From: Lyle Bontrager Date: Sat, 05 Jun 1999 01:14:30 -0500 Subject: Break (1/1) Title: Break (1/1) Author: RocketMan >lebontrager@iname.com< Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No fringe is intended. Rated:::::R? for romance and some naughty thoughts. NO sex. Story idea was dreamed up by Tammy. Thanks again. Hope you like the changes. ~~~~ Break ~~~~ "Spend all your time waiting for that second chance For a break that would make it okay. . ." --Sarah McLachlan, "Angel" ~~~~ Mulder stuffed his hands into his pockets, looking down at the scuffed hospital floor and wishing that those thin black marks would open up suddenly and drop him down into Sheol. Sheol. He hadn't thought about that in awhile. He and Sam used to say Sheol instead of hell, back when hell was still a bad word. They'd learned it in church, learned that Sheol was the way Abraham and David talked about hell. Maybe he was already in Sheol. It felt hot enough. He tugged on his tie and unbuttoned his dress shirt a bit more, licking his lips to clear away the sweat collecting there. Scully was still asleep after the sedatives, and her hands rested carefully on top of the sheet. She looked gentle. When she woke up, she was going to awful. He knew it; he knew *her* and she'd never let him get away with this. Especially since they were still on a case and it had been his fault, mostly, and she would have to let him help her. Help her. Her hands were burned. . .scalded. . .baked. . .red and angry and painful. He should have explained it better, should have made himself clear. He never thought to tell her what was going on and she was always getting left out of his sudden leaps of logic. The water treatment plant. So clear to him, so logical and precise and simple. Following him, (she always followed him) Scully had screamed at him to tell her what was going on, cursing as she moved deeper into the darkness of the old place. Then the man rushing them, rushing past Mulder, knocking into her as streams of steam jetted out, enveloping her in a mist of heat. She had gasped, choked as the hot vapor scalded her lungs and throat, held up her hands to ward it off, even as Mulder reached for her. Grabbing her elbows, propelling her back back back. The emergency crew was efficient, and she was okay, would be fine once she healed. . . But her hands. Ravaged. The word was foremost in his mind. Her pride, her dignity, her independence. . .sacrificed to his own heedless impatience. She was going to need him. She couldn't touch anything for a few days, not with her hands so mangled. Mulder sighed and leaned his forehead against the bed rail. ~~~~ She was gritting her teeth, grinding them smooth, and he just watched, helpless. "Why don't you take-" "No." He sighed. She'd been refusing the pain killers ever since getting checked out of the hopsital, but the pain was evident in every move of her body. "Scully. . ." Her eyes flashed blue fire at him, cold and quick and merciless. "I'm going to feed myself, Mulder. I'm going to dress myself. I'm going to hold my toothbrush and brush my da-" "Scully," he chided softly, moving up behind her as she struggled to keep from crying. Her hands were curled in loose fists as she tried to prove the old addage, mind over matter, but it just wasn't happening. "I'm not letting you hurt yourself. Not anymore." She refused to look at him, but his eyes sought hers in the mirror, amazed at how right their reflection looked, with him standing behind her, close. She was in her blouse and skirt and hose still, trying to brush her teeth before they sat up to talk, knowing she'd forget it she didn't do it now. He had come back to find angry tears coursing her cheeks as the agony of moving even the smallest finger overwhelmed her pride. Now, tears gone, she wished him gone too. "Scully. Here, let me-" "No." She turned away from the sink and her stomach grumbled loudly, threateningly, and she moaned silently. Mulder frowned. "You haven't had any dinner." "I . . .I'll just eat tomorrow. I'm too tired to try . . ." He looked at her for a long moment, then finally let it go. She sighed with relief, choosing to ignore the determined look in his eyes. "Mulder, do you mind if we just didn't do this tonight?" He glanced down to the file in his hands, the unsolved case still needing review, the reports they had yet to write. "Ah. . .sure. Okay. If you're tired, I understand." She gave him a smile, hoping it didn't show her pain, and nodded gently. "Yeah. . .yeah. Thanks." He looked at her for a moment, then licked his lips. "Are you going to be okay?" Her stomach positively screamed with hunger, and he raised an eyebrow as she clutched a hand to her belly. "I'll be fine." He made up his mind and left through the connecting door. She sighed again and closed her own side of it, leaning wearily against the frame. She was starving. But her hands were aching as if the skin was stretched too too tight over bone splinters, and her pride was already damaged too much to ask him for help. She'd been so stupid. In the dark, reckless and more pissed at him for leading them there than trying to find the criminal. Her own stupidity. . . her own lack of concentration, lack of procedure or respect for Mulder even. . .it had been her downfall. She had thought Mulder crazy. Nuts. Water treatment plant? Right. Whatever. He'd been exactly right. And she had paid the price for her own stupidity, for her unwillingness to believe. She deserved to suffer. ~~~~ Mulder licked his lips and leaned back on his bed, thinking. He had to get her to eat something. It wasn't healthy for her to skip dinner after being in the hospital for a day, not eating there either. How could he keep her from losing her pride though? She connected autonomy and independence to being whole, being self-confident. Being lovable....likable....something. He didn't quite understand, although he could totally relate. He didn't like having to lie back and let her check his temperature, his eyes, his degree of derangement. He felt like a kid, a child, and children were helpless to control their fate. Helpless to keep little eight year old sisters from flying out of windows. Mulder shivered and glanced to the phone book. He had an idea. ~~~~ Scully wasn't a cryer. But after an hour and a half, she was thinking about relabelling herself. Cryer. The word itself made her want to weep. She spent twenty minutes lying on the bed, thinking about how she should be getting up and getting out of her skirt, but too much in pain to start. Her hands were on fire, all over again. And they itched. She flexed her fingers experimentally, and stopped cold, promising herself she wouldn't do *that* again. She looked at the mirror image of her pathetic self, disgusted and oddly saddened. Thirty something single white female, with a sexy partner who had sexy lips and sexy hands and here she was, moping about her attitude toward him lately and trying not to cry with the pain. And as she reviwed her mental words, she realized that the pain was making her just a little unhinged. She could have taken those pain killers, but morphine made her silly. Silly was the last thing she needed to be around Mulder, what with this crying jag she'd been on lately. She toyed with the button of her blouse, then managed to pop it open, surprising herself. She'd sat there for another twenty minutes, trying to figure out a way to undress herself without absolutely shredding her still healing skin. The next button slipped free and she grew exalted, felt better just for managing a simple task she had never had to worry over before. Soon her blouse was open and her slightly tanned stomach was peeking through, as if a banner of congratulations at her achievement. She smiled to herself and slowly let the material drop from her shoulders. She heard a slight gasp and glanced to the door, heat flushing her cheeks. Mulder. "Ah. . ." She looked at him, still a bit too proud of her accomplishment, still feeling crazy over her handicapped state, still needing something. His look ravished over her exposed skin and she didn't need quite so much anymore. "Mulder?" He gestured to the white bag in his left hand, closing his mouth and swallowing. So many curves.... When had he forgotten she was a woman? Mulder looked to the bag in his hand, feeling somewhat safer with his eyes on the heat steamed white paper bag than skittering closer to her bare stomach. "I brought you something." She sighed. "I. . .Okay, I'll be out in a second." She wanted him to stop her, to place his hand to her shoulder and push down her pride with that look of concern in his eyes. And yet she didn't. She loathed it to happen. But as she turned, she lifted her hand to fumble with her bra clasp, mentally berating herself for letting the nurse pick out a bra with the fastener in the back. . . The pain bit tight into her skin and she stiffened, withdrawing her hand. She felt his breath along the top of her head next, his hand on her shoulder, tense and stiff. "Hold on," he said, even as she weakly tried to move away. His right hand came to touch her back, his thumb gently moving over her skin, then under the clasp, freeing it easily. She felt loose and dangerous, standing there with his hands on her, undoing her bra as if he did it every day. Mulder gently pushed her to the bathroom, and she stumbled inside even as her bra slipped down her shoulders. ~~~~ He stood there shaking, hands running across his chin over and over, a nervous gesture that made him feel rubbed raw. It was electric, his hands on her back. He'd seen that back before, that expanse of soft white peach marred only by the thin strap of cream colored bra, except this time the silk had been navy blue and oh. . .oh, so very sexy. When had she turned sexy? When had he started noticing? Her hands. Her hands. Remember. . .she's in pain. She needs your gentleness, your concern. Not these schitzophrenic fantasies from a man who put her into such a postion anyway. Such a needing, tender. . . He shook his head and set up her meal, placing each item on the table carefully, taking great care to make it right, make it wonderful. A vase that looked like it hadn't been washed out in years stood on the dresser, but he grabbed it anyway and placed the two purple irises in its slim grasp. It looked somewhat out of place next to the styrofoam container and the white napkins and the dark cheap grain of the table. He waited for her to come out, but she was still changing, he supposed, and he ended up sitting on her bed, heart thumping. ~~~~ She managed to get her skirt off and her silk pajama top slid on over her head, with its spaghetti straps and little lace edging. It dipped rather low, but it was the only thing she had that didn't require buttons or scratchy cotton, so she was stuck with it. Her pants were silk and drawstring too, so they'd be easy to get on. . .except she couldn't get her pantyhose off. It hurt. It hurt so much. Her hands were splitting, she could feel it. Her skin was cracked and bleeding again, and the dryness of it made her want to cry. She bit down hard on her lip and gave up. The baggy pants came on smoothly over her panty hose and she wiggled her feet in the tight material to get a bit more room. At least she wouldn't have to deal with getting them on tomorrow morning. ~~~~ When Mulder saw the door open, he jumped up and took her by the elbow, careful not to touch her hands, or brush against her. It was worth seeing her face when he pulled her to the table, the look of awe and delight and soft acceptance that radiated from her eyes. She was looking at the flowers. "Mulder. . ." He smiled and sat her down, then opened the container, displaying it to her proudly. Soup. Scully looked up at him, her stomach flipping at the odd little hope in his eyes, the way his mouth quirked and asked for her to please let him do this. She smiled and it seemed like his whole world lit up, and everything was bright colors and vivid images, and Scully saw the changes and felt awed at the power she had. "Mulder. . .My hands. . .I don't want you to feed-" He shook his head slightly and pulled something from the bag sitting on the table. Her mouth dropped open as he peeled away the wrapper. His hands shook, but he placed the instrument in her soup, giving her a smile. "A straw," she said, catching her breath. He nodded. She laughed. "You think of everything." "Eat, Scully. Or drink, I should say." She sneaked a glance to the soup in her container, with the white straw floating there. It was tomato. She adored tomato. He knew that. It made her feel special. ~~~~ He watched her silently, even crumbling her crackers into tiny pieces so she could get them through the straw, laughing when she blew into it and made the soup bubble. She hadn't done that since she was a kid, and it felt good, watching him laugh. He pulled her feet up to rest in his lap, letting her lean back, the soup container perched on the very edge of the table. She finished it and slurped loudly, ready to see his grin and feeling better when it came. He rubbed his knuckles along her toes, then frowned. She stilled. "You wear panty hose to bed?" She shook her head. "It'll be less of a hassle in the morning." He narrowed his eyes. "You're supposed to rest. Not be working." She glanced into the cup guiltily. "Scully. . .I can take them off for you." He offered softly, his hands light on her ankles, eyes deep and dark and staring right into her. Mulder didn't expect her to agree. She looked up at him, taking in a deep breath. "Trust me. . .?" he said, and even though he meant it to be joking, it held an unasked question. He still wasn't completely sure. "Okay. . ." He blinked, surprised. She felt sick that he was surprised. Wiggling her toes, she pulled her feet from his grip and stood. He stood too, awkwardly waiting for her to do something, say something, but neither of them moved. Suddenly she laughed. "Thanks for dinner. . ." He tossed his head ruefully, and reached for her waist, steadying himself. She held her breath, waiting. He still needed permission or something. . .right? He was about to take off her pants. . .her pantyhose, feel that skin slide down his fingers, and she was just standing there. . . Didn't he need permission? Scully touched his pinkie with a fingernail. More contact than she could bear almost, but she needed him to understand. She needed his help. Sexy and alluring and *good* as it felt, she needed him to help her. Mulder tugged down her pants and let her step out of them, her hands coming easily to his shoulders to keep her balance. "This wasn't so hard in Antarctica," he muttered. She chuckled but gasped when his hands touched her waist again. Scully couldn't look in his eyes, not when his thumbs were sliding so seductively between her skin and the hose, tight and hot next to her. She bit the inside of her lip, disgusted at how stupid-crazy she had suddenly gotten over him, and dropped her hands to her side. They hurt. But she liked touching his shoulders. Mulder's thumbs caught on her navy underwear as he slid the pantyhose and they dipped down before springing back up. He saw more than he should have. However, not more than he'd seen before. Quite a lot less than in that green goo thing, but somehow, what he saw just then was a *hell* of a lot more arousing than *all* of what he'd seen that day. He managed to get her pantyhose off and she stepped out of those too, and he almost refused to put her pajamas back on. . . But his intelligence must have kicked in at that point, because he dismissed that idea and helped her into her pants. "Never thought I'd get in your pants so easily, Scully." His words came before he looked up to her gaze, and when he did, after that tease, he was shocked. She had her eyes closed and her cheeks were flushed. When those blue discs did open, she looked hotter than anything he'd ever seen and he stood up before he could let his hands start roaming again. Her eyes were positively on fire. "You should get to sleep, Scully." She nodded, but didn't move. Mulder placed a hand to her waist and guided her to the bed, watching her emotions battle across her face. He ached to touch her more than a soft hand to her waist. "I. . I have to brush my teeth," she said distractedly, looking away from him. He felt bereft. "I think you already tried that one, huh?" She shrugged and headed for the sink. ~~~~ He couldn't believe it, but she had let him brush her teeth for her. It was somehow both erotic and frightening. She trusted him that much. As if brushing teeth was a sign of trust. . .and yet it really was. And then she had crawled in bed and asked him to stay there until she fell asleep. Her bed being so big and all. . .and her looking so soft and inviting. . .and his own stupid overdriven hormones. . .and hell. . .just her. . . He got in with her, and pulled her body against his and prayed she wouldn't completely hate him, wouldn't totally laugh at him, wouldn't punch him solidly. She sighed and he felt it coming. It didn't come. She snuggled into his arms and rested her lips against his hand for a moment. . .he dare not call it a kiss. . .and then closed her eyes again. It was all going to be okay. In the morning, they'd be normal again. In the morning. ~~~~ end adios RM