? You two know each other?"
"Kathy came on at three. I called to see if you were still sleeping and she answered."
"Checking up on me, Scully?" Mulder croaked out.
"Always, Mulder." She lowered the bed rail and sat on the edge of his bed. "How are you feeling, besides the tummy," she asked, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead.
"Rotten," he admitted. "Scully, explain to me why I couldn't be just as miserable, and just as horizontal, on my own lumpy sofa?"
"And miss all this luxury?" She teased.
"I want to go home," he hissed through clenched teeth.
"Mulder, you're feeling bad now. It will get worse, believe me. I hope it doesn't and I hope this was just a big waste of money. But I'm not counting on that. I think doing it this way we can avoid any hasty rides in ambulances and days in ICU on a respirator."
He glared at her. "You're exaggerating."
"And you were the one worried about prostate cancer and sterility," she shot back.
That deflated his sails a little. "OK, point taken." He shivered and huddled under the covers. "I feel like crap."
"Well, that was as close to an apology as I'll ever see," she said with a wink. "I'm sorry you feel so bad, though. Do you want me to go?"
He grabbed her hand. "No, please. Stay a while. It's kinda…" He couldn't say the word. It sounded too needy.
"So why isn't the electronic baby sitter keeping you company?" She asked, deftly avoiding the whole issue of loneliness.
"Scully, they have four channels. MTV, Disney, Nickelodeon and the Cartoon Network. I exhausted the possibilities earlier, before taking a nap. I hope I get a room on a 'grown up ward' tomorrow."
"Let's see if you can choke down some of the jello," she said, avoiding another potentially dangerous topic of conversation. "Mulder, it's your lucky day! Orange!"
She was able to get half the jello down him, but his stomach telegraphed its disinterest almost immediately. Only sheer will power stopped him from throwing up. Will power and the abject fear of the pain in his throat that would follow.
"No more, Scully. Please. I ate something, now please get me the Tylenol," he begged.
Before she could get to the door, however, the jello forcefully changed locations. It was now staining his blankets and gown.
He looked totally miserable as she hit the nurse call button. "Um, we need fresh linens in here. Agent Mulder was just sick."
The voice that answered promised quick response. Scully didn't waste any time and rolled the sheets and blankets off him, placing them in the tall container for soiled linens, then finding a new gown. At least the staff had been gracious enough to stock the supply cabinet with 'adult' gowns. The new one was a light blue green without the added color of either Buzz or Sheriff Woody.
He was struggling to undo the strings on the back of the soiled gown. She reached behind him and untied the bow. Then, wordlessly, she helped him out of the bed and over to the bathroom where he could change.
A nurse's aid came in and remade the bed while he was still in the bathroom. When he finally reappeared, he was pale and shaking. Scully took his arm and helped him back into bed, pulling the covers up to just under his swollen chin.
"No more jello," he moaned.
"No more jello," she agreed sadly. "But Mulder, if you can't keep anything down…"
"Somebody will stick a tube in my arm," he finished angrily. But it was a short-lived tantrum. He looked up at her with the saddest expression he could muster. "I don't wanna be sick anymore, Scully. This isn't funny," he whined. "Make it all go away," he pleaded.
She sat down next to him on the bed again, taking his hand in hers. "I would if it were in my power, Mulder. You know that."
He nodded, almost in tears. "I hurt."
She ran a finger down his cheek. "I know. Maybe we can convince Sullivan to give you something a little stronger than Tylenol. Maybe some codeine."
He nodded again, closing his eyes. She was now stroking his temple with just the one finger. "Next time I try to kick you out, shoot me," he whispered with a sleepy sigh.
She grinned. "Sometimes I do hover. And I'm sorry. I just worry about you. You hover, too, you know, when I'm hurt." Her words were sharp, but her voice was soft and tender.
"I know, I can't help it," he admitted. "So tired," he yawned.
"Go to sleep, Mulder. I'll be here."
Scully was about ready to leave her partner to a good night's rest at ten o'clock, but he started throwing up again. She thought it was over at eleven thirty, but the heaves started just as she was heading for the door. By midnight, she'd decided to just hunker down and spend the night.
Nothing, not even water, was staying put. Finally, Kathy got the directive from Dr. Sullivan to start a saline IV, to ward off dehydration. He ordered Reglan for the nausea, which didn't really start working until a quarter to one.
At last, Mulder was able to fall into a deep sleep. Kathy showed Scully how to pull the chair out to make a rather thin twin bed and brought her a couple of blankets and a pillow.
The Gurgle of Fish 3 of 6
Northeast Georgetown Hospital
6:45 am
It wasn't the sunlight hitting the window blinds that woke Scully. It was the quiet moaning coming from somewhere just to the left and up from her current position.
A moan that she recognized as coming from her partner.
Instantly, she was awake. She sat straight up and was confronted with a terrifyingly real visage of a giant orange and brown striped tiger, bouncing on his tail.
Oh, yeah. The room from Hell, if Walt Disney was the devil.
Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she sat up, adjusted her shirt and her pants to give some semblance of propriety, and slipped on her shoes. Mulder continued his quiet groaning, but his eyes were closed and he seemed fairly deeply asleep. She stood up and leaned over him, gently running a knuckle of one hand down his stubbled cheek.
"Mulder, you OK?" She whispered in his ear.
He still wasn't awake, she could tell when he didn't answer her right away. This time, she stroked the hair back from his forehead. "Mulder, can you tell me where it hurts?"
"Who kicked me in the fucking balls?" Mulder moaned, right as a very cheery, and extremely young, nurse's aide entered the room with a urinal jug.
Scully grimaced, the sweet young aide turn four shades of red and Mulder forged on, oblivious to his spectators because he had yet to open his eyes.
"Scully, my balls are on fire! You gotta do something. Cut 'em off, bite 'em off. I don't care. Just make 'em quit hurting!"
Scully noticed the aide was frozen in her spot, much like a deer caught in the head lights of a Peterbilt truck. Acting quickly, she plucked the urinal out of the girl's trembling hands, and then propelled her out of the room. "Go get a nurse," Scully advised her. "An older nurse. Male, if you can find one," she added with a terse smile.
She then turned back to her partner, who was now curled on his side, clutching himself somewhere below his waistline.
"Mulder," she scolded. "Try and watch…"
"Fire, Scully! They're on fire!" She stopped her chastisement. He was in too much pain to listen, anyway.
"A nurse is on the way. We'll make an ice pack."
Finally, his eyes slowly opened and he was able to take in his location.
"I was sure it was all a nightmare," he rasped sadly. Another wave of agony sent him curling into a tighter ball. "I thought mumps were in your neck," he whimpered.
"They are. But yours dropped, Mulder. Remember? I'm sure the doctor has left instructions…"
There was a knock on the door, and this time, a middle aged woman sporting a bright blue uniform shirt with Mickey and Minnie Mouse emblazoned on the pocket, entered the room, carrying a tray.
"Hi, I'm Dawn. I understand we woke up not feeling good," crooned the woman, a slip of ash blond hair escaping from behind her ear.
"They're killing me," Mulder informed her bleakly.
"I know mumps can be very painful," Dawn clucked sympathetically. "We'll just wrap this ice pack around your neck," she started, but Mulder grabbed her hand.
"Not there," he hissed. Then, thinking better of it, he dropped his chokehold on her. "Well, not just there. There, too. But…" He stopped and regarded her with narrowed eyes. "How long have you been a nurse?"
"Twenty-one years. And I have five boys. You got nothing I haven't seen," Dawn told him with a sly smile. "The chart says you're suffering from viral orchitis."
At her partner's blank stare in her direction, Scully chimed in. "Your mumps have dropped. Orchitis is an inflammation of the…"
Mulder's color had nothing to do with fever. He stopped his partner in mid-lecture with an upraised hand. "I need an ice pack down there, too," Mulder whined sheepishly.
"Not to worry, Fox. I have all the bases covered," Dawn smiled broadly.
"I think I'll take this opportunity to go get some breakfast," Scully said diplomatically. "I'll be back in 20, Mulder," she said, patting him on the arm for quickly departing the room, and leaving her partner to Dawn's tender mercies.
After a breakfast of oatmeal with bananas and a large cup of coffee, Scully made her way back up to Peds. Along the way, she noticed the gift shop was open. She saw something in the window and smiled. It was a purely impulse purchase, but she just couldn't resist.
Mulder was looking a little more comfortable when she returned. He was lying on his back, a white cloth bulging with ice around his throat which looked almost like the cravats men wore with smoking jackets in all the old black and white movies. A mound around the mid line of his body made her bite back a smart remark.
"You look just like Nicky Charles, Mulder," Scully teased as she entered the room.
He turned to look over at her, quickly clicking off the television where some scantily clad woman named Ananda who was hosting a music video show. "You brought me something. What did you bring me?" he chanted hoarsely.
"Just a little something to brighten the room," she said, unrolling a long, thin tube and covering Tigger completely. The poster was of Obi-Wan and Darth Maul caught in a desperate life and death struggle with light sabers.
"Ah, Scully. You do care," he sighed happily.
"I can see you're feeling better," she said lightly, taking up her chair again.
"Better is a relative term, Scully. But better than when I woke up," he agreed. "Ya know, all these years I thought 'having your balls in a sling' meant something entirely different," he said. He tried to grin at her upraised eyebrow, but it only hurt his jaw.
"Well, at least you aren't throwing up any more," Scully pointed out. "And I think I hear the breakfast trays coming down the hall."
"Thrills," he said, unconvincingly. "Let's see. Wanna lay bets on whether my luck has run out and it's green jello this time?"
The nurse's aide, looking timidly at the patient, came in carrying the tray. She set it on the bedside table and scurried from the room. Mulder just gave her a perplexed look.
"She's not used to older patients," Scully said with a shrug. She pushed the table over so that it hovered just above his lap and pulled off the covers.
"Cream of wheat?? What is this, Scully? I had better food in the gulag, what the roaches left me!"
Scully was trying her best to keep in her amusement. "But Mulder, look. There's applesauce. And Trix yogurt! Triple cherry, that should be good," she encouraged.
He was not appeased. His arms were crossed, his eyes narrowed and he was the picture of disgust.
"Oh my, look at the time," Scully said suddenly, checking her watch. "If I hurry, I can get to work at a decent hour. I'll call later, see if you want me to sneak you up something for lunch. Take care, partner." She all but ran from the room, stifling giggles all the way down the hall.
FBI Headquarters
8:32 am
The phone was ringing as she stumbled to unlock the door. She grabbed it on what was probably the fifth ring.
"Scully," she answered breathlessly.
"Oh, Agent Scully, I'm so glad I finally caught you. I've been trying your apartment and your cell phone," said a very relieved Kimberly, Skinner's assistant. "The Assistant Director wants to see you at once."
"I'll be right up," Scully said calmly and hung up the phone. She shrugged out of her coat, flung it over Mulder's chair and headed up to her boss's office.
"Go right in," Kimberly smiled brightly. As Scully reached for the doorknob, Kim's voice called her back. "How is he, Agent Scully? The AD has had me calling the hospital all morning, but we haven't been able to get any information on Agent Mulder's condition. It's bad this time, isn't it?" The concern on the usually reserved woman caused Scully to stop short in her tracks.
"He's doing better this morning, Kim. I'll tell him you were asking about him. And it's not really that bad, the doctor just wants to take every precaution."
"But I can't understand why he's still at Northeast Georgetown. I thought the CDC would have him in a high containment hospital. Like Fort Marlene," Kim said shaking her head.
"Fort Marlene?" Scully inquired with confusion, but before she could get an answer, the door she was holding flung open, almost knocking her off her feet. Only the lightning fast reflexes of her superior held her upright as he dragged her into the inner office.
"Scully, what the hell is it this time?" Skinner demanded. Scully took note that the rather large blue vein that ran down the man's neck was about to pop out of his skin. "I've called the hospital a dozen times. They keep telling me that Agent Mulder is in a quarantine situation and that the patients on his ward are not allowed phone access. Where is he, ICU? And why can't I get some answers?"
"Sir, let me explain," Scully said with more calm than she felt. She definitely wasn't expecting the AD to be angry and her near sleepless night wasn't helping the tension headache she'd so recently developed.
"I'm waiting, Agent," Skinner growled.
Scully nodded, moving past her superior to come further into the room. Skinner took the hint and closed the door, then stood facing his underling, his arms akimbo and a determined expression on his face.
"Is it that virus thing again? Is he hearing voices? What's the matter with him? We aren't talking spaceships again are we?"
"It's not alien, sir. Not in any way. It's all too human. Sir, Agent Mulder has contracted the mumps," Scully blurted out.
"That's impossible! He was immunized. He had to be before he could enter the Bureau," Skinner shot back.
"Not if he mistakenly thought he had acquired a natural immunity as a child. Mulder thought he'd had the mumps when he was five. Turns out, he probably had the chicken pox or the measles, we're not really sure which. But the fact remains, he has the mumps now." Scully stood her full 5 foot 3 inches, not one bit intimidated by her taller, and dour, superior.
"But when was he exposed?" Skinner asked tersely, the wind going out of his sails a little.
"As near as I can tell, when we were in Anna, Illinois two weeks ago. We visited a day care center run by a small church. Rural health care is pretty lax, if it's available. We weren't around the children that long, we were there to interview the director who claimed to see the 'apparition' we were investigating. But given Mulder's run of bad luck this fall…"
"No need to go into lengthy explanations, Scully. He could have picked it up on the Metro, for all we know," Skinner said, blowing out a breath. "How long will he be out of commission?"
Scully shrugged one shoulder. "He'll be infectious for about 7 days. And barring complications…"
"Is that why he's in ICU? No one would give me any information," Skinner growled in frustration.
"He's not in ICU, sir. We hope to keep him out of there. He's on … A restricted floor. They are keeping a very close watch over him, sir, I assure you.
"Well, I'll expect him back in a month to six week, then," Skinner said dryly with a shake of his head. "Has he exhibited complications," he asked with an obvious wince.
Scully drew in a breath and nodded. "Yes sir. He has." She was absolutely not going to go into details and fortunately, Skinner didn't seem too willing to take the discussion any further.
Skinner took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Keep me apprised," he sighed wearily. "And, as always, Scully, take as much time as you need."
"Thank you, sir. But this time I think we're ahead in the game. Dr. Sullivan admitted him to the hospital immediately. Easier to deal with the complications as they arise."
"Good thinking. Tell Mulder I hope he feels better."
"Thank you, sir. I will."
The Gurgle of Fish 4 of 6
Northeast Georgetown Medical Center
Pediatrics Ward
12:11 pm
Mulder was scooping up spoonfuls of green jello and watching them slide off his spoon and into the bowl below. It was the most fascinating thing he'd seen all morning.
MTV had been fun for a while, but with his private parts currently in a sling to alleviate pressure from the swelling, watching near naked girls being crooned to over and over again just didn't hold his interest like it usually did. Disney was a complete loss in the mornings. He was determined to go home and find out if too much 'Winnie the Pooh' could destroy healthy brain cells in post pubescent males. Nick Jr was as bad. Cartoon Network had a 'Dexter's Laboratory' festival running and he was just about ready to string Dee Dee up by her ballet slippers.
When his partner knocked lightly on the door and entered the room, he was immediate in his pleas.
"Scully, look. I'm keeping stuff down, the ice packs are helping, I feel a whole lot better. What say we blow this pop stand and I go home to my ESPN? I'll make it worth your while," he added with a lecherous smile.
She raised both eyebrows. "I happen to know you're trussed up nicer than a Christmas goose, Mulder. Care to enlighten me on how you could make your escape 'worth my while'?"
His grin got bigger. "I'll do the next four expense reports. And this time, I will keep the actual receipts, not just jot the amount down on a napkin. And I'll keep track of the rental car agreements. I'll even keep them in order, in that file you set up. Now, whaddya say?"
She tried hard to keep from laughing at him. He looked so serious, but the 'neck tie' and the swollen jowls just lent an air of the absurd to the discussion. "Mulder, I must admit, the offer is tempting," she drawled slowly. He shot her a hopeful look. "But no dice." He slumped in dejection. "Mulder, you're already experiencing one complication. I think we better play it safe and keep you here, where they can deal with you, ah, I mean the complications, as they arise."
"You just don't want to deal with me," he groused.
She decided not to take the bait. A bored Mulder was a combative Mulder and she just didn't want to get into an argument with him.
"So, what's for lunch?"
"Green jello," he said with mock enthusiasm. "And chicken noodle soup, lukewarm. Oh, and tea. Very weak tea the temperature of dishwater after the dishes are done. Matter of fact, it's almost the same color," he said, holding up the cup for her inspection.
"Well, if you had such a good lunch, then I'll just take this root beer float back to the office and save it for later," she said cheerfully, producing a bag from behind her back.
"Scully, when I get better, I'll let you sling me up," he promised, making a grab for the bag.
She ignored his comment, as usual. It was good to see him joking again and taking an interest in food. "Now go slow with that. The root beer might cause some trouble going down," she warned, but he was already spooning the creamy foam into his mouth.
"Tha's wha' the i' cream i' fo'," he instructed as he scooped a melting spoonful into his mouth, followed by a spoonful of foam. "You're too goo' to me, Scu'y," he told her as he attacked the foam again.
"Believe me, I'm keeping count," she assured him. "I got called into Skinner's office this morning," she said casually, taking her seat next to the bed.
The spoon stopped midway to his mouth. "What did he say?" He asked cautiously.
"The usual. He'd been trying to reach either the hospital or me since I called in yesterday. I hadn't been able to get through to him directly so I had to leave a voice mail. He was a little, well, misinformed. He thought you were having a relapse."
"Oh," was the only reply.
"So I set him straight. He said he'd expect you back when you're ready," she fibbed. There was no way she was going to tell him that their boss figured that was going to be some four to six weeks down the line, even if she did agree with that assessment.
"So, I forgot to ask. How long before I can get out of here. And how long before the 'cast' comes off?" He asked playfully, going back to enjoying his float.
"About seven to nine days, if you don't fall victim to any more complications."
His eyes widened. "You mean the one I have isn't enough?" He choked out.
"This is serious, Mulder. I told you that yesterday," Scully chided. "Mumps in adult males can lead to several complications, including infections in major organs, like your liver, kidneys, pancreas. Not to mention meningitis, encephalitis, even death. Why do you think Dr. Sullivan was so quick to put you in the hospital? He knows we're on managed care at the Bureau," she said pointedly.
He was still staring at her, but she could see some anxiety in his eyes, now. "So why aren't they doing anything for it? I mean, I'm was on an IV last night, but they took that out when I stopped throwing up. And the only medicine I'm getting is Tylenol 3. Why aren't they shooting my ass full of antibiotics?"
"Because this is a virus, Mulder. Antibiotics might help if you develop an infection, but your white count isn't showing that right now. Giving you a shot in the ass, while it might be fun for some of us, wouldn't do you any good," she said, with a completely serious look on her face.
He almost didn't catch the joke. "Very funny, Scully. Ha ha." He'd suddenly lost interest in the root beer float. "So I just sit here and wait for the next complication to hit me, huh?"
She shook her head emphatically. "Not at all, Mulder. By just sitting here, as you put it, you are doing what you should be doing. At this point, you are resting, your vitals are being monitored more than I could, even, and if something does develop, they'll get a handle on it before it becomes serious. The only problem I see is that you're going to be pretty bored much of the time. And when you're bored, Mulder, you're worse than a three year old."
"I take offense to that," he shot back defensively.
"Well, then, prove me wrong," she said defiantly, crossing her arms in an open display of a dare.
She'd thrown down the gauntlet. He had to pick it up. And he did so with great enthusiasm. "Care to make that a bet, Agent Scully?"
"What, that you can keep from becoming the cause of the next nurse's walk out?"
"I did not cause that walk out, Scully," he growled. "Those nurses were striking for better wages."
"Whatever, Mulder. Sure, I'm up for a good bet. What do I get when I win? And remember, I'm not impressed by your attempts at office bookkeeping. I want something good for my prize."
He thought about that for a moment. "Dinner. Candlelight. Wine. Lobster. That trendy place that just opened in Georgetown. All the trimmings."
She smiled and her eyes twinkled. "I'm not a cheap date, Mulder. You might be wise to remember that."
"Oh, don't worry, Scully. My credit card is safe. I have no intentions of paying up because I'm not going to lose this bet. So what are we going to do when I win?"
Scully pursed her lips and stared out the window. "Yankee Stadium, as soon as the season starts. A doubleheader, team of your choosing. And you do not bring your wallet, except for your ID. I'm paying. All the hotdogs, nachos, beer, pizza, popcorn and peanuts you can consume in one day."
"I'm not a cheap date," Mulder mimicked.
"Oh, I've seen you, Mulder. I know that," she chuckled. "But as you so adequately put it, I have no intentions of losing this bet. You will do something to get on the nurses' black list, and when that happens, I'm always the first to hear about it," she grinned in obvious delight. "Well, as fun as this has been, my lunch hour is almost up. I'll be back up after work, to see how you're doing." She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the forehead. "Do your damnedest, Mulder. I've read the reviews on that place in Georgetown and my mouth is watering already."
"I hope you realize I fully intend for you to purchase my souvenirs at that ballgame, Scully. They sell these really cool leather jackets at the Stadium. We can get matching ones," he grinned back and wiggled his eyebrows.
"We'll see, Mulder. We'll see."
Northeast Georgetown
3:35 pm
Mulder had drifted off to sleep right after Scully had gone back to work. He'd been dreaming that she was sitting at her desk, staring at him. He kept asking her questions, and she kept staring, not saying a word. He was starting to get angry, wanted to yell at her, but he stopped himself. He couldn't figure out why she was just staring.
He opened his eyes and looked right into the deepest blue eyes he'd ever seen.
Right at eye level.
Staring at him.
As he pulled back a little and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, he saw the most perfect blond ringlet curls circled the cherub face that held those blue eyes.
Standing at her full height, the little girl just reached a head taller than his bed. She was dressed in a Barbie nightgown with Blue's Clues slippers peaking out under the hem. He was quickly becoming an expert at the marketing trends for the under 10 set.
"Hey, sweetheart. Aren't you supposed to be somewhere else?" He asked gently, both not wanting to scare the little girl, and because his throat was killing him. It was time for more Tylenol.
She didn't say a word. She just continued to stare at him.
"You sure are pretty. If my partner catches you in here with me, she's gonna get jealous," he teased in a hoarse whisper. "Why don't you run along back to your room. The nurses will get worried when they can't find you."
She blinked, but didn't move another muscle. Finally, a tiny fist reached up from her side and unfolded so that a chubby index finger could almost, but not quite, touch the ice pack wrapped around his neck.
"Hurt?" She inquired in a voice he was sure the angels used.
"Um huh," he nodded solemnly.
"Mommy's kiss makes better," she informed him. Sounded like the best medical advice he'd had all day.
"My mommy is pretty far away. She can't come see me," he said and was surprised at how sad that thought made him feel. He rarely thought of his mother's death anymore, but at times like this one, when he was sick, it was a dull ache in his chest.
"I saw your mommy," the little girl said, shaking her head so that the curls bounced around her shoulders. "She's pretty. She has red hair and wears big girl shoes," she added, just so he would know whom she was referring to.
"Oh, sweetie, that's not my mommy. That's my…" He trailed off, not really able to come up with an adequate description for all his partner was to him. Especially not one a 5-year-old girl would understand.
"Sweetie Cakes? That's what my Daddy calls my Mommy," she suggested.
Mulder chuckled, which only served to hurt his throat. He swallowed, but the smile came back. "Sort of. But she's not my mommy." He wondered what Scully would let him call her, if they ever got around to pet names. Somehow, he was pretty certain 'Sweetie Cakes' wouldn't be on the list. He brushed the thought aside and looked over at his new friend. "My name is Mulder. What's your name?"
"Susan," she said shyly. "You have a funny name," she giggled.
"You have no idea," he assured her with a grin.
"A boy down the hall said you gots lumps," she said in all seriousness.
It hurt to laugh and he didn't want to offend Susan. Still, he almost choked on his next words. "Mumps, sweetheart. I have the mumps. Not lumps."
"That boy said we can't get lumps," she said, ignoring his correction. "We got shots when we were babies. Didn't you get shots?"
"They didn't have those shots when I was a baby, Susan. Back then, you just got sick," he told her.
She shook her head, amazed at such abject foolishness. She let her eyes wander around the room. "I like your room. I like Winnie. My room is a boys room," she said, her face taking on a disgruntled expression. "It has race cars on the walls," she said in disgust. "I hate race cars."
"I can see where that would be a problem," Mulder agreed, nodding as much as his ice pack would allow. "But you know what? I would trade rooms with you, if I could," he offered.
"Okay!" She smiled brightly. "I'll go get my doll!"
Mulder groaned and rolled over. He hadn't meant to cause a commotion, but trouble seemed to follow him wherever he went. Now he had to explain to little Susan that they couldn't just 'switch' rooms, that she had to stay in the room with the racecars and he was forced to reside with Winnie the Pooh. He wondered if that woman in admissions was even still working on getting him a new room. Probably not. Once in a room, they usually forgot about you, unless you made a fuss.
But making a fuss would lose him a bet. Not that he would mind a candlelight dinner with Scully. That would be enjoyable. But the whole concept of losing to her, especially having to live with that little smirk she wore so well, that would be torture. No, he wouldn't make a fuss. And he'd figure a way out of his problem with Susan, too.
He rolled back onto his back and was just about to call the nurse, when Susan arrived, a well-loved doll with only spikes of blond air tucked safely under her arm. "Okay, now you go to your new room," she announced brightly.
As she stepped into the room, Mulder noticed her awkward gait. He couldn't help but stare, and fortunately, Susan didn't seem at all offended.
"I gots new ones," she said, pulling up her nightgown to reveal two creamy prosthesetic legs. "I was getting' too big for the old ones."
That did it. One way or another, little Susan was getting the Winnie the Pooh room.
Mulder thanked his unlucky stars that, for once, there were no IVs to contend with. He'd been to the bathroom once already, but that was with some assistance. Still, it was an easy matter to just sit up, swing his legs over…
It was the sitting up that did it. The room spun around him, Winnie and Owl and Piglet and Tigger all laughing at the silly man turning whiter than the bed sheets. Susan was oblivious to his plight, engaged in straightening her doll's one lock of hair into a more fashionable style. Mulder closed his eyes and waited.
When he opened his eyes, the room was still. And so was the nurse, glaring at him from the doorway.
"Susan, Mr. Mulder is sick. He needs his rest. You shouldn't be bothering him," the nurse, who must have just come on shift, was telling the little girl sternly.
Tears sprang up in those blue eyes and Mulder was ready to weep with little Susan. "But he's got the Winnie room and I had to take the Power Ranger room last time and you promised I'd get the Winnie room the next time I came, but I got the race car room and I hate it and he said we could trade," she said, breaking down into sobs.
"I don't mind trading, if it wouldn't cause too much trouble," Mulder offered, deciding that leaning back on the pillow was probably the best way to wait out this drama.
"That's very nice of you, Mr. Mulder," the nurse said kindly. "But Susan has a roommate. She's eleven-years-old and I think she might have something to say about the matter."
Mulder sighed, Susan sniffed and the nurse brushed the curls back from the little girl's cheeks, where they'd stuck to her tear-streaked face.
"C'mon, Susan. You're only here for one more night. You get to go home tomorrow morning. And next time, I promise, you'll get the Winnie room. Besides, the dinner trays are almost here and I remember you requested an ice cream sundae."
"Okay," Susan said with a protruding lower lip. But as she was escorted from the room, she graced Mulder with a stunning smile. "That's okay, Mulder. We tried," she said with a shrug.
The Gurgle of Fish 5 of 6
Northeast Georgetown Hospital
4:15 pm
Susan disappeared and the nurse came back. He waited for the thunderstorm, the part where the caring health professional chewed him a new asshole for encouraging open rebellion among the other ward patients.
He waited.
She took his blood pressure, frowning a little, but saying nothing. Then she took his temperature and gave the machine a curious look before taking it again. The second time, she shrugged and proceeded to take his pulse, which seemed to appease her somewhat.
He couldn't stand it. It was torture, waiting for the lecture he knew he was going to get.
"I'm really sorry about the room thing, with Susan," he blurted out as the nurse checked his water jug and straightened his blankets.
She looked at him, startled. "Oh, Mr. Mulder, that wasn't your fault," she said dismissively. "Susan is our biggest con artist. She's had this room plenty of times. She just doesn't like roommates. This is the only private room on the ward."
"But," Mulder stumbled, trying to find the right words. "Her legs… I mean, how often is she in here?"
"She'll be in every few months while she's growing. When she stops growing, she'll only be in for adjustments and if one of the prosthesis needs repair. But she was born with this disability, Mr. Mulder. And she's adjusted quite well to it. We just need to adjust to it, too. We have to remember to treat her as a normal, and sometimes conniving, little girl."
Mulder cringed. He had been thinking of her as being helpless. From the sounds of it, she was anything but. "You're right, of course. But she is awfully cute. It's hard to say no to that face," he grinned.
"You get used to it," the nurse chuckled. "Oh, in all the excitement, I almost forgot. I'm Shirley, I'm your night nurse. Dr. Sullivan was by earlier, but you were sleeping. And the dinner trays will be coming by in about 30 minutes or so. You should have a pretty quiet time till then, it's the Pokemon hour."
"I supposed it would be against hospital policy to get any other channels on this TV," he said, using every ounce of his best puppy dog look.
Shirley laughed at him. "Ooh, I'm glad I didn't get you on this floor when you were 9. That look's a killer," she chuckled. "Tell you what. The TV is preset, there's nothing we can do. But there's a VCR in the nurses' lounge and maybe your friend can bring you up some videos to watch. How does that sound?"
"Better than Bear and the Big Blue House," Mulder said with a heavy sigh.
When Shirley was through recording his vitals, she put the phone on his bedside table, so he could reach it. He glanced at the clock on the wall and dialed the office.
And got no answer. Under other circumstances, he would have gotten worried, but in all likelihood, he knew where his partner was. She'd probably been tapped to do stray autopsies for VCS. Chances were she wouldn't be back at the office other than to grab her coat and purse. He thought about calling her cell phone, but when Scully was elbow deep in some victim's insides, she had a tendency to get testy with him when he interrupted her. It would be best for all concerned if he went to plan B.
"Lone Gunmen."
Thank God, for once it was Byers who answered, Mulder sighed in relief.
"Byers, it's Mulder."
"Tape's off. Hey, Mulder, where have you been? We tried to call you last night. Are you on a case?"
"Not exactly. I'm in the hospital."
"Not again!" Byers must have put the call on the speaker, Frohike's voice was unmistakable.
"Again. Look, I need a favor. But first, have all of you had the mumps?"
"Those rat bastards! They gave you the mumps?!"
"Fro, as much as I'd like to blame this on Spender the Elder, I think this was just a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time," Mulder said calmly.
"You must have 'em pretty bad, Mulder, if they threw you in the slammer," Langly chimed in.
"Sullivan put me here as a precaution. I'm not doing that bad, really."
"Watch out, man. If they drop on you… it's murder!"
Mulder blushed, grateful they couldn't see his face. "About that favor," he said, deftly switching topics of conversation.
Northeast Georgetown 6:05 pm
Mulder had guessed right. Scully had called a little before five o'clock to tell him that she'd been tapped to do not one but two autopsies for VCS and probably wouldn't be able to stop by to see him until 8 or later. He'd assured her that he would survive, although he did neglect to tell her he had company coming. Scully always tried to convince him that the Gunmen were best in their own habitat. Like Polar Bears. She seemed to believe that once out of their apartment, they wrecked havoc wherever they went. Also like Polar Bears.
Frohike was the first one in the room and it was obvious the poor little man was ready to burst.
"Great digs, Mulder. Hey, do they come in and read you a bed time story before they tuck you in at night?"
Mulder lay there, not amused.
"Wow, I always wanted a room like this," Byers said wistfully.
"Mulder, this is a real chick magnet, man. Hey, women love this crap!"
"Thank you, Langly. Byers, you're welcome to ask for this room, next time you're here. And Frohike, one more crack…"
"Sorry," Frohike said contritely. "But seriously, Mulder. Why are you in the kiddie ward? Did Agent Scully tell them your level of maturity instead of your age."
"Frohike," Mulder growled through clenched teeth. "For your information, this was the only private room available. I was promised an upgrade, but they obviously forgot about me."
"So call admissions. They promised, Mulder. Make 'em pony up! I mean, flash the badge, wave the gun, you know, throw some weight around. It's the only way you'll get what's coming to you."
"Great advice, Langly, but I'm changing my ways. I'm trying to be a good patient."
All three men stared at him. It was Langly who started laughing first. They were all doubled over in a matter of seconds.
"That's a good one, Mulder," Byers rasped between guffaws.
Mulder crossed him arms and waited for the laughter to die out.
"He serious," Frohike said in amazement.
"Boy, Scully must have his balls in a wringer," Langly said sotto voce to Byers.
At Mulder's obvious wince and move to cover his lap, Frohike glared at him like a bug under a microscope.
"I don't think it's Scully that has his balls, guys. I think it's the mumps!"
"They dropped!" Byers accused.
Mulder sighed and nodded.
"Oh, man, bad news. But I did some reading. Sterility only occurs in about twenty percent…"
"Can we change the subject, please?" Mulder asked politely. He'd looked forward to the guys coming up, but now that they were there, he was getting tired. Tired, and his dinner didn't seem to be sitting that well. He'd never had cream of chicken soup cause him gas, so he decided it could have been the butterscotch pudding.
"We went to the video store and got you six movies, Mulder. We weren't real sure what you were in the mood for, you didn't really give us much of an idea when you called," Byers explained, handing over the plastic bag full of video cases.
"I'm sure whatever you picked out will be fine," Mulder said, setting the bag on the metal chest next to the bed.
Langly made himself at home in the chair Scully usually sat in. Byers perched on the window ledge. Frohike read Mulder's chart.
"Hey, guys, look at this," he said, and both men rose to come over and look at the chart he held in his hands.
"Put that down, Frohike," Mulder said tiredly.
"Your white count is creeping up there, Mulder," Langly said with a nod.
"Dr. Sullivan has it all under control."
"Why is his blood pressure dropping?" Byers asked his two compatriots.
"Guys, GUYS! Put the chart down, and forget it! I got Sullivan watching me like a hawk, and you know Scully's probably been calling the nurse every time they take vitals so she can keep it all on some spreadsheet in her laptop. Stop pretending to be George Clooney and give it a rest!"
"You look tired, Mulder," Byers said sympathetically.
"I wasn't before you got here," Mulder muttered under his breath. "I'm fine, really. But it is tiring, laying here all day."
"Hey, we got Star Trek: Insurrection. Troi and Riker, getting' it on," Langly sang off key. "Wanna pop it in, give it a whirl?"
It sounded wonderful. The three of them would entertain themselves pointing out inaccuracies in the script. And Mulder knew he'd probably be asleep before Picard beamed down to the planet. "Sure, Langly. Pop it in." Mulder woke up to the Star Trek theme and the credits rolling on the screen of the television. His friends were nowhere in sight, but a note, scrawled on a scrap of paper told him they wished him goodnight.
He squinted at the clock on the wall. It read 8:35. He scowled at it and made sure he was reading the hour hand and not the second hand. Scully was late. She's said 8. But then she's also said 'or later', he reminded himself. He couldn't stop himself. The anxiety started to build.
Or was that his stomach?
If it was gas, it was really bad gas. It started up high and seemed to squeeze his lungs every time he breathed. It wasn't a burning, like he'd had after he'd been showing off to Scully and used the green hot sauce they'd found in a roadside diner in Texas. It was a hundred times worse.
And that was bad.
He didn't even notice when Scully entered the room.
"Mulder, what's wrong?"
His eyes shot open and he winced up at her.
"My stomach. Or my lungs. I can't tell. Scully, it's bad."
She surprised him by reaching down to the end of his bed and grabbing his chart.
After a few minutes of scanning pages, she was shaking her head and making little 'tsk' noises with her tongue.
"Scully. Care to share with the class?"
She sighed deeply, then went over and called the nurse. "You better get Dr. Sullivan. I think our luck just ran out."
"Scully?" he asked again.
"Dr. Sullivan will have to confirm, Mulder, but I read about this just this afternoon. I'm pretty sure you've contracted pancreatitis. That's an inflammation of the…"
"I can figure it out, Scully," he growled surly. "So, what do we do for that?"
"Well, we do what we're already doing, more or less. But you won't be choking down any more jello," she answered sympathetically. "You'll be on an IV and they'll probably limit food intake."
"And you still refuse to just shoot me and put me out of my misery, I suppose. That is so selfish of you, Scully," he groused and then moaned as the pain in his stomach increased with his raised voice.
"You know me, Mulder. Keeping you alive and only thinking of myself," she said with a smirk. "But I'm beginning to see a trend. You get sick at night, and I end up staying with you. Maybe we should get you a roommate and you'll forego any more complications," she teased, but he could tell she wasn't serious. She was stroking his forehead and it was almost making his stomach feel better. He found that curling up on his side felt better than lying flat on his back. Also, it made it easier for Scully to sit on the side of the bed.
"Roommates hate me. Even my fish get mad at me when I have bad dreams," he murmured as her calm stroking eased the pain in his gut. It was still there, but sleep was quickly winning the battle for his undivided attention.
He had almost drifted off when there was a knock on the door and a very tall, thin, and very young looking man in green scrubs entered without waiting to be asked.
He held a clipboard in his hands and just barely glanced up at the two agents as he spoke. "Hi, I'm Denny Markem. Dr. Sullivan asked me to come by, take a look here. Mumps. Boy, don't see that very much these days," he clucked and then let his gaze fall on the patient. "Hurts pretty bad, huh?"
"The throat, the gut or down under?" Mulder muttered, not bothering to look up.
"Yes, it's pretty bad," Scully answered for him.
"If you'd just move aside, Mrs. Mulder, let me get to the patient," Markem said with a plastered on smile.
"I'm not…" Scully started to say, but Markem already had his stethoscope up to his ears and was listening to her partner's heartbeat.
"Uh-huh," Markem said cryptically, reaching over Mulder's head to snatch the blood pressure cuff off the holder on the wall.
Mulder did manage to shoot the young doctor a venomous look, but stayed silent. Markem took Mulder's blood pressure and then scribbled something on the clipboard.
"Uh-huh." Mulder found himself being rolled onto his back and Markem was placing his hand gently, but firmly, on the agent's upper abdomen. Mulder gasped as the pain increased. Markem rolled him over onto his side again.
"Uh-huh," the doctor said once more.
"Scully," Mulder growled, in danger of losing his patience completely.
"Dr. Markem, if you don't mind, what do you think we're dealing with?" Scully asked politely.
Markem looked at her in surprise. "Oh, I know what we're dealing with. We're dealing with an inflammation of the pancreas. It's a relatively small organ…"
Now it was Scully's turn to lose her patience. "I am well aware of what the pancreas is, Dr. Markem. I'm a medical doctor, too. What I would like to know is if you intend to do some tests to back up your diagnosis and…"
She was cut off in mid tirade by her partner, throwing up the sum total of his dinner, all over his pillow and blankets. Scully was beside him in a second, holding his head and still managing to hit the nurse call button to call for help.
Two nurses aides descended on the room, armed with clean linens and determined expressions. Scully and Markem were silently escorted to the area near the door while the white privacy curtain was drawn, concealing Mulder from view.
"Sure," Markem said, unfazed by the chaos surrounding him. "I'll have tests run for serum amylase, urine amylase, and serum lipase, all of which will be elevated. His heart rate is 88, his blood pressure is low, 90 over 75. You really want to put him through a CT scan or a MRI, I can arrange that," he said more fake smile. "But it won't change the diagnosis. He'll still have pancreatitis."
"No, thank you, if that's the case I see no reason for an MRI," Scully said through clenched teeth. "What do you propose for treatment?"
"Cyanide is looking pretty good from down here," Mulder gasped as one of the nurses' aides cleaned him up from behind the white curtain.
"Is he normally suicidal?" Markem asked with a raised eyebrow.
"I take the Fifth," Scully replied sarcastically. "Back to treatment, Doctor?"
"Intravenous fluids, analgesics, supportive care. You might want to stay the night. It could get pretty rough. Unless you have kids to get home to," Markem said, turning his attention back to the clipboard. Without allowing Scully to correct him, he headed for the door. "I'll let you know what the blood work says. I'm on call all night."
"Well, it's certain you don't have anyone to run home to," Scully muttered under her breath. One of the nurse's aides giggled, having overheard. The other one shook her head.
"Don't let him fool you. Dennis Markem is the best internist on staff. Dr. Sullivan calls him whenever there are problems like this one."
"But he'll never win any prizes for bedside manner," Scully huffed.
"Ah, c'mon, 'wife'," Mulder said in a halfhearted attempt at humor. "At least you got the OK to stay the night."
She wanted to come back with a sharp remark, but one look at her woebegone partner, and her heart melted. "Looks like I'm rooming here again, Mulder. Try not to snore this time," she teased before taking up her seat on the bed so she could try once more to lull him to sleep.
He was awake just after midnight. The pain in his stomach was making it too hard to sleep. He curled on his side, whimpering in agony.
"Mulder, I'm so sorry," Scully whispered as she stroked his back. "Want to turn on the TV? See if there's something that can take your mind off it?"
"On the Disney channel, Scully? I'd be afraid of what Michael Eisner would think appropriate viewing at this time of night," Mulder groused. "It's so hot in here," he added, kicking off the sheets from his feet.
"You're just sweaty, Mulder. That's part of the illness. C'mon, there must be something you want to watch."
"I'm telling ya, Scully. There is nothing on TV right now. I don't want to watch old Space Ghost episodes." He lay there, breathing through his mouth against the pain. "The boys brought movies. Put one on," he said in resignation.
"Which one?"
"Scully, it doesn't matter. The first one in the bag. Just something, anything," he moaned.
The lights had been off since Markem had left. Only the nightlight strip above the head of Mulder's bed was on, casting the room in dark shadows. Scully found the video store bag resting on the windowsill. She dug in and pulled out a plastic storage case, not bothering to try and decipher the title. She popped it in the VCR and went back to rubbing Mulder's back, sitting behind him so she didn't block his view of the TV.
Scully was ignoring the movie, concentrating on running her hand in a circle on the plains of Mulder's back. She didn't really bother to look up until she heard the first loud moan.
"Mulder!" she chided. "Not a porn…"
"Hey, you guys got movies!" came the cry from the doorway. "Awright!"
Little feet scurried into the room, followed by more little feet. Mulder recognized the first boy, the one who'd informed him about MMR shots, and Susan, who was looking askance at the television screen as two very well endowed women proceeded to make a rather dumpy older man very happy. The rest of the children Mulder hadn't seen before and they were oblivious to him while the activities on the TV had them captivated.
"My daddy watches these kind a movies when Mommy doesn't feel good," Susan said with a knowing nod of the head.
Scully finally got around the cluster of half a dozen young children and unplugged the television set. "Back to your rooms, all of you!" she ordered.
"But you got the VCR! We wanna watch movies!" came the responding cry.
"Hey, he's got Star Trek in here!" shouted a boy probably close to ten years of age who had snatched up the video store bag and was rummaging through the titles.
"I like Star Trek," echoed Susan, smiling from ear to ear. "I like Data!"
"No movies, no Star Trek," Scully reasserted as she gently herded the wayward patients back out into the hall. "You all need to be in bed. It's way past time to sleep."
"Your daddy moans awful loud," Susan confided to Scully, pointing toward Mulder. "Maybe you should kiss it and make it better."
"I'll take that under advisement," Scully said dryly. "In the meantime, how about if I just close the door to this room?"
When Scully had the room cleared and turned to face her partner, he was the picture of contrition.
"Scully, I didn't ask the guys for anything specific. I had no idea Frohike would decide to visit the little room in the back of the store," he said, his eyes downcast and his cheeks red with the bright blush of the very ashamed.
That didn't look right. Scully had known Mulder seven years, had known about his tastes in video entertainment at least that long and she'd never seen him embarrassed by being found out. She reached over, ignoring his pleading look and laid her hand flat against his forehead.
She closed her eyes and sighed in resignation. "Mulder. You have a fever."
The Gurgle of Fish 6 of 6
"I thought that was a part of this, that's why I have to be in a private room," Mulder whined and his eyes drooped closed. "My head hurts, Scully."
She didn't acknowledge the complaint, she simply pressed the call button again.
In an instant, the nurse was in the room, sticking an aural thermometer in Mulder's ear. He kept on talking, even though his eyes were still closed.
"My eyelids burn. My mouth is hot. My neck is killing me," he moaned and tried to roll into a smaller ball on the bed.
"103.7, Dr. Scully," the nurse informed her in a hushed tone.
Scully sighed. "Better call Dr. Sullivan again. I think we're about to lose another primary care physician after this illness, Mulder," she said with regret, but her partner was too far gone to hear her.
Greg Sullivan himself arrived within forty-five minutes. He looked a little disheveled, but gave Scully a tired smile. He went over Mulder's chart and then took his patient's temp again.
"104.1. We're going the wrong direction here, Mulder, my friend," Sullivan said with a solemn shake of his head. The doctor stood aside as a lab technician came in and took three more vials of blood. Mulder seemed to not notice, he was lost in his own world.
"He was complaining of a headache," Scully chimed in. "And he said his neck hurt." Her eyes were fearful and for once, she wasn't trying to hide it.
"Sometimes, knowing too much can make you jump to conclusions, Dana," Greg said with a gentle smile. "Let's wait for the blood work to come back."
"But if it's meningitis . . ." Scully choked out the last word. She knew exactly what would happen next. His fever would continue to rise, brain damage was a very real prospect. Mulder might develop hearing loss, seizures, or at worst, he could die.
"I hate to put him through a lumbar puncture, but if this fever keeps going up, we'll have no choice. We could do one now…" Greg said, letting his voice trail off.
"He went through two of those last fall, I really don't want to put him through another one if we can avoid it. His back is beginning to look like my Grandmother's pincushion," Scully said with a heavy sigh.
"I'm starting him on an aggressive antibiotic immediately, Dana," Greg said kindly. "If the fever goes up, we won't have any choice. I'll have the nurses put a lumbar tray on standby. But for now, don't buy trouble. His fever's been relatively low since he was admitted. With the pancreatitis, it's possible he's just fighting off the complications in his own determined style."
"He never does anything the easy way," she sighed in agreement.
"I'm going down to get the order in for the antibiotic, and have them rustle up a cooling blanket, just in case. Then I'm going to grab a few winks while we wait for the blood work. I suggest you try to do the same," Sullivan said, but it was obvious he was trying to persuade more than expecting a positive result from his words.
"I'm fine," Scully said, her jaw set and her chin elevated.
Sullivan sighed and nodded.
Scully softened. "Really, Greg, I'm fine. I'll sit with him for a little bit. If he's comfortable, I'll go to sleep in the chair. But I want him to know I'm here." She looked down at her partner. "Besides, it's my job to watch his back."
Sullivan nodded again with a sad smile and left the two agents alone.
Scully couldn't count the times she'd done this small favor for her partner. Sitting on his bed, touching just his back or his temple, making soft caresses that would hopefully give him a few moments of peace. And each time it seemed he was aware only in the most elemental of ways. He could feel her touch, he knew she was there, but beyond that, the action couldn't take up space in his pain-focused consciousness.
It was a helpless feeling, Scully couldn't help thinking as she watched the night nurse hang the bag of antibiotic above her partner's bed. In medical school she had wanted to take away pain and quickly found that was the Holy Grail of the art of being a doctor. More often than not, taking away pain, taking away illness was not in the power of the person with that responsibility. She'd turned away from general practice and gone into pathology because it didn't demand that impossible mission of her.
Yet, somehow, she couldn't escape it completely. Not with a partner like Fox Mulder, always jumping off cliffs, always throwing himself in front of oncoming trains. Literally and figuratively. Sometimes, just succumbing to the smallest of invaders, germs, viruses, bacteria… And once again, she'd find herself the one he looked upon, depended on, to take away his pain.
He was restless under her hand. He wasn't whimpering anymore, but that almost bothered her more than if he were being vocal about his discomfort. Mulder had levels of discomfort. He was stoic to the point of absurd if they were working on a case. He would hide injuries and illnesses, making sure to hold his symptoms to himself, out of her line of sight. It used to drive her to distraction. Until she noticed what happened in the next stage.
The next stage, usually when the case was solved, the bad guys in jail, was just as nerve-wracking. Mulder could whine like no man she'd ever known. "I'm hot, Scully." "I feel bad, Scully." Not that he was exaggerating, not that he was doing it just to get attention. The fact of the matter was that usually he'd waited so long to seek medical help, there was little to be done but let the medicine take effect or ride the pain out. Each whine, each moan was accompanied by a look that melted her heart. Sad eyes, dull and brown. Dark circles shadowing his upper cheekbones. And the lower lip, protruding to the point where she was certain it was going to drop to the floor and get caught up in his size thirteen Rockports.
But she could handle that, even as crazy as it made her, if they just avoided the stage he was in right that very moment. When the pain was too bad, the fever too high. When he would retreat in his mind, to a black place where she couldn't reach him with her eyes. All she could do was touch the shell he left behind. It frightened her when he went there. It was the place of comas and stopped heartbeats. She'd seen him go there too many times and she hated each and every one of those memories. North Carolina, Alaska, Rhode Island, Antarctica. A hidden facility for the Department of Defense. Blessing, Tennessee.
Mulder was red cheeked under her hand, lying on his side. His breathing was shallow, just taking in enough air to move his chest and back under her hand, not enough that she could see the movement. He was panting lightly, the way he always did when he was in a lot of pain. And he would shift soundlessly, moving into her hand, then away from it as if her touch caused him more agony than what he was already enduring.
"Mulder, I'm here," she whispered softly. He flinched at the words, but it was more that the sound hurt than what she was saying. "I know you hurt, I know your head hurts. We're doing everything we can. I promise, I will make it better."
The tears splashed silently on the cotton blanket covering her partner.
"He's really sick."
The voice, so quiet, startled her in the silence of the room. She looked up and saw not a nurse, as she expected, but a small boy.
"Yes, he is. But you need to be back in your room. I don't want you to get sick, too."
"Oh, I'm all better. I get to go home tomorrow," the boy said confidently. "They took out my appendix," he added, proudly pulling up his Jar Jar Binks pajamas and displaying a neat row of six stitches.
"I'm glad you feel better," Scully said with a smile. "But you really need to go back to your room."
"I'm sorry he's so sick. You shoulda made him get shots," the boy said sadly, shaking his head.
Scully had a hard time choking out the words. "Yeah. I should have. Now, go back to your room, it's almost morning. You don't want to be all sleepy when your parents come to pick you up."
He nodded, but stood there just a moment, still wearing a thoughtful expression. Mulder shifted under her hand, onto his back and she shifted to stroking his forehead. His face was lined with pain and he let out one anguished groan. "Scully?"
"I'm here, Mulder, I'm right here."
"Hurts… so much," he gasped out and rolled jerkily back onto his side. "Hurts."
"I know it hurts, Mulder. I know. The medicine has to have time to work. We'll get through this, Mulder, I promise. I'll make it better."
There was a noise at the door of the room again, and Scully glanced up, hoping to see Greg Sullivan with the lab report. Instead, it was the same little boy, with something tucked under his arm. He took a step in and Scully was about to gently push him back out when he held out a slim box-like object to her. She took it, and its weight surprised her. When she held it up to the light of the hallway, she could see it was a rather battered laptop.
"It's my dad's old one. It only works for games and stuff, he blew out an exec program or something. But the screen saver works," he added excitedly.
Scully couldn't keep the confusion from her face. "It's very nice and I'm glad you showed it to me, but…"
"I'm not showing it to you, I'm giving it to you. The screen saver works. Go ahead, try it."
"Sweetie," Scully said tenderly. "That's very nice but it really isn't necessary."
"When I got here and I felt really bad, my mom tried to get me to play some games, but I felt too crummy. She left the laptop on and the screen saver came up. It's fish. It made me feel better. Honest, lady, try it! It will help." His face was so earnest and confident, Scully didn't have the heart to turn him away again.
"On one condition," Scully said thoughtfully. "I take this, then you go back to your room and get some sleep."
The boy's face broke into a broad grin. "Deal!" he exclaimed, then hurried into the room and set up the laptop on the tray table near the bed. He crawled under the bed and plugged it in. Scully opened the top and booted it up. After a minute, a darkened fish tank, with just a few fish and some colorful coral came to life on the screen. And with the movement of the fish came the unmistakable gurgle of a fish tank.
"I don't go home till lunch time. I'll have to get it back, then," he said hesitantly.
"I think I have this program on my machine, too, so giving it back is no problem," Scully said. "But right now, we have a deal," she said with a raised eyebrow.
"Yeah, sure," he agreed. He turned and headed out the door. "Hope he feels better in the morning," he added.
Scully nodded. "What's your name?" she asked.
"Wyatt," he said sheepishly. "I don't like it, it's weird."
"His name is Fox," Scully said in a conspiratorial whisper. "But you can't tell him I told you."
"Fox?" Wyatt said in shock. "Wow, that makes ME feel better!" He glanced down the hall and his eyes grew wide. "Nurse's comin', gotta go. See ya tomorrow!"
The nurse, Laurie, came in, glancing down the hall, then she noticed the laptop. "Uh huh, I thought Wyatt was roaming the halls again. I'll have to keep a closer eye on him," she grunted as she pulled the chain that lit the strip above Mulder's bed. She placed a clean plastic cover on the aural thermometer and inserted it in the patient's ear.
"He's a cutie. He was just trying to help," Scully countered. "I made a deal with him, he should stay in his room the rest of the night."
The thermometer beeped and Laurie studied it, lips pursed. "Well, no lower, but no higher. I'll mark this down and we'll check it again in half an hour."
The light bar was turned off and the room was plunged into darkness once again. Only the light from the screen saver cast any shadows in the room. Scully found herself mesmerized by the digitally mastered tropical fish as they danced across the screen, seemingly undisturbed by the shark fin that lurked at the bottom of the 'tank'.
"You know, Mulder, this might not be a bad alternative to that gulag you have in your living room. Never have to worry about feeding them, they'll never die on you, unless you crash your hard drive," she whispered with a smirk. "We have to give this some serious thought."
It wasn't until a few minutes later that she noticed that her partner had settled down. He wasn't moving restlessly under her hand anymore. His eyes were darting under the lids, a sure indication of REM sleep.
She looked over at the computer screen in amazement. "Nah, it couldn't be," she muttered. "Could it?"
She waited and once again, Laurie came in with the thermometer. This time, Scully convinced her to leave the light off and use the light on the machine's readout. In the darkness, Scully could just make out the faint smile on the nurse's face.
"103.9. Not enough to alert the troops, but an improvement, just the same." Laurie leaned over and gently patted Mulder's shoulder. "Keep up the good work," she whispered and left the room again.
Scully let out a breath of relief. "Just keep it up, Mulder. Things always seem to look better in the morning."
It was a little after four in the morning when Greg Sullivan appeared, bleary-eyed, but with a relieved smile. "No need to pin-cushion him again, Dana. The infection seems to be related to the pancreatitis. We'll keep him on the antibiotics we started earlier. He seems to be responding already."
Scully wiped sleep from her eyes and looked over at her partner. The pain lines were fading, even in the gaunt shadow of the nightlight. She smiled in relief, too.
"What was his last temp?" she asked.
"103.5. He's not breaking any land speed records bringing it down, but at least it's not on the way up. I don't think we need to drag out the cooling blanket, either." He looked over at his patient with a satisfied grin. "I don't know about you, but I'm heading home. I'll come by tomorrow, see how he's doing."
"Thanks, Greg. I'll stay here, keep an eye on him."
Greg smirked. "I wouldn't expect anything less," he laughed. "But Dana, try and get some sleep."
She waited until the door swung closed, then snuggled down into the chair and fell back asleep.
Stripes of bright sunlight were decorating her blanket when she woke up and it drew her attention over to the patient's bed. A tray was on the tray table, but the screen saver remained in place, fish swimming in happy cyber regularity and digital filter bubbling away. She smiled and stretched, letting out a big yawn.
"Wondered when you'd wake up," came a voice from the bed next to her. She almost jumped at the noise and jerked over to see her partner, regarding her through sleep-heavy eyelids.
She smiled and stretched her back, then got up and sat next to him on the bed. She brushed a lock of hair back from his forehead and was pleased to find it damp with sweat.
"I think your fever is breaking," she said with a smile.
"That's what the nurse seemed to think. I feel like I was run over by a truck."
She grinned again. "I bet. You had a rough night."
He licked his lips and looked pensive for a moment. "It was strange, Scully. For a while there, I kept having dreams where I was being tortured, slowly. You were trying to help, but you were being held in shackles and couldn't reach me. Then, all of a sudden, I dreamed I was back home, on the couch. The torture stopped. And then, I didn't dream any more." The computer on the tray table gurgled and he raised an eyebrow in its direction.
"Did you get a new laptop? And don't tell me you brought work up here last night. Scully, you should have gone home and slept," he said disapprovingly.
She chuckled and shook her head. "Mulder, that's your nightlight. Or you can call it an electronic replacement for the sounds of your living room. It's why you dreamed you were back home last night. It did such a good job, I'm going to bring my laptop up here this afternoon so we can have it here tonight. This one has to go back to its original owner."
He looked totally stymied. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Scully. Quite frankly, I'm pretty sure whatever it is, it can wait until after I eat some breakfast. I'm starving."
She lifted the cover off the plate and winced. "Oatmeal."
He frowned, and then shrugged. "I'm so hungry, even that doesn't sound bad. Bring it on."
At ten o'clock, a young man dressed in sweats and running shoes with freshly combed hair arrived at the door. "I gotta get my dad's laptop. Is he feeling better?" he asked, pointing to the man now snoring lightly in the hospital bed.
"Much, Wyatt. That was big help last night. Agent Mulder and I really appreciate it."
Wyatt's eyes grew to the size of saucers. "Did you say 'Agent' Mulder? Is he a spy? Like on Mission Impossible?"
Scully bit her lip to keep from laughing. "Not a spy. He's a Special Agent for the FBI. So am I. I'm his partner."
Wyatt was obviously impressed. "You work for the FBI? Cool! Wait 'til I tell my mom and dad! And the kids at school."
"Hey, here's my card. Come visit sometime and I'll see if we can't find a baseball cap for you," Scully said, giving him a card and a pat on the head.
"Awright! Well, hope he gets to feelin' better! And when he gets out, make sure he gets those shots," Wyatt added with a serious expression.
"Definitely," Scully agreed.
When the nurse brought in the lunch tray, she was full of good news. "Well, Mr. Mulder, it looks like you'll be leaving us later today."
Mulder shot a quick look to Scully and then a confused look to the nurse. "Dr. Sullivan signed my release?"
The nurse, a pretty blond named Shirley, laughed and shook her head. "No, you're not getting out of here that easy. They finally found an open private room, on an adult ward. You're going to get your ESPN and Sci Fi channel back."
Mulder nodded and then looked over at Scully. "How much longer do I have in here, do you figure?"
"Your fever is down considerably, but it's still not normal. And Greg probably won't let you go home until your white count is down. Probably two, maybe three more days."
He thought about that for a moment. He spent a few seconds gazing around the room, chewing on his lip. "Do I have to move?" he asked finally.
Shirley gave him a surprised look and Scully choked back an exclamation. "Well, no, you don't have to move, Mulder. I just thought…"
Mulder pulled the lunch tray over closer to him and pulled the cover off the lid. "Ahh," he sighed, digging his spoon into the chocolate sundae sitting next to the macaroni and cheese and fruit cocktail.
Scully shrugged at Shirley and then motioned toward the door. "I'll call you to let you know if he changes his mind and decides to take you up on the move," she assured the nurse.
She turned back to find her partner, eyes glued to Scooby Doo and shoveling fruit cocktail into his mouth.
"Mulder, I don't get it. A couple of days ago you were ready to use the sheets to make a rope and climb out the window. Now you're giving up an opportunity to move to a room with rugby 24-7. What gives?"
Mulder put down his spoon and looked back to his partner. "I don't know, Scully. I got a kid's disease. Guess I just figure I deserve a little 'kid' treatment, ya know?" When she continued to look shocked he grinned at her. "Besides, I think we'll look great in those matching Yankees jackets. They'll go perfect with my Victory Cap."
The end.
Vickie