From: "Nessie" Date sent: Mon, 18 Aug 1997 22:15:05 +0000 Subject: *NEW* Feeling Bad (1/1) by Nessie TITLE: Feeling Bad (1/1) AUTHOR: Nessie E-MAIL: zcapr59@ucl.ac.uk DATE: 17th August 1997 DISTRIBUTION: Please post to Gossamer and atxc. Anywhere else, please ask me first. Please keep Nessie as the author of this work. CLASSIFICATION: V H RATING-- PG-13 for mild language KEYWORDS: a little UST SPOILERS-- Ref's to Deep Throat, Small Potatoes but no real spoilers and ignores anything else that's happened on the show. SUMMARY: Mulder isn't feeling too good this morning. Will Scully have any sympathy for him? DISCLAIMERS: Not mine. Never were, never will be. AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'm back after the two-month block from hell, and I'm testing the water with this short story. It's another drinking story. What *is* it with me and these things? ;) Actually this was inspired by a recent hangover of mine. :-P What can I say? Too much time spent in the Muldergutter Damn good-looking man.. but remember he's only Scully's sidekick :) Enjoy. <><><><><><><><><><> Feeling Bad (1/1) by Nessie <><><><><><><><><><> Scully paused to look up from the magazine in which she was engrossed as the office door swung wide open and Fox Mulder made his entrance. Some entrance. He looked a mess as he stumbled in, gripping the door frame for support. That wasn't always a bad thing; Mulder was capable of looking a very *attractive* mess at time. Trouble was, this just wasn't one of those times. True, his hair was thoroughly disheveled, as if he'd spent the night rolling through a bush and in the morning had done nothing more than casually run his fingers through it. That still retained its beauty. Yes, she liked his hair right now. The floppy look he'd gotten cut lately reminded her of a dog her family had when she was a kid. It made her want to thread her own fingers through it and smooth it out properly. Perfectionist that she was. Normally, Unkempt Mulder was something to look forward to, something she only hoped to see. He had the lazy stubble of a man who just didn't give a shit about his appearance but that didn't appear any the less appealing for it. He hadn't even bothered to dress in his FBI attire this morning. The ash-gray T- shirt clung flatteringly to the ripples of his upper body, the soft fabric only partially tucked into the waistband of his jeans. The jeans that just *hung* invitingly from his narrow hips, covering his lean legs. But it was the eyes that let him down. The whites just weren't white. They were pink from where Scully was sitting, and she knew that if she got up out of her seat, walked over to him and looked closely, she would detect the tiny threads of red capillaries against white. Most definitely bloodshot. And the enthusiastic sparkle was gone too. Dull. Dead. Mulder was the personification of a cloudy Monday morning in November. "Are you going to come in and shut the door or are you going to stand there like a sick puppy all morning?" Scully questioned. There was no reply for her. Not the usual smart-assed comeback she expected of him. He stepped inside the room and turned to kick the door shut behind him. Scully's eyes widened at the sharp wooden slam, and then she looked at him, frowning. "Mulder, what's up?" He squinted. It helped to cut out the blinding glare of the office lights. God.. his head hurt... Still, he didn't speak, instead making his uneasy way across the room. It reminded Scully of a time early on in their partnership when Mulder had wandered onto a military airbase. He had been caught, taken away and drugged up to his eyeballs before she had gotten him a release. The manner in which he staggered across the office now-- it was the same way he'd been when he came back to her that time. Uneasy on his feet, like a child taking its first steps. Perhaps, she wondered, he'd been drugged again. Or not. There was never any telling where Mulder had been or what he had been doing. And there was never any guarantee he'd release that information. He reached the desk at which she sat, planted his hands firmly on the wooden surface to steady himself and muttered hoarsely to Scully "I need to sit down" Her blue eyes widened, questioning, searching his. All she saw was begging, pleading, a sick puppy. "Mulder, tell me what's going on. What have they done to you?" His head dropped and a sound escaped him, resembling a cross between a laugh and a snort. It was then that she smelled it. On his exhaled breath, she detected the odor of alcohol. Strong, unmistakable. She shifted the chair backward and eyed him cautiously. "Mulder, have you been drinking?" Scully spoke a little louder in something that could easily develop into anger. The noise of Scully's raised voice ripped painfully through Mulder's skull, a searing throb, a blinding light. He released his grip on the desk, dropped to his knees and, while he rested both elbows on the tabletop, clutched both hands to his head, grasping his hair. Wanting the agony to stop, begging for it to all go away. He didn't even know why he had bothered to come into work this morning. He could have called Scully.. she would understand.. He should never have gone out to the bar with the Lone Gunmen knowing he had to work the next day. Not that they usually got *that* drunk.. It was-- just-- last-- night. Even thinking was a challenge right now. So he tried not to. "Last.. Night.." he managed to croak. It wasn't that he *couldn't* speak much. It just hurt. It was such an effort to speak when all he wanted to do was curl up and fall asleep. Maybe Scully wouldn't notice if he crawled off into the corner and... Scully spoke through his reverie, hints of amusement in her voice. "Mulder, are you HUNG OVER?" Even louder this time Mulder mentally groaned. Even the smooth sound of Scully's voice was killing him right now. Scully gave a satisfied smile at the way he winced when she spoke, guessing correctly at the source of his pain. "Awww, Mulder!" she teased, softening her voice so that he would at least listen to her without writhing in agony "You mean to say that this is what a few drinks does to you?" Mulder shrugged, grimacing at her. "More than a few.." he mumbled. Scully sighed. "You know Mulder, it's usually more enjoyable to have a few drinks to relax rather than over-consuming to the point where you end up like *this*" Mulder knew there was an Eddie Van Blundht joke in there somewhere but his brain didn't have the resources this morning to dig it out of the recesses of his mind. Hell, he didn't even *have* a sense of humor this morning. "Especially" Scully continued, her authoritative tone of voice now fully in operation "when you have to work the next day. And *particularly* when Skinner has called us both into his office this morning at half past ten." "What does he want?" Mulder drawled, his words muffled by his left elbow as he rested his head atop his folded arms on the desk. "He has a new case for us. As you were late *anyway*" Scully paused "he asked if I wanted to come into his office to receive details of the case before you got here but I figured you'd want to be there too, especially as Skinner says it's something he knows you'll be particularly interested......." Her words began to merge into one another in Mulder's brain as the calming sounds of the Scullyvoice washed painlessly over his ears. It wasn't the words, it was the gentle purring sound. Not like earlier when she had practically yelled him down for feeling like crap. Her voice was soft, soothing the pain from earlier on. Caressing his eardrums, the verbal equivalent of a massage, of her hands running absent-mindedly through his hair. The pain was almost gone as he slipped into the blackness of blissful sleep. So it felt like someone had held a shotgun to his temple and pulled the trigger when he awoke less than two minutes later. "MULDER!" For a doctor, she was surprisingly unsympathetic towards a sick man. And Mulder was definitely sick. It may have been self- induced, but that didn't lessen the symptoms. No, the symptoms were only made worse by a shrieking partner at whatever-past-nine it was in the morning. Mulder looked up to find Scully staring down at him, arms crossed across her chest, eyebrow raised. Not looking pleased. At all. With the aid of the desk, he heaved himself up so that now he was looking down at her. "Mulder, we have *work* to do. A lot of it. I don't expect you to wander into the office looking like crap, not even *dressed* properly only to inform me that you're hung over from last night-- and then you fall asleep on the desk WHILE I'm talking.. " A rapid succession of little word-bullets fired into his brain. Not quiet. Not soft. Scully looked at him and sighed. He gazed back at her with the best puppy look he could muster at that time. She looked away, and then back at him. "Mulder, you're not even shaved" All she got in return was a grin and a shrug from Mulder. And it was a forced grin. It made her want to slap him. Reluctantly, Scully got up from her seat. "Take it" she invited-- although she didn't speak in the most inviting tone. "Go on. Sit there." She made her way towards the door. "Where are you going, Scully?" "I have work to do Mulder. I have autopsy notes to collect from the lab right now and then I'm going to come back for our meeting with Skinner. You, Mulder-- you do what you want. You can sleep in here all day for all I care. Maybe.. just maybe.. you'll be in a more--" Scully paused to find the word "-- *sociable* mood tomorrow" He would have been glad of the suggestion, only he could tell she didn't mean it sincerely. But he wasn't going to refuse; not while he felt like this. He nodded. Giving him one last look, Scully walked from the office, closing the door behind her. <><><><><><><><><><> She leaned against the door and closed her eyes. Yeah, she was pissed at him for sure-- but not as badly as she'd made him think she was. Give it half an hour, maybe he'd be over it and get down to work... <><><><><><><><><><> The comfy swivel-chair looked to good to resist. The thought of the padded seat beneath his ass was definitely more appealing than the feel of the floor against his knees. Ah.. he could easily fall asleep in that chair... He walked around the desk and turned, sinking into the luxury of the chair. Too close to the desk for his long legs-- Scully was a heck of a lot shorter than he was. He slid the chair backwards and stretched out his legs, crossing the ankles. Scully's magazine still sat on the table before him. Big, glossy, thick. Inviting. Mulder reached across and lifted the bottom left- hand corner of the cover. He'd *always* wondered what they printed in those things.. He glanced furtively around the room before snatching the item away and flicking it open. And then he felt a little stupid for even *trying* to be subtle when he knew nobody else was in the room. "Flirting in the workplace" The large print on the page before him, caught his eye immediately. He smiled and decided to read it. Not quite comfortable with his position, he leaned forward and cleared some old papers and pens from the edge of the desk. Reclining in the seat, he pushed backwards a little further, propping both feet on the space he had just cleared. He propped the open magazine on his raised knees and began to read. As he worked his way through the first paragraph, he leaned further and further back, knees straightening, barely noticing the gradual tilt of the chair. The angle of the chair became too great to withstand gravity any longer and Mulder began to topple. His feet kicked back from the desk, his arms flew out to the sides in an attempt to steady himself, the magazine falling to the floor. Followed by Mulder. The chair fell over completely, taking Mulder with it, legs flailing, practically flipping over backwards in his descent. He landed, groaning, on the floor. "Scul-lee" he wailed. There was no answer. Mulder decided he wasn't badly injured; maybe a few bruises.. Maybe he could get Scully to look examine his injuries later, he thought as he curled up on the floor and slipped back into sleep. <><><><><><><><><><> She heard the crash in the office, and smiled. Not knowing for sure, but guessing what had happened. He wasn't hurt. Maybe a scratch or a bruise, but he'd be okay. Mulder was already too deep in sleep to hear the click of Scully's heels as she walked up the steps that took her away from the basement. <><><><><><><><><><> THE END <><><><><><><><><><> NB. I had a reason for that last part: one thing I would PAY to see on the show, is Mulder falling off that chair. Please send your comments; I really would appreciate all the feedback I can get on this one as this is my first story posted after a huge block over the summer. What the hell, I love feedback anyway :) Send to the address below =Nessie= zcapr59@ucl.ac.uk ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ XFR, XFF, Fictalk, XO, EP3, PWNUSTIEETXF, MB/MDS TCDS, DBDS, SAB, Fishies of the X, Potatoholic #1, Proud inhabitor of Mulder/Scullygutter, Lover of PotatoDarin and Prince Vince, Gutter-Wav Mangler, Co-Royal Guardian of Cloud Nine ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ E-mail me if you would like to hear my XF wav files.