From: Jeanette Date: Tue, 16 Jan 2007 06:49:09 -0800 Subject: PB&J Syndrome by JMN Source: direct TITLE: PB&J Syndrome AUTHOR:JMN DISTRIBUTION:Archive freely RATING: PG 13 CATEGORIES: SRA KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully romance hurt/comfort SPOILERS:none SUMMARY: While at an important conference in NY, Mulder becomes ill and his partner, Scully must come to his rescue. But, an unexpected move causes them to question the depth of their relationship. In the end, they both look at their lives and lunches a bit differently. Disclaimer: These character do not belong to me. Author's Notes: Hope you like it?I wrote it about five years ago, but decided to clean it up and post it. This story was originally posted at fanfiction.net. (New York City 7 a.m.) There was no doubt about it. Fox Mulder was sick, real sick. He could tell the moment that he lifted his head off the cheap and smelly hotel pillows that his symptoms hadn?t abated any since yesterday. In all actuality, this morning he felt worse. About a week ago he felt it creeping up on him--slight sore throat, sniffles, congestion, nothing too serious. But, what seemed only to be a mild illness soon turned itself into the full-fledged flu. The low-grade fever sweltered inside his body making him feel hot and light-headed. And then there was the headache--the painful constant throbbing behind his eyes that seemed to eat away at his brain with each forceful pulse. The headache only seemed to worsen at night, leaving him dizzy and nauseous until he could do little more than lie completely still, and wait for sleep to take his pain away. What little sleep he managed to take seemed to recharge his batteries enough to begin another day. He supposed ultimately it wasn?t anything a few pain relievers couldn?t fix. After all, he had a job to do, and he wasn?t about to let a little sickness hold him back. Mulder had even made himself feel well enough to dodge bullets with Scully last night, as they found themselves sprinting down a dark alley on 51st Street. Although, in retrospect, it most likely amounted to nothing more than sheer adrenaline spawning from the fear of losing life that greatly overshadowed the symptoms of his illness. Now, however, as he sat up wiping the sleep from his hollow feeling eyes, for the first time, he truly felt the full brunt of his illness. 7:15 a.m. and already Mulder wished he could go back to bed. It was starting out to be a great day. One he didn?t think showed any signs of getting better. Now, for the third consecutive time that week, Mulder found himself popping Advil and lugging his aching body to work. A necessary convention that would prove to be vital to their current case is what brought agent Skinner, Mulder, and his partner Scully to New York for the weekend. Mulder didn?t feel much like going, sick or not, but Skinner expressed its importance from the beginning. Mulder supposed that even if he managed to cut his head off somehow Skinner still would have managed a way to drag him to the city. There was absolutely no getting out of this one. A little fever certainly wouldn?t be enough to excuse him from the conference. Mulder met the two other agents in the hotel lobby for a quick breakfast before catching a cab over to the convention center. (Conference Hall in New York City, 3:50 p.m.) Mulder sat miserably in the large conference room feeling the fever creep up on him again. His body felt weak and tired from fighting the sickness. He just wanted to slip away, drop everything and leave work so he could sleep for a couple years. He felt terribly exhausted. Each second seemed to drag on for an eternity as he struggled to keep his drooping eyelids from closing. He felt himself nod off for a couple seconds and a hard nudge brought him back again. Startled, Mulder shook off sleep embarrassed, giving his wake-up caller a tired side ward glance. Agent Skinner returned Mulder?s glance with a flash of stern disbelief, the anger dancing in his eyes as he searched Mulder?s face for an explanation. But just as quickly as the anger appeared, Agent Skinner?s facial features softened, suddenly changing to concern as he momentarily forgot his anger. Skinner, no doubt appalled to catch Mulder snoozing in the middle of an important conference, could now only stare in shock at the state of his agent?s sickly face. ?Jeez Mulder, you look terrible,? Skinner whispered, leaning over closer to Mulder so that he could talk without being too disruptive. Skinner could feel the heat from his fever radiating off of Mulder?s skin like fire. ?I *feel* terrible,? Mulder replied thickly. He shivered and held his arms close to his body. ?I wish someone would turn off the damn air conditioner in here.? Skinner looked Mulder up and down with an alarmed expression, not at all liking what he saw. But even more worrisome, he couldn?t believe the heat coming off Mulder?s body. Earlier, he assumed it was just the heat of the room. Being mid July, the temperature in New York the past week had climbed to a blistering one hundred degrees?the humidity only adding to the discomfort. Even as they filed inside the conference hall that morning, it had been a blessing and a huge relief to get inside and out of the heat of the crowded city which was slowly transforming itself into a frying pan. Now, he sat comfortably, welcoming the cool air. Studying Mulder?s face he noted that his cheeks were flushed and bright, glistening with fever. Skinner guessed from Mulder?s ghastly appearance, that his temperature could easily be close to one hundred and three. Easily. And now, in the middle of an important conference, what could they do? This was important to all of them, and Mulder was clearly in no shape to be in attendance. It seemed questionable whether or not he should be in a hospital right now. Skinner glanced around the room coolly over the rows and rows of chairs and found agent Scully looking straight ahead and attentive, jotting notes down here and there. Agent Graham Miller was giving a demonstration at the front of the large room and Scully listened with all her attention. This reassured Skinner. He knew Scully was very dependable and he could count on her later to recall key points. Concerned, Skinner turned his attention back to Mulder. His usual bright eyes were glazed over, and appeared to be far away. Skinner tried to recall silently to himself. Surly three hours ago Mulder hadn?t appeared like this--so sick. This morning perhaps he did seem a bit short-tempered, but certainly not noticeably ill. Skinner racked his brain, perhaps wondering if maybe he might have mistaken Mulder?s behavior for just his usual defiant self. Often he expressed his displeasure at the idea of being forced to do something he didn?t really feel like doing in the first place. And that was the case here. Skinner knew from day one when he announced they?d be going to New York last week that Mulder questioned the importance of it. But he had insisted, explaining the relevance the conference would have to the case. And as usual, Mulder seemed annoyed by his decision. If things weren?t done his way you could count on it being an issue. And that?s how Mulder seemed this morning. Like himself--irritated, short and pre-occupied-- nothing out of the ordinary. Skinner placed a hand on Mulder?s cheek, curiously and was shocked by the hotness of his skin on the back of his fingers. It was actually hot, not warm but burning hot! Mulder shifted his blank gaze back to Skinner's concerned eyes. Bringing a hand up to his own throbbing forehead, he rubbed the painful area around his temple and then his eyes, where they hurt in his skull when he moved them. ?We?ve got two hours left. Can you hold out?? Skinner asked Mulder. Really, they didn?t have too much of a choice. Once they entered the conference they weren?t really permitted to leave until it was over. Mulder shrugged miserably, glancing at his watch. It was only two. Agent Graham Miller had been talking in the front about two hours now and Mulder didn?t have a clue about what had been discussed, nor did he care at the moment. Skinner stressed over and over to him that this conference was important since vital information, which pertained to the case, would be discussed. But even then he didn?t give a rat?s ass. He was too sick to care. But really, who was he kidding anyway? Even if he *was*well he seriously doubted that he?d care enough to listen anyway. Being sick only added to his torture. Mulder was sure an hour passed by the next time Skinner spoke, but his watch only read quarter after two. A mere fifteen minutes. ?How you doing?? he whispered. Mulder rolled his eyes over to skinner without replying. His head, pounding even harder, made him feel dizzy, almost carsick. His stomach lurched unhappily and he swallowed hard in response, hoping the feeling would go away but wasn?t having much luck. Agent Graham rambled on and on through Mulder?s misery. Talking about God knows what. He picked up pieces of what he was saying here and there: bits of a fragmented sentence having something to do with fish. Fish? Mulder questioned himself, dazed, unsure if he was really hearing right. Yeah, fish. Fish in some sort of creamy white sauce. Why? Mulder didn?t have the slightest idea. The only thing he knew was that his own meal of potatoes and chicken would be on its way up if this conversation didn?t change soon. Mulder shifted uncomfortably in his seat, screaming for his mind to stop dwelling on that damn fish and white sauce. Seconds ticked by like hours until time itself seemed to stop completely. Mulder was only aware of himself and his thoughts and nothing else outside his realm of agony. ?I?ve gotta get outta here,? Mulder told nobody in particular.? His voice sounded hollow, seeming to come from far away and he felt panicky. Unable to think of anything else to do, he dropped to his knees, too weak to even stand. Some of the other people around them now watched him curiously as he slumped down on to his knees, but he didn?t notice. ?Hang tight Mulder,? Skinner tried to reassure him, not quite sure what to do exactly. He leaned forward on his chair reaching out towards Mulder who still remained on the floor. ?I?ll try to get you out of here in just a second.? He placed a firm hand on his shoulder attempting to coax him back to his chair. ?I can?t wait---shit,? he said miserably. ?I?m gonna get sick.? Skinner had a split second to react--register what Mulder said and grab the paper bag his lunch had been packed in. He didn't react fast enough. Mulder had already puked all over the floor and himself before Skinner could give him the bag. His vomit was white and there seemed like a lot of it. ?There?s your white sauce,? Mulder muttered after he had finished. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then puked again violently. And again. He blacked out briefly from the force of vomiting and slumped to the floor. I gotcha,? Skinner told him, kneeling beside him and steadying him with an arm around his chest. People around them now stood, alarmed--some revolted while others seemed concerned. Hearing voices, heads turned everywhere to see the commotion going on. Someone asked if they could help. The voices around Mulder seemed to meld together in a blur. Skinner stood up, helping Mulder back to his seat. He flopped down in the chair with little hesitation, relieved that he could finally close his eyes and rest. ?No, it?s okay we don?t need any help,? Skinner responded. ?I?m sorry agent Graham,? he apologized to the man at the front now pausing from his speech to see along with everyone else exactly what was going on. ?He?s sick.? ?Call a janitor in here to clean up,? somebody close by ordered. Scully was looking over concerned, trying to figure out what happened. Skinner gestured for her to come closer. ?You know what?? agent Graham said, speaking to everyone again. ?Let?s call it a day. It?s hot in here and we?ve covered enough for today. I didn?t realize I was making you guys sick,? he joked. ?I?ll see you all tomorrow.? Skinner roused Mulder from his half-sleep. ?Come, let?s get you out of here.? Mulder stood on his own will. He looked groggy and grotesquely sick standing in his vomit soaked jacket and slacks. His head still pounded, although not as much and he swayed dizzily on his feet. Skinner tugged at Mulder?s soiled shirt, not wanting any part of touching him with the disgusting thing on. He un-tucked it from his pants, and pulled it over his head, revealing Mulder?s brightly fevered skin. Someone brought a nice clean cotton blanket and Skinner wrapped it around Mulder. And now they were walking. One large arm slung under Mulder?s arm and around his waist guided him as he walked. Skinner noted that Mulder?s skin felt alarmingly hot as he directed him though the lobby. Mulder was aware that Scully was at his side now too. She walked on his left and he could feel her hand run across his cheek and forehead as they stood in the elevator. He studied her intense blue eyes and could see that she looked worried. ?You?re the doctor agent Scully,? Skinner began. ?But I know he?s really sick.? ?How are you doing Mulder?? she asked. ?Can you hang in there until we got you to the car?? ?I sure can clear a place out can?t I Scully?? he joked, giving her a weary smile. She felt somewhat relieved to find that he hadn?t lost his sense of humor yet. ?Just a bit further Mulder. And did anyone ever tell you that you smell like rotting shit?? She returned Mulder?s smile. The car ride home was like heaven. The temperature had climbed outside and inside the car it felt stuffy and toasty hot. He sat on the edge of the seat, blanket between his knees, concentrating so that he wouldn?t black out again, this time from the sheer ecstasy of the warmth. He was aware that he puked again onto the street and then into the blankets between his legs. He coughed in agony convulsing from the pain in his stomach. Icy hot sweat and tears streamed down his cheeks. After the pain subsided, he dozed peacefully, hardly remembering how he got inside the car, but glad to be there. The car ride was way too short. Before he knew it he was once again on his feet walking. Where? God only knew. He just wanted to lie down again. The steps were agony, but soon he was at a door, their hotel door he realized and Skinner was searching for his keys. Once inside, Mulder hesitated very little. Shivering violently, he quickly found his bed and gratefully attempted to climb inside?-pants, shoes and all. ?Mulder,? Scully called to him from somewhere close. ?Wait a minute before you sleep.? She leaned in close next to him. ?I want to take your temperature.? A cool thermometer was placed under his tongue. Scully's concerned hands invaded him, smoothing back the sweaty hair on his forehead and touching his burning cheeks. Skinner brought some water over and some fever reducers along with a cool washcloth. Scully took the rag and dropped it over Mulder?s closed eyelids, gently compressing the cool cloth to his head and tracing it over his sweaty face. A few minutes later Scully removed the thermometer from under Mulder?s tongue. She studied it hard, not saying anything. Mulder opened his eyes and attempted to read Scully?s face, but her facial features remained blank and expressionless and he found it impossible to decipher what she was thinking. This only added to his discomfort. Finally, in the background, Skinner broke the heavy silence. ?Jeez,? he muttered from behind her. ?Wha, what is it?? Mulder asked weakly, straining to sit up as if the information was suddenly vital to him. Skinner came over and pushed him back down. ?What is it?? he demanded again. ?One hundred and four degrees,? Scully finally replied calmly and then pressed the cool cloth to his face again before Mulder could react to the news. ?Mulder, swallow these.? She placed two pills in his mouth and held some water up to his burning lips. Everything around him was swirling in an incomprehensible blur, and he strained again to sit up. ?Mulder, just relax and lay down.? She coaxed his head back on the pillows, and carefully brought the cool glass of water to his lips. ?Please take these.? Mulder obeyed, swallowing them down on command and rested his head back onto the pillows. ?It?s okay. You?ll feel better soon,? she reassured him, softly running her hands through his sweaty hair. ?You?re going to feel better in little while. Just relax.? And already Mulder did feel better. Scully was calm and quiet and this was beginning to soothe him. Scully turned to skinner. ?We have to hope these pills stay down long enough to break his fever, otherwise we?ll have no choice but to take him to the hospital.? Skinner nodded, understanding. Mulder tried to shake off the cool cloth Scully was holding to his head. ?I?m cold,? he managed to say through clenched chattering teeth. He shivered violently as if to further emphasize his necessity for warmth. He was still lying on top of the comforter of the bed in only his slacks and shoes. ?I know it?s cold Mulder,? Scully replied. ?Hang on, we?re going to get you warm.? Skinner rummaged through the closet bringing out warm, heavy blankets while Scully began removing Mulder shoes and pants which were damp with vomit and sweat and smelled sour. Scully tossed them to the floor and found a clean pair of sweats and a tee shirt in his duffle. A few moments later, Skinner pulled the heavy blankets on the bed and tucked the covers under Mulder?s chin. Soon his shivering eased and they left him alone to sleep. Mulder felt blessed to be able to finally sleep. Every once in a while he stirred as he felt a hand on his face quietly checking on him and then he slept some more. When he opened his eyes again a few hours later, Mulder felt remarkably better and instead of chilled, he felt hot--an indicator that the fever had broken. He stripped off his tee shirt and sweat pant, leaving on only his boxers, and let the sweat soaked clothing fall on the floor next to the bed. He felt a million times better and even a bit happy. Slowly, he climbed out of the bed and walked to the bathroom. While washing his hands and face with the cool water he heard a knock on the door. ?Mulder?? she called to him softly, her voice a bit muffled behind the closed door. ?Are you okay? Can I come in?? A few seconds later Mulder opened the door, drying his face and hands on a thick towel and let Scully in. He smiled as she stepped in the doorway. ?How do you feel?? ?A hundred percent better than before,? he replied, hanging up the hotel towel on the rack. He looked at himself in the mirror and ran a hand through his short, matted hair. ?But I don?t look so good,? he added, frowning at his reflection in the mirror. ?Put this in your mouth,? she instructed, handing him the thermometer. Mulder gave himself one more once over in the mirror before pealing his eyes away from his reflection. He took the thermometer Scully offered him and put it in his mouth. ?Come back to bed.? He did as he was told and climbed back under the covers. Scully tucked them in place under his chin and smoothed back his damp hair. ?You really do look a lot better. I thought we were going to have to take you to the hospital.? ?Don?t I always recover?? he replied, the thermometer in his mouth making his speech slurred. ?Well, you?re not out of the woods yet Mulder,? she reminded him. ?The fever can come roaring back at any time.? Mulder just looked up at her with his deep hazel eyes as if challenging that. They were bright and clear and Scully smiled at their stubbornness. She removed the thermometer from Mulder?s mouth and carefully read it. ?One hundred and one.? ?Shit,? Mulder replied almost in disbelief. ?I felt better than that.? He sat up angrily, rubbing his aching eyes. Scully handed him a cool glass of water, which he drank, then pushed him back down on the bed, tucking the blankets in around him. ?Skinner is picking up some food and if you feel up to it, you can eat later.? Mulder?s stomach shuddered at the thought of food. Especially fish and white sauce. He dared not ask what Skinner planed on bringing back. Mulder slept some more before waking again, feeling cold and somewhat sick again. His stomach ached and his head hurt. The room, dark now made him feel terribly alone, almost unsure of where he was. The hanging fog of sleep slowly lifted as he sat up and strained to see in the darkness. ?Scully?? he called, almost urgently, his voice thick. ?Scully?? A light flipped on, sending sparks through Mulder?s head. He squinted in pain, turning away from the light bringing his hands up to shield his eyes. Scully came to the bed and sat down. ?Are you okay?? She forced him to lie back down, and Mulder resisted only a little, shutting his eyes so he wouldn?t have to see the light. ?Cold,? Mulder muttered, reaching down and groping on the floor blindly with his hand for his tee-shirt and sweatpants. Scully quickly located the items of clothing before he was even aware she had done so and began pulling it over Mulder?s outstretched arms. ?You?ll feel warm soon,? Scully told him, brushing her fingers over Mulder?s hot skin as she tugged the tee-shirt over his head. She helped him sit up and he rested his head on her shoulder--radiating heat on her neck and face--as she tugged the sweatshirt the rest of the way down his back. His hair, though sweaty, smelled clean like sweet apple cinnamon. Next she helped him to slip into his sweatpants. He was shivering again and she wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly, stroking his face tenderly with her hands. His face was silky smooth and very warm. She nuzzled her face near his burning neck, feeling his fevered heat with her own cheeks. ?Feels good,? Mulder commented, allowing himself to be held. A wave of compassion suddenly swept over her and without thinking much, Scully felt her lips brush Mulder?s. They stayed there for a minute as Mulder reciprocated, opening his mouth and accepting Scully?s brief and unexpected kiss. He pulled her in close so that she was on top of him. Startled by her own actions, she pulled away quickly. Ashamed and confused, still tasting Mulder?s lips lingering in her mouth, she struggled to explain her unexpected behavior. ?O, oh God,? she stuttered, looking away embarrassed and angry. Here she was, taking advantage of her partner, her friend, too sick to be completely rational. He depended on her now, and in his time of need all she could think to do was use him. There was no excuse for it. ?I don?t know what I was thinking. I?m sorry.? ?Don?t be,? Mulder replied, sounding surprisingly serious and coherent in his sickness. He Pulled Scully back towards him gently. The firm hands on the back of her neck held her close until their foreheads touched. She could feel his breath, warm and scent less on her lips. ?You did nothing wrong.? He kissed her gently on the forehead. His mouth, soft and very hot, sent chills through her body. After a moment, he withdrew his lips and she raised her eyes once again to his deep hazel gaze. Holding her gaze, he spoke directly into her bright blue eyes, ?it?s okay. I love you so much as a friend, partner and life-long companion. You could never do anything to hurt me. Thank you for always being there for me. Thank you for everything.? Finally, he lowered his eyes and let his hands run across her cheek, pausing to cup her face tenderly before dropping his arms down to his lap. Mulder realized then, as he sat there silently looking at Scully, that he had been wrong. This morning he had woken up here?-the same cheap hotel bed where he now lay with Scully? feeling crappy and absolutely positive that the day would only get worse as it progressed. But, being sick today turned out to be the greatest thing to ever happen to him and without a doubt he?d do it all over again if he had to. For the first time all week, he actually felt good. He felt happy, content and most of all, grateful to be with his partner. (Three days later) Mulder and Scully stood quietly, eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and drinking chocolate milkshakes. ?You know what Scully,? Mulder broke the silence, looking at his sandwich thoughtfully. ?We?re a lot like peanut butter and jelly, you and I.? Scully smirked loudly. ?And how?s that Mulder?? she asked quizzically, awaiting his explanation with huge anticipation. Mulder took a bite out of his sandwich and chewed it up a bit before answering. ?Well,? he began, speaking as he continued to chew. ?Like peanut butter and jelly, we compliment one another. You rarely see one without the other.? Scully watched her partner with amused eyes. He finished the remainder of his sandwich in one huge bite, then tossed the empty milkshake into the garbage and turned to leave without saying another word. Scully continued to follow him briefly with her eyes as he walked away before focusing her attention on her own sandwich. ?Oh, and Scully?? She looked back up at him with raised eyebrows. ?You?ve got a little peanut butter on you cheek.? She reached up with her hand slowly?-eyes still fixed on Mulder as he disappeared down the street?-and rubbed at the peanut butter smudge on the corner of her mouth. Finally, she looked down at her hand, mesmerized by the small glob of food gluing her fingers together. He was right. Like Mulder, peanut butter always had a way of sticking with you. She studied her fingers for a moment longer before heading on down the street after him.