This story is based on characters created by Chris Carter and Ten Thirteen
Productions. Characters used without permission. No infringement intended.

TITLE: Bedside Manner (1/1)
AUTHOR:  Jo-Ann Lassiter
EMAIL ADDRESS:  70302.3654@compuserve.com
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT:  OK to post to ATXC (whatever that is), with my thanks.
SPOILER WARNING:  None.
RATING: PG-13: A few swear words.
CLASSIFICATION: S, H (sorta)
SUMMARY: A greasy meal causes no "end" of problems for Mulder while he and Scully drive through Virginia on a case.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thanks to Jill for proofing and also for encouraging me to post this... although that may not be the smartest thing she's ever done. <G>

Bedside Manner (1/1)
by Jo-Ann Lassiter

Rest stop restaurant
Interstate 81
Staunton, Virginia
May 6, 1996
9:16 p.m.

"I don't see how you can eat that so late at night." Scully gestured to
Mulder's gravy-covered plate with her fork.

Mulder looked up, a chicken drumstick hovering inches from his mouth. "I
was hungry." He took a small bite from the last piece of his
"three-piece southern-fried special," then laid it down and pushed his
plate to the center of the table.

"I didn't mean you shouldn't finish your meal." Scully was starting to
feel a little guilty about ruining his dinner.

He shrugged. "I was done anyway."

Scully studied her partner. He'd been fighting something all day, and by
the looks of the hand holding his stomach, it looked like it had finally
caught up with him. "Mulder? Are you feeling all right?"

He stood up abruptly. "Yeah. I'm... um... I'm going to use the
bathroom." And he walked stiffly away.

Scully finished her salad, drank her bottled water, ate her jello,
disposed of Mulder's and her trash, took some money out of the ATM,
checked her balance, then checked her savings account balance. She
plunked herself back down at their table and stared at the men's room
door. After another five minutes--fifteen in all since he'd left the
table--she decided that it had been quite long enough and approached the
door. Rapping gently, she opened it a crack. "Mulder?"

"I'll be out in a minute, Scully."

"Are you sick, Mulder?"

"I'm fine. I'll be out in a minute." His voice quavered; he was hurting
and didn't want her to know it. But his underlying tone of embarrassment
and irritation came through loud and clear.

She backed away hastily. "Okay. I'll be at the table." The door slid
closed with a 'whumf.'

When she reached the table, though, she passed it by and headed into the
small souvenir/travelers' needs store.  She spotted what she was looking
for, paid for it, and headed back into the restaurant. Mulder was just
coming through the entryway, and she winced when she saw how gingerly he
was carrying himself.

If he'd been a wiseass about the chicken thing, she might have needled
him about his... problem. But he hadn't. "Here." She handed him the
small bag from the store. "I'm going to get you some water."

He was still standing there, holding the bottle of pink liquid when she
returned. "Um... thanks, Scully, but I can't take this."

"Are you allergic to it?" She took the Pepto-Bismol and scrolled down the list of ingredients.

"No. I just can't get it down my throat. It makes me gag."

She looked up from her reading. "When was the last time you tried to take it? They've improved the taste--"

"Not that much. It still tastes like peppermint-flavored chalk."

"Can you at least try?"

He sighed deeply and held out his hand; she deposited the medicine into his waiting palm. "The water?"

"Oh." She gave him the plastic bottle, and he started walking away. "Where are you going?"

"Back in there." He nodded toward the men's room. "If I'm going to throw up I'd rather do it in private."

"Okay," she said softly. "Mulder, I'm sorry, but if you can get it down it'll make you feel better."

He nodded and walked away and she sat down to wait.

Five minutes later he emerged and handed her the almost-full bottle of
Pepto-Bismol. "Still tastes like peppermint chalk. Still makes me gag.
I'm sorry you wasted your money." She reached for him but he shied away.
"I need more water." Tossing the empty bottle in the trash, he plucked a
cold bottle of spring water from the bed of ice and paid for it. He
twisted the cap off and took a healthy swig. "Ready?" he said, after
he'd returned to her side.

"How far is it to the motel?" she asked.

"About two hours."

"Will you be okay until then?"

He gave her a sardonic smile. "I doubt it."

*****
Interstate 81
Radford, Virginia
10:50 p.m.

"Um, Scully..."

"I saw it." They'd hit every rest stop since they'd eaten, and she
automatically homed in on them now. She saw Mulder trying hard not to
squirm in the seat beside her, and she sighed. Poor guy. What an
embarrassing affliction to be saddled with, especially with her present
for his every reaction.

"I'm really sorry about this," he said, his head down, and she realized
that he'd misinterpreted her sigh of sympathy as a sigh of annoyance.

"Mulder, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to feel any worse than you already do.I don't mind stopping. Really, I don't."

His only response was to cringe and look out the window.

They approached the turn-off, and she swung into the 'cars only' area, then into an empty slot.

"Um... can you pull up to the entrance?"

She had to really work at keeping the sympathy out of her voice. "Will do."

His hand on the door handle, he glanced at her before looking away. "You can park back there. I'll find you."

"Okay," she said softly, and he pushed the door open; she tried not to watch as he practically ran to the double doors.

It had become her practice while she waited to scour the stores for an
anti-diarrhea medicine other than Pepto-Bismol. After yet another
unsuccessful jaunt, she was now convinced that Proctor & Gamble held the
deed for all the rest stops in Virginia. Grumbling to herself as she
turned away from the assortment of  pain relievers, she bumped into her
partner. She took in the pale, exhausted face. "How are you feeling?"

"Well, I'm in here looking for drugs." He scanned the shelves quickly. "No go, huh?"

She shook her head and blew out a frustrated sigh. "And we're not likely
to find anything before morning." She laid a hand on his arm; she was
surprised when he didn't shrug it off and actually leaned into it.
"Feeling pretty bad, huh?"

"I don't see how I could have anything left inside of me," he said
tiredly. "And you wouldn't believe how sore I am. How long do you think
it would take me to walk to the motel?"

She stared at him. "What?"

A weary smile tugged at his lips. "The car. It hurts to sit."

Remembering an item she'd passed in another aisle, Scully rubbed his arm
affectionately. "I think I can help you there, Mulder." She left and
returned 15 seconds later with her prize.

At first Mulder eyed it warily, then looked up hopefully. "You think?"

She nodded. "I think."

As Scully dug in her purse, Mulder reached for his wallet. "Scully, let me--"

"Mulder, it's $3.59. It's not going to break me."

"I know, but you paid for the Pepto, too, and all those ginger ales you keep making me drink--"

"I'll put them on the expense account, all right?" When he didn't answer
she looked up; those sorrowful eyes always got to her. "Okay. The swim
ring doesn't go on the account. You can pay me later."

His demeanor didn't undergo a dramatic change, but the worry creases eased from his forehead.

She handed the clerk a five, accepted her change and her purchase and
walked over to where he was waiting against the far wall. "What do you
think? We blow it up here or in the car?"

"You blow it up in the car while I stand outside."

"Me? What's wrong with your lips?"

He barely cracked a smile. "Ah, Scully. I wish I felt better. Somewhere
in this mush I call a brain, there's a terribly clever quip lurking.
Suffice it to say for now that I really haven't got any breath to spare.
If you weren't here, I'd have to hire some kid to blow it up." He sagged
against the wall as if to drive home his point.

"Are you going to be able to make it to the car?" she asked only half in jest.

His eyes closed, and he let out a breath. "Can we wait a few minutes?"

"You're really done in, aren't you?"

"Hmm? What?"

"Never mind." She wrapped her arm around his waist and pulled his arm
over her shoulders. "Come on. Before you slide down that wall, and when
you land it'll *really* hurt."

"Ow... Scully, don't even talk about it." But he allowed her to pull him
away and lead him outside.

When they stepped off the curb, he lost his footing and it was all she
could do to keep him from falling flat on his ass. "Mulder, goddammit,
open your eyes!"

He blinked and looked around wildly. "Huh? What? Where are we?"

"Jesus, Mulder. How can you fall asleep walking?"

He looked thoroughly befuddled. "What?" His eyes closed again, and she
shook him.

"Mulder! I am not carrying you to the car!"

He forced his eyes open and tried to get them to focus. "Okay. All
right. I'm awake."

"Good. Now come on." They were almost to the car when she felt him
trembling. "Just a few more feet, Mulder. Keep it together for a few
more feet."

He didn't answer, and she didn't expect him to. With one hand holding
him upright, Scully reached into her pocket and drew out the keys. She
unlocked the passenger side door and opened it, then popped the back
door lock.

"Mulder? Why don't you lie across the back seat on your stomach?" She
gently pushed him until she could open the back door, then he crawled
onto the seat and collapsed with his feet hanging about two feet out.
Sighing, she bent his legs at the knees and closed the door.

She walked around and unlocked her door and the other back door. Taking
his coat from where he'd left it on the front seat, she rolled it
loosely and tucked it under his head.

"Thanks, Mom," he mumbled.

"You're welcome, Fox," she whispered in his ear, and when his eyes slid
open to look at her, she smiled. "Just checking." She shook out her coat
and spread it over him.

He pulled it up over his shoulders. "Mmm... Smells good, Scully. Smells
like you."

"You're delilrious, Mulder. Go to sleep." She closed his door carefully,
then settled into the driver's seat.

"Yes, m'am," he said, his voice fading. "You do smell good, though,
Scully..."

*****
RestWright Motel
Hillsville, Viriginia
11:30 p.m.

"You requested two rooms, Ms. Scully?"

Scully looked up from filling out the registration cards to find the
motel proprietor regarding her curiously. "Yes. My partner's out in the
car. He's not feeling well."

The woman nodded. "Oh, I see. You'll fill out his card for him then?"

Scully handed one card over. "Already done." She went back to her own
card. "If you have anything at ground level, I'd really appreciate it."
Her gaze drifted out the window to their car.

"Got you two rooms only a few doors down. They're adjoining, if that's
all right."

Scully looked up and smiled, handing over her card. "Yes, thank you."
She glanced outside, then back at the proprietor. "Is there an all-night
pharmacy around here?"

The woman thought a minute. "Closest one I know is in Whitman, about
thirty miles to the south."

Scully had brightened, but her spirits quickly fell when she heard how
far away the store was. As tired as she was, though, for Mulder's sake
she'd take the ride. Just about to ask directions, she heard the door
behind her open, and saw a tentative smile slip onto the motel owner's
face. Scully turned around to find a slightly-disheveled Mulder walking
toward her.

"Hi," he said, his voice sounding rough from sleep.

"Hi yourself. How are you feeling?"

"I... um... just came to see if you got the room keys yet." He was
holding himself ramrod straight, and Scully's stomach tightened in
sympathy for him.

She turned back to the desk, and the woman handed her a key. "It's only
two doors down; he can walk to it easily," she said softly enough so
that Mulder couldn't hear.

Scully smiled gratefully, and quickly handed the key over to her
partner. "Two doors down." She closed his hand around the key. "Go on.
I'll be there in a few minutes with your bag."

The nod of nonchalance and urbane smile he'd intended to give her came
out as a choppy head bob and a teeth-gritting grimace. He held her eyes
a moment in silent thanks and dashed out the door.

"Stomach trouble?"

Her entire attention on Mulder, for a second Scully had no idea where
she was; she turned toward the voice as the motel office gradually
filtered back in around her. "Yeah. I guess I'll head down to that
pharmacy you mentioned."

The woman looked appalled. "By yourself?"

Scully was taken aback by her reaction. "Well... yes. My partner's in no
condition to travel."

"Ms. Scully, I know you're an FBI agent and all, but it's not safe for a
woman alone at night around here--at least not now."

Scully had forgotten. Jesus. The very thing they were here to
investigate. "You're right," she said. It would be foolish, not to
mention downright dangerous, for her to chance it. A lone woman, even
traveling 65 miles per hour with the doors locked and the windows up,
was an easy target, according to the local police reports. No, Scully
wouldn't be doing any traveling tonight. She mumbled a "good night" and
headed for the door.

She left the office, moved the car to its proper slot, then retrieved
their luggage, stowing everything in her room. Going back outside, she
locked her door and went next door. "Mulder?" she called, rapping
gently.

Receiving no answer, she sighed and returned to her own room. She'd give
him ten more minutes before beating his door down.

*****

Mulder knocked on her door just under the wire; he'd used up nine of the
ten she'd allotted him when she heard the gentle tap,tap,tap.

"Hi. Come on in," she told the forlorn creature before her.

He shook his head. "Can I just have my bag? I need to change."

About to rib him, so accustomed to trading barbs with him was she, that
she almost didn't catch what he'd said. "Oh..." she caught herself.
"Sure."

Mulder turned beet red, and Scully decided that the best thing she could
do would be to pretend he'd never said anything. She handed him his
suitcase and let him leave.

Five minutes later, having changed into her pajamas, Scully lay atop her
bed trying to watch some talk show and not think about Mulder. Through
the traditionally-thin motel walls Scully heard Mulder's shower running.
A few minutes later, just as she was drifting off, his soft knock
sounded on her door.

Even though she knew it was him, she checked through the peephole. There
he stood: a solemn figure in black sweatpants and white tee-shirt,
shivering in the warm night air. She opened the door wide, and he
accepted her invitation to come in; she saw his hesitation when he
noticed her mussed covers.

"Oh... I didn't think you'd be in bed yet." He started backing out, but
she quickly reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Mulder, it's okay." She closed the door behind him. "Did you come here
for a reason, or just for the company?"

He smiled shyly. "A little of both."

She indicated the bed. "Do you want to sit down?"

He winced. "I can't."

"Oh." Giving his arm a squeeze of encouragement/sympathy, she walked
over to the bureau and plucked the paper bag from atop it, producing her
earlier purchase. She ripped open the packaging and pulled out the piece
of plastic. A few minutes later, she handed the inflated ring to him.
"Try it out."

Wordlessly, he accepted the float toy, situated it on the armchair, and
lowered himself very carefully. The slow smile that grew across his face
was entirely for her. "You're a genius, Scully. God, I didn't think I'd
ever be able to sit again."

She laughed, then sobered. "What's going on, Mulder? I know you haven't
felt well all day, and now this. Is there anything I should know about?"

He closed his eyes tiredly. "I'm just a little under the weather.
Nothing to be concerned about, really. This just kind of knocked me for
a loop." His eyes opened, and he smiled lopsidedly. "I'm okay."

She pulled one of the straight-backed chairs from the small table and
sat across from him. "You don't look okay. Do you have a fever?" she
asked, extending an arm.

Lowering his head so that she could reach it without stretching, he
remained silent while she "doctored" him, touching the back of her hand
to his forehead, her palm to his cheek and then his glands, checking his
eyes, and making him open his mouth so she could look down his throat.

"Well?" he asked when she'd finished; she was sitting quietly, hands in
her lap, "processing."

"Stomach still upset?" she asked.

He laid a hand across it, unconsciously trying to rub away the
queasiness. He looked down while he answered, "Yeah," then his eyes
drifted back up to hers. He was sick, and he wanted someone--all right,
he wanted *Scully*--to feel sorry for him.

"You have a slight fever, but you're right, I don't think it's anything
to be concerned about."

He was relieved by her diagnosis, but disappointed by her response; he
had hoped she *would* be concerned about him.

"You know, Mulder, you constantly surprise me."

What had he done now? "Oh? How so?"

"Most men are such babies when they're sick, moaning and groaning until
someone pays them some notice. But you--you were the opposite. You went
quiet on me."

"I'm not 'most men,'" he said, almost defensively.

She snorted. "Don't I know it. But seriously, Mulder... why didn't you
say something?"

He was genuinely confused. "I... why?"

"To let me know to take it easy on you. Jesus, Mulder, I wouldn't have
let you drive most of the time." She laid a hand over his. "Why didn't
you tell me you weren't feeling well?"

He shrugged, still not certain what she expected of him. "It... never
occured to me, I guess, that anyone would want to know." He met her
eyes, but couldn't hold the gaze.

"Mulder, I'm your partner. Of course, I want to know when you're not
feeling up to par. It could be dangerous if you're not a hundred percent
and I don't know it."

"You're right; I'm sorry," he said very softly.

She took his hands. "Hey... I didn't tell you because I want to make you
feel bad."

He was still examining the floor. "I know."

"But you do. Why?"

"I'm not comfortable being sick. I don't like it. It's..." His voice
trailed off on the last word.

"What?"

"I said I don't like being sick."

"You said something else. You said it's..." With a sickening
realization, she understood. "...It's lonely. You said it's lonely,
didn't you?"

"No," he said, his voice cracking. He felt her stare upon him, and he
looked up.

"Tell me."

He swallowed and focused on her hands still holding his. "My family...
You've met my mother. You know she's not very..." Suddenly he felt cold.
He pulled his hands away and hugged himself. "Being sick meant lying in
bed in my room. Alone. When I felt well enough to eat, I was allowed
into the dining room. Otherwise..." He shrugged.

Scully stared at him in disbelief. "No one brought you soup, read you
stories, took your temperature?"

He shook his head.

"I'll bet she checked on you when you didn't know it... when you were
sleeping." Scully tried to give him some slim thread to hold on to.

A hesitation and then a hopeful smile. "I don't know. Maybe." But he doubted it.

She nodded more emphatically. Who was she trying to convince: herself or
him? "I'll bet you even money she did."

He nodded sadly. "Okay."

He didn't believe it. She saw it in his eyes. So far as the lonely boy
in bed knew, he was supposed to be a good little soldier and not bother
anyone. And no one bothered with him.

He was right. While Scully was sure Mrs. Mulder loved her son, the woman
came across as a master of detachment. She'd probably adopted it to cope
with her husband, but, Jesus, she'd practiced it on her children--at
least on her son--too.

Suddenly, it occurred to Scully that she was guilty of the same thing.
Granted, the majority of the time her 'ice queen' persona was necessary
to her survival in a 'man's' organization--but this was Mulder.

"Hey." She ran a hand through his hair. He looked up and the dejection
in his eyes broke her heart. "You know that the job isn't the only
reason I want to know when you're sick, don't you?"

He shrugged. "Isn't it?"

"That's my safe reasoning, Mulder. My logical rationale for wanting to
know when you're not well. And although it's true to some extent, it's
also a crock of shit."

His eyes blinked in surprise.

She cupped his face in her hands. She had a feeling he needed the
physical contact, and it wasn't doing her any harm, either. "I care
about you, Mulder. I care what happens to you, and  not just because
you're my partner. When you're sick I want to help you. I don't, though,
because I know--at least I thought I did--that you don't like to be
fussed over."

"Said the kettle to the pot."

She laughed. "Got me there." Then she sobered. "But you know that under
all the bluster and bravado I really do cherish the attention lavished
upon me by you."

His eyes widened and then she knew: he didn't. He had taken all her
protests and biting remarks and he had believed them. And persevered in
spite of them.

"Jesus, Mulder."

"Why would I believe otherwise, Scully? You were telling me how you
felt; why would I not believe you?"

It wasn't so much what he said but what he didn't say--yet which she
heard as surely as if he'd spoken it aloud: Everyone dumped on Spooky;
why not her, too?

Jesus, Mulder.

"I know it's cliche, but... listen with your heart, Mulder," she said
softly, "not with your ears." She caressed his cheek lovingly. "You'll
hear much more that way."

Despite the smile he gave her, he looked as if he were going to cry. "I
do, Scully. But after so many, 'I'm fine, Mulder's,' it's hard not to
listen to what you're saying rather than what you're feeling."

Her hands dropped away, and she sighed. "I know. I'm a tough nut to crack."

All of a sudden their positions were reversed. His hands were on her
cheeks, his thumbs tracing little circles on her neck. "But one well
worth the effort."

She smiled. "How about I tuck you in, read you a story, and take your
temperature?"

"What? No soup?"
 

"If I had soup, Mulder, I would bring it to you." She said it so
tenderly that his hands ceased their caressing so that he could stare at
her in proper shock.

For the first time in a long time, he felt loved. Or was it pity? "I'm
not a little boy, Scully," he said in a little boy voice. God, he hoped
it was love.

"I'm well aware of that, Mulder." She reached up and grabbed onto his
wrists. "But you're my partner and you're sick." Pulling his hands away
from her face, she turned them over and ran her thumbs over his palms.
"And you've had a--pardon the pun--shitty night, and I think you need a
little TLC." She stood, tugging at his arms until he followed suit, then
she stepped forward until she was 'in his face.' "And I'm the woman what
can give it to ya."

His eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets. Now what did she mean by *that?*

Very gently, she pushed him toward the door. "Come on, G-Man. Time for
you to hit the sack."

It was all too much; he had to ask. "Alone?"

"You said you're not a little boy, Mulder."

"No. I'm not."

She met his challenge head-on. "Is that what you want?"

"No. Yes. No." He looked at her pleadingly. "Scully."

"I'm not going to have sex with you, Mulder."

His face fell. "Oh. Okay."

"Maybe when you're better."

His head came up so fast he was sure he must have given himself
whiplash. The impish twinkle in her eyes, however, immediately nullified
any residual giddiness. "Please don't tease me when I can't defend
myself, Scully."

Her face softened. "Usually you thrive on this, Mulder."

He wanted to cry. "Usually I'm not serious."

It was her turn to blink. "Excuse me?"

Oh, Jesus, he was fucking this up but good. He forced a smile onto his
face. "Take me to my room and put me to bed, Scully."

"Alone?"

"Unless you've changed your mind... yes."

"I've changed my mind."

He was going to have a heart attack. She was trying to kill him, and she was really, really good at it.

"I'm sorry, Mulder, but you're such an easy target." She steadied him
while he tried not to pass out from hyperventilating. "But I'll lie with
you until you fall asleep." One eyebrow raised in question. "Deal?"

"Under the covers?"

"And you can cuddle."

"Will you cuddle back?"

She wondered now if he was the one doing the teasing. But no. One look
in those hope-filled eyes told her he was perfectly serious. God, how
could his mother have resisted those eyes? How could anyone?

"Come on, partner," she said, pulling him out the door. "Let's go cuddle."

The End
 

There is a magnet in your heart that will attract true friends. That
magnet is unselfishness, thinking of others first... when you learn to
live for others, they will live for you. Paramahansa Yogananda