Date: Tuesday, February 22, 2000

Title: The Gurgle of Fish
Author: Vickie Moseley
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
By Vickie Moseley
vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com

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.

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.

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."

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.

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."

"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

"Duct Tape is like the Force.

It has a light side and a dark side
and it holds the universe together."

From a tee shirt at the Mall