Chicken Soup By Xenith xenitha@yahoo.com Disclaimer: The X-files belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions, not me. I’m only borrowing the characters for now. I’ll put them back when I’m done. Rating: G Category: V MSR Spoilers: None Archive: Sure! Just tell me! Feedback: Love it! Love it! E-Mail address: xenitha@yahoo.com Website: Go here to read more of my stuff! http://members.xoom.com/merlin717/index. html Discussion List: Yes!!! Yes!!! Summary: Follow up to “Just a Cold”; Mulder gets his turn on the sick list. Bring your calamine. Chicken Soup When they assigned Scully to the X Files, I naturally assumed that she was there to spy on me. The communication between me and my superiors had been strained for some time by the time she appeared. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that, although she was a skeptic, she was an honest one. I think that surprised the men who assigned her to me. And it amazed both them and me that she also turned out to be loyal. Now I can’t imagine my life without her. It’s been a long two weeks that Scully has been out recovering from pneumonia. I wanted her to rest longer, but she just glared at me and told me that she’d be back the instant the Bureau doctor released her for duty. I’ve stopped by her apartment every day to check on her; officially I’m there to keep her up to date on the work she’s missing. Yeah, right.... I’ve spent most of this time flipping pencils at the ceiling. It’s no fun doing it without Scully’s quiet raised eyebrow at my boyish antics. And I’ve been saving the best cases for her to look at when she gets here: the crop circles in North Dakota and the walking mummies in San Jose. I’ll be glad to see her back in the office where she belongs. Skinner had me do some public relations stuff because I wasn’t “otherwise occupied”. I had to lead the Hoover Building tour a couple times. I had a few nice conversations with some pimply-faced pre-teens. They’re interested in UFO’s too. I wonder if acne is catching? For the first time in fifteen years I woke up with two zits. On my chin. Really annoying. And Scully’s coming back today. I dressed with special care, wore her favorite Armani suit (the only one that hasn’t been trashed by mutants or other baddies, actually). I’m wearing the tie she got me for Christmas, her favorite after shave. She breezes in, 8:45 a.m., right on time. “Hello Mulder, “ she says calmly and drops her car keys onto her desk. She looks well, her color is back. I, on the other hand, can feel my heart running a mile a minute. Scully is *back*! “Hi Scully. I’ve got some great cases to show you.” I reach for the pile on my desk and notice that her eye is trained on the zits on my chin. Damn. “Mulder, have you had that rash looked at?” “Rash? What rash? I’ve got acne, that’s all....” I start to protest feebly, but the next thing I know I’m sitting on my desk and she has the lamp trained on me, giving me the third degree.” “Have you been near any young children lately?” She loosens my tie and begins to unbutton my shirt. Oh, I like this... “Scully, are you coming on to me?” “No. You have a rash and it’s spreading to your chest.” She pauses thoughtfully. “Mulder, when you were a child, did you ever have the chicken pox?” “Chicken pox? No. Samantha did, but it missed me. Why....” A terrible realization was beginning to dawn. Oh shit. “Skinner had me leading the tour while you were gone. There were kids in it...a couple had a really bad case of acne....” I begin and trail away. No. Can’t be. That’s a kid disease. “Well, you need to be home, resting. You’re contagious now, and you’ll pass it on to anybody you’re in contact with.” “Great, I get to go home for a few days, itching...” I begin, but she frowns even more. “Mulder, chicken pox in an adult is much more serious than in a child. You may be out longer than that if you have a severe case....” My chin is starting to itch a little. I stop myself from scratching. “Sculleeee” I can hear the whine in my voice, and I hate it. Scully just grins and grabs her car keys. “I’m taking you home. I’ll tell Skinner what’s happened and that you’ll need some time off. To rest.” Rest, hell. I’ve got files at home I can work on, I think to myself. Or at least I thought. Now it’s 24 hours later and I’m in bed wishing I could die. She didn’t tell me that this would feel like the worst damned stomach flu I ever had coupled with an itchy rash. EVERYWHERE. I’m flopped on the couch without even the energy to grab the cell phone and call for help. Not that it matters. I can’t keep water down, so there’s no point in anybody preparing meals. And I look...well, I look gross. Better that nobody see me in this condition. Whoops---knock at the door. I know that knock. It’s her. Oh God.... ”Scully! Come on in, Scully!” I call as loudly as I can and she lets herself in with her key. She’s carrying a paper sack. She blanches when she sees me, shivering on the couch covered with an afghan. The only parts of me she can see are covered in an angry rash. I won’t describe it, lets just call it body acne and leave it at that. Gross. Totally gross. “I see that your rash has come out,” she says calmly. “How are you feeling?” She feels my forehead and pulls out a thermometer and pops it into my mouth. I control my gag and grimly keep it in my mouth and my stomach under control. “One hundred one,” she says, then puts it aside. “I brought chicken soup, you want....” She never gets to finish the sentence because I am sprinting toward the bathroom, relieving myself of the few tablespoons of water I got down an hour ago. She follows me to the bathroom to make sure I made it okay, then leaves for the kitchen. I stagger back to the couch and huddle in my blanket. Damn. All I’m wearing are shorts. She can see most of me. Most of the rash. Damn. She returns with a tall glass of water, a bottle of something and a washrag. “Mulder, I want you to drink all this water. You’re dehydrated, and you need it.” I shake my head. “It’ll all just come back up again...nothing stays down,” I say miserably. “Either you drink this or I call the paramedics and you go to the hospital. I’m not kidding.” Damn, I think she’s enjoying this. I reluctantly prop myself up and take a cautious sip. She then opens the bottle and pours some onto the washrag. “What’s that?” I ask suspiciously. “Lotion. It’ll take down the itch.” She begins to gently swab it on my arms and shoulders. It feels cool and comforting...and the itch goes down. Ahhhhh. “Scully, aren’t you afraid that you’re going to catch this? You said it’s contagious.” She continues swabbing, working her way down my chest. I’d enjoy this a lot more if I didn’t feel so damned nauseated. “No, I’m not afraid. Bill, Charlie, Missy and I all had it one summer. Drove my mom crazy with all of us sick, but we all had it. Here, let me do your back.” I obediently turn around and the comfort travels down my back. “Mulder?” “Hmmm?” “I never thanked you for taking care of me when I was sick. I wasn’t thinking straight.” “Don’t mention it. You’re returning the favor now...” I sigh with relief. God, that itching was intolerable. “Mulder...drink your water.” She says this in her no-nonsense voice. I am confident that she will carry out her threat and haul me off to a hospital if I don’t obey. Somehow that’s comforting. Somebody cares enough to make me take care of myself. I sip the water. My stomach is starting to settle a bit. I wouldn’t let her get the areas under the shorts. I have *some* dignity and I can stand the itching, for now. So when she finishes the lotion on the rest of me, she puts a clean sheet on the couch and tucks me in, then sits and watches sitcom reruns with me for the afternoon. Then she feeds me chicken soup and watches more television with me until it’s dark outside. Then she promises she’ll be back tomorrow. And leaves the lotion behind, a full pitcher of water and an empty bucket in case I get nauseated. Now that’s a considerate woman. It’s amazing how much better the chicken soup tastes when somebody who loves you feeds it to you.