Misery Loves Company 
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” and
“Chicken Soup”. Okay, this seems to be a
series of quickie vignettes inspired by my need
to get some entertainment in the middle of
school.  I don’t know how long this’ll go,
probably until the medical insurance runs out.

Author’s note:  Thanks to Shannara for
suggesting the hospital, and to BSirious for
letting me know the gory details about her bout
with ‘the pox’.

Misery Loves Company



There are times in my life when I wonder why I
went to medical school.  Given thte fact that I
spend much of my time nursing my partner, a
nursing degree seems to make more sense.

Skinner was generous in giving me additional
leave time to watch over Mulder.  We both
know how liable he is to neglect himself into
further ill-health.  Mulder is sleeping, shivering
on the couch with a high fever.  I have already
covered him with an extra blanket and am
considering telephoning the pharmacy for
some anti-nausea drugs.

He’s been sick for two days now, barely
keeping water down.  I’ve threatened and
cajoled, offered water, koolaid, ginger-ale.   I
tried to get him to drink some Gatorade, but it
came back up again.  He won’t let me call the
paramedics, and I can’t carry him downstairs
by myself.  Frustrating man. I’m worried about
him and angry at myself that I haven’t carted
him off to a hospital by now.

Yesterday I managed to talk him into taking a
baking soda bath to help the itch and the fever.
I know he’s feeling sick, because he barely
noticed that I was in there helping him into and
out of the tub.  Just looking at his rash makes
me itchy.  I’m finding myself quietly scratching,
probably in sympathy.  But he seemed more
comfortable after the bath, so I think it helped.

He looks so vulnerable when he’s sleeping,
especially when he’s sick.  He must have
looked like that when he was twelve and
Samantha was gone: lost and alone.  I get up
and feel his forehead again.  He murmurs in
his sleep and changes position, pulling the
blankets tighter.  Still very hot.  Would he kill
me if I called the paramedics anyway?

I go into the kitchen and heat water for tea.
Maybe he’ll drink iced tea.  As I prepare the
iced tea I hear a thumping sound from the
living room.  Mulder has fallen to the floor on
his way to the bathroom, and he isn’t getting
up.  Damn. Damn.

I rush over to find him barely conscious,
breathing heavily.

“Damn it, Mulder.  I’m calling an ambulance
and you can’t stop me.”  I grab the phone and
dial 911, then grab the afghan from the couch
and wrap it around him, then cradle him close.
He looks frightened, even though he’s
semi-conscious.

“It’s okay, Mulder.  It’ll be okay,” I whisper and
tuck the blanket more tightly around him.
Soon the paramedics are here and I ride with
them to the hospital.

As I suspected, Mulder is severely dehydrated
and is soon in a hospital bed on an IV.  I sit
with him, in my accustomed chair, still
clutching the afghan.  I’m getting cold;
hospitals are always cold and wrap it around
me, then fall asleep.

I wake to Mulder’s voice.

“Hey...Scully.”

“Mulder?  Hey, how are you feeling?”  I sit up
and push the afghan aside.  He looks better
already.

“What am I doing here?  Why’d you call the
paramedics?”  Mulder folds his arms and
glares at me, as though I’ve broken a promise.

I feel guilty, although I don’t know why.

“I called the ambulance, Mulder, because you
weren’t taking in enough fluids and you
collapsed.  I wasn’t prepared to have you die
on me, of chicken pox of all things!”

I feel an itch on my neck and reach up to
scratch it.  Must change soaps, they’re very
drying.

Mulder watches my hand, then a bemused
expression crosses his face.

“Hey, Scully, are you sure you’ve had chicken
pox?”

“Yes.  I’m certain.  I had a severe case when I
was ten years old.  Why?”

Mulder grins, a little evilly.  “Well, DR. Scully,
either you are developing a very bad case of
acne, or you’re going to be joining me in the
chicken pox ward very soon.”

Aghast, I run into the bathroom and look at
myself.  Two, no three blisters are forming on
my neck and chest and I can see the red
shadows of more to come.  This is ridiculous.
I’ve HAD this before.  And Mulder...Mulder is
*laughing* at me.  I give him my best ‘go to
hell’ glare, then I can’t help it.  I start to smile,
then snort and I’m giggling with him.

But I’ll get mine back.  I’m calling my mom.
When Mulder’s out of the hospital, I’m sure
she can handle two chicken pox patients.  And
I *know* that Mulder won’t get away with
anything if she’s around.  So let him laugh.  He
hasn’t seen my mom when she’s nursing the
sick.