By Gina Rain
ginarain@aol.com
 

Category: S, A, UST (I guess)
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Tithonus
Summary: Mulder takes care of Scully as she recovers. Or
is it the other way around?
Disclaimer: CC and Company created the X-files.
Archive: Sure

XXXXXXXXXX

When she opened her eyes that morning, she was struck by
the realization of the perfectly obvious.
Her bedroom was dark.
She was in a dark room.
No light.
Ironic.
She almost spent the last moments of her life in an
'official' darkroom but she had to face facts. If she
had died any time during the past couple of months, it
would have been in the dark.

At home, she woke and moved about in pre-dawn darkness
with drapes drawn. She returned to post-dusk darkness
with her dimmer switch on low.
At work, the formerly well-lit bullpen had suddenly been
converted to a room illuminated only by painfully bright
desk lamps that made the darkness darker and burned her
skin from the glow of overheated bulbs.
And then there was her assignment in New York.
'They say the neon lights are bright on Broadway.
They say that there is magic in the air.'
*They* are obviously on crack.
Life wasn't a song and all she encountered in the 'city
that never sleeps' were charcoal streets bathed in dirt.

Even her hospital room had been dark. Perhaps it was
just a preventative measure to keep her from clearly
seeing the super-scar that Peyton Ritter's super-bullet
helped create.

But the darkest thing in her life--the darkest person--
was her partner. And that hadn't changed one bit since
they returned home.
 
She was still on sick leave for another week. Every
night, after work, he faithfully came by and brought her
take out-out dinner. He held her hand for a moment,
asked how she was, avoided eye contact and went home.

His visits left her apartment a little darker than it
was before his arrival.

Today, it would be different.
She had enough of the darkness.

She carefully made the necessary changes. Drapes were
opened--windows were gingerly cleaned from the inside.
The dimmer switch was turned up to a healthier level of
lighting.  She was tired but happy with the results. Her
apartment was always meant to be a light, cheery haven
in the midst of their dark, depressing cases. It was
never meant to be an extension of her work world.

She lay back against the couch cushions with the radio
softly playing in the background. The lights were on and
she was running the words of an old song through her
mind when she heard a key in her lock.

Right on time. Mulder's Food Delivery. She quickly made
a bet with herself that he'd bring Chinese this evening.

He opened the door and she could tell from the aroma
that she won her own bet. But the bag was small. Dinner
for one. Again.

It was time for him to walk over, grasp her hand,
inquire about her health and get the hell out of Dodge.

Instead, he stood in the middle of the room and squinted
at the brightness.

"What did you do?" he asked without preamble.

"Opened a few curtains. Turned up the light," she said,
gingerly setting both feet on the floor and sitting up.

"Did you overdo it? Anything hurt?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

He squinted directly at her. Another odd sight to his
eyes. A Scully that was not sitting in the shadows
waiting for his brief visitation.

She knew he was expecting an "I'm fine" to let him off
the hook, but she wasn't going to give it to him. She
wasn't fine. And neither was he. They were coping, at
best. It was time to dispel the darkness, shed some
light on the situation, brighten up--any or all of the
above. The path they were currently on was too damned
depressing.

He went into her kitchen and got a fork and heavier
paper plate. He knew she hated the flimsy ones the
restaurant provided. He set them before her and reached
for her hand. Better late than never.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, still waiting for her
pat answer.

She gripped his fingers tightly and put on a funereal
expression. "I'm ... as well as can be expected," she
said, with a slight twinkle in her eye.

He attempted to drop her hand as if it was the bulb from
his bullpen desk lamp. She wouldn't let him.

"Mulder," she cajoled. "Please--it's been a couple of
weeks already. Just relax and sit and eat with me."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Because--I brought some work home with me."

"Work? You are that enthusiastic about background checks
that you are doing them at home? Or have you taken a
second job as a telemarketer?"

"I ..."

"You--are a liar."

He pulled at his hand and she finally let it go. He
stood there staring at his shoes. He hadn't been given
the all clear but she knew he wanted to leave. Fine.

"Thanks for the dinner, Mulder, but I'll be back to work
soon. In the meantime, I'm perfectly capable of both
calling for food and letting the delivery man in."

"That sounds like a kiss-off to me, Scully," he said,
with a half-smirk.

"Then you have very acute hearing," she said.

The smirk disappeared.

"You don't want me to come by?" She expected him to be
relieved. He didn't seem to be.

"I don't want you to come by, look sad and leave. In
case you didn't notice, I am alive, Mulder. And plan on
staying that way. You are so concerned with what almost
happened that you aren't paying attention to what
actually took place."

"I need to see you," he stated simply.

"You see me," she said, carefully reaching for the
carton of rice. She put a little on her plate and
reached for the other carton.

"I need to see you every day," he said.

"Take a picture."

She didn't have to look up to know he winced. It wasn't
the most sensitive thing to say under the circumstances
but she was bored and tired and wanted Mulder back. She
never even realized how much she missed him until she
took full note of his morose behavior.

Mulder was light and fire and passion. This man before
her was afraid to breathe.

He sat on the edge of her coffee table. His coat was
still on--no doubt in preparation for a quick escape.

"You don't understand," he said.

"*I* don't understand? I've never seen you near death?
I've never sat by your side at the hospital? Or visited
you in your apartment while you were recovering?"

"You are much better at it than I am."

"You think so?"

"I know so. I watched you after Kersh gave you that
assignment. So stoic. They were splitting us up. You
know it as well as I do. If things had gone according to
plan, you would have been reassigned. And, this time,
you would have accepted. And I wouldn't have said a word
to dissuade you. I would have tried to stay in your
life--butt into your cases, but you would eventually
conform to Bureau standards and put a stop to it. At
least, you'd be alive. That was the tradeoff. But it
didn't work out."
 
"Due to an accident."

"Yeah, well, I couldn't even keep you safe by letting
you go," he pulled his open coat around him. "I just
can't get over the feeling I've had since that phone
call. A feeling of imminent loss with no life beyond.  I
don't seem to exist."

"Of course you do."

"Only because you're still here. If anything had
happened to you--I wouldn't exist. Not only on some
cosmic level but ..."

"Mulder! I don't want to hear you talking that way. You
have to promise me ... "

"Okay. I promise," he said flatly.

"You're lying again."

"I'm telling you what you asked to hear."

She nodded, taking her first bite of orange chicken and
swallowing it along with the truth of Mulder's
statement. She had no doubt he would be devastated if
she left this world before he did but it was time to
bring things back to the here and now.

"So," she said, loading her fork again, "you're
punishing me for the way you think you'd feel over my
possible death?"

"The way I *would* feel, Scully. And no--I don't think
I'm punishing you. I think I'm taking a moment to put my
life in perspective."

She spiked another piece of chicken and held it out to
him.

"Take a moment to eat."

Reluctantly, he opened his mouth and took the chicken
from her fork. He smiled an unconvincing smile. "It's
good," he said, blandly.

"I don't suppose I could persuade you to take off your
coat and stay awhile. Eat something, volunteer to help
me change my bandage, watch that weird space puppet show
you like."

"Mystery Science Theater. And they're robots," he
automatically corrected.

"Yeah, that one."

He took off his coat and sat next to her, still
uncomfortable. She offered him another piece of chicken.

"I'm not the one who's sick, Scully. I should be feeding
you."

"I'm not sick, either. I'm recovering from an accident.
There's a big difference."

He quietly took her offering and chewed slowly. Then he
swallowed and turned to face her fully. "Bandages? Can't
you do better than that? You're a doctor. Why would you
need me to change your bandages?"

"It's a very clumsy job. I have to use a mirror to see
if there's any sign of infection and it involves a lot
of stretching in places I shouldn't be stretching.
Besides, I'm getting a rash from the tape. It would be
nice if you could put it somewhere that hasn't been
rubbed raw."

He got on the floor and kneeled by her side.

"Don't you want to finish eating first?" she asked.

"I'll eat after I change your bandage."

"Oh, yeah. That will work wonders for your appetite,"
she put down her food and lifted her shirt to expose her
stomach. Mulder slowly and gently peeled off the
bandage.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked.

"No. I'm used to the tape pulling by now," she looked
down at the intent expression on his face as he stared
at her wound. That was also probably not a sensitive--or
smart--move: to visibly remind him of how close she had
come to dying.  He ran his fingers so lightly over the
puckered skin that it felt like a cool breeze was
touching her, not a human being.

"It's hideous, I know," she said, suddenly self-
conscious.

"It's beautiful."
 
"What?" Obviously, Mulder had joined the New Yorkers who
wrote that song and dipped into some bizarre drug that
severely altered his perception.

"It's healing. And that's pretty damned beautiful to
me," he stated simply and went into the bathroom.

No poetic words about her eyes resembling the ocean, or
her hair the fiery sunset of a heaven-kissed isle. Hell,
not even a 'Hey, toots--you're looking good today.' No.
Mulder chose to get sentimental over an ugly scar and
nothing could touch her more.
 
He came out of the bathroom with her medical supplies
and cleansed and dressed her wound. He then took the hem
of her shirt to pull it down and stopped. He smiled a
smile she didn't think she was meant to see.  It was
soft and sly at the same time. But a smile from Mulder
was now so rare that she didn't call him on it.

He couldn't keep a secret--or his true nature--hidden
for long. He ran his finger up her stomach and softly
traced the underside of her bare breast. She hadn't even
remembered that she left her bra off after her shower
until he touched her skin. She looked down and saw what
Mulder had seen a few moments before he went on his
tactile fact finding tour: the completely natural
contours of her tee-shirt covered breasts. She felt her
face get hot.

"Mulder  ... " he stopped smiling and drew his hand away
immediately.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me," the smile
returned briefly. "I just ... you're incredibly soft,
Scully."

She smiled. She should kick his ass from here to
Tuscaloosa, but this was the real Mulder. Stepping all
over boundaries when given half the opportunity. Gentle,
sad and funny. She leaned forward and kissed his
eyebrow.

"What was that for?"

"For trying to reach second base before you even step up
to the plate. For always grasping beyond. That's the man
I know and have missed."

She could see a good deal of his tension lift as he
smiled.

"I manhandle you and get a sloppy little eyebrow kiss in
return? Lift up that shirt again. Perhaps *you'll* aim
differently if I aim differently."

He reached out to playfully grab her shirt and she
playfully slapped at his hands in return. A little
twinge reminded her she better put a quick end to the
frivolity--no matter how good it felt. She put her hands
on his shoulders and looked into his eyes.

"For the record, Mulder, if anything happened to you--I
might exist on a physical level, and I might even seem
to function, but a good part of me would be gone
forever. The softness. I keep it well hidden. It's not
meant for everyone."

"For me?" he asked, hopefully.

She nodded and kissed his other eyebrow with a loud,
smacking sound. His smile was so bright that she put
both hands on either side of his face and tilted his
head up just a bit. She carefully maneuvered herself to
the edge of the couch and pressed her lips to his. One
soft sweet kiss that, just as it was ending, led to a
second one--with slightly more pressure, which led to a
third before she forced herself to pull away.

His look was a mixture of amazement, shock and wonder.

"We already do grieving so well, Mulder. It's time we
practice celebration."

He nodded, as she leaned back on the couch, making
herself comfortable.

"Mulder--I think you can feed me now. And turn on the
television. That puppet show is on soon."

Mulder got up, turned off the radio, turned on the
television and sat next to her.  He reached for the
container of food, thought better of it and reached for
her hand instead.

"So, Scully, how are you doing today?"

"I'm fine, Mulder. Getting better every minute."

"I'm glad to hear it. And they're robots."

He picked up the orange chicken and speared her a slice.

The End
 

Author's Notes:
The Challenge:
Comfort Fic
Finding something you didn't know was lost (Mulder's
personality--check)
Hope--uh, uh ... okay--here it is: I HOPE you liked this
story (whew! check)
Volunteers, or volunteering (Scully asks Mulder to
volunteer to change her bandages--check)
Mystery Science Theater (check--twice)
suicide (implied, but check)

"No Light" was the name of a demo Stevie Nicks made in
the 70s, which later turned into Planets of the
Universe, if you're a fan at all. The demo popped into
my head when I was watching Tithonus--mainly because the
bullpen was so damned dark!
 

Visit the Rain Room...fan fiction by Gina Rain
http://www.geocities.com/ginarainfic
 

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