Summary: Just another night, another ER, another sick Mulder . . . Spoilers: Season Six, but not real bad Category: V H A MSRmusings Rating: PG Disclaimer: It's New Year's, guys. You did Christmas, I did New Year's. Next year we'll flip, huh? But till then, I don't infringe. Archives: Yes, please Comments: sent to me, vmoseley@fgi.net . Happy New Years to the Mulder Torture Anonymous Mail List. You guys are the greatest, not to mention, the fastest readers I've met New Year's Eve by Vickie Moseley vmoseley@fgi.net Milwaukee Medical Center Prompt Care December 31, 1998 Ahhh-Choo! "King me," Fox Mulder sniffed as he slid his black marker into the last row of the checker board. His partner, Dana Scully, glared at him, but did as she was told. "Do you need another tissue, Mulder?" she asked disdainfully as he blew his nose in the same tissue she had given him fifteen minutes before. How it was managing to remain in one piece was more than her mind could handle. "Nah, this one is bine," he sniffed and made the choking noise in the back of his throat. The same noise he'd been making all day and the noise that had finally become so annoying that Scully had threatened him at gun point to accompany her to the nearest medical facility. "Mulder, if you have to cough, for God's sakes, just cough! That strangled sound coming out of you is a perfect imitation of a death rattle," she groused and moved one of her white checkers. He smiled at her and made the noise again. "That sound, Scully?" he asked innocently, and then proceeded to pick up not only the just moved white piece but it's nearby companion piece which was also in his path. "This is too easy, Scully," he said and this time allowed the cough to come all the way from his toes. Scully sat there and waited patiently until the coughs subsided. She didn't say anything, just quietly handed him another tissue, which he took with a frown. "What are we doing here, Scully? I have a cold. It can wait 'till we get home," Mulder complained for the sixth or seventh time since they'd entered the building. "I have no intentions of lying in my bed, listening to you hack up a lung in the room next door all night, Mulder," she said, pretending to concentrate on the board in front of her. Now, if she could just remember what move she wanted to make. "It's not bronchitis. You're over-reacting," he said, folding his arms in front of his chest. "Like you did with Ronnie Strickland?" she asked, and smiled with triumph as she picked up one of the black checkers and added it to her pile. "Salt in old wounds, Scully. So beneath you," Mulder said and moved a black piece out of her way. "Overactive mother instinct," he muttered under his breath. "Common sense of a two year old," she countered in muttered tones as she gathered another black checker. "Fox Mulder," came a woman's voice from the front of the waiting room and both agents exchanged tired looks and picked up their coats to follow the nurse back to the examining rooms. "What seems to be the problem?" the nurse, whose name tag announced her as 'Paige', asked as she took out the chart and started to make notes. "He's been congested for the past two or three days and today he developed a cough. It's got a pronounced rattle to it. I think we're dealing with either bronchitis or the early stages of pneumonia," Scully said, reading over the woman's shoulder as she wrote. Paige glanced over to Mulder, seated on the examining table and he merely rolled his eyes. "I have a cold," he said simply and then flashed her a smile. Paige smiled back and winked. "Well, 'Mr. I have a Cold', the doctor will want to take a look for himself." Paige flashed smile at Scully. "All other opinions notwithstanding." Mulder giggled and it turned into another nasty cough. Scully shot him a satisfied look that only lasted a moment when she realized he was beginning to hurt. "Well, let's take a temp and blood pressure, just to be safe," Paige said, interrupting the silent conversation that was taking place in front of her. To Mulder's eternal relief, Paige had an aural thermometer. It beeped in a second and she looked at the reading, then wrote it promptly on the chart. Scully tilted her head to read the number and then shook her head as she looked at her partner. "It's 101.7, Mulder. I _knew_ you had a fever," she added with a sigh. "And I didn't deny it," he shot back. This time, he was able to stifle the cough a little and instead make the sound Scully had become so fond of. "That doesn't help, you know," Paige said cheerily. "In fact, it only makes it worse. Now Mr. Mulder, if you would please take off your clothes and put on this gown," Paige said efficiently as she handed him an extremely thin article of cotton. "The doctor will be in soon." She scooped up the chart and gave Scully a glare, then left the room. Mulder sat there, staring at the door. Then he looked down at the 'gown' in his hands and shook his head. "I'm out of here," he said, and started to get up but a small, well-manicured hand restrained him. "We need to get antibiotics, Mulder. If we stay, they'll give us a prescription for antibiotics and we can get out of here." "And we could use our guns, break into a all night pharmacy and get the same antibiotics," Mulder said dryly. "And I wouldn't have to freeze to death while dying of embarrassment in the process." "You are being childish," she told him. "No, Scully, _you_ are being overbearing! I didn't want to come here, I just want to go back to the motel and sleep . . ." He had to stop in mid-rant while the coughs doubled him over. After the worst had passed, he braced himself on the exam table and held his breath for a moment. A look of intense pain froze his features. Finally, he spoke. "Shit, that hurt." "My point, precisely," Scully said firmly, then softened her expression. She got up from her chair and walked over to place a hand on his arm. "Mulder, I'm not doing this to be mean, or to be overbearing, or even because I have an 'overactive mother instinct'. My job, as I've read it for almost six years, is to watch your back. And right now, you're back has a bad cough and probably a lung infection which could be viral or could be bacterial and will probably get worse if we don't treat it. All I'm doing is my job." He didn't speak for a moment. Then he looked at her, with a sadness that took her breath away. "That's all. Just your job." She shook her head and reached up to ruffle his hair. "Well, I have to admit, seeing you in those little threadbare gowns is a secret pleasure of mine," she said, just suppressing a grin. "Come on. Give me a show," she added and gave him a smile that lit up the small room. He closed his eyes and smiled in return. Finally, he nodded. "But you wait outside until the curtain opens. This ain't no burlesque," he drawled. She smiled and nodded and left him alone for a few minutes to change. "Mrs. Mulder? Mrs. Mulder?" It wasn't until a hand touched her shoulder that Scully realized Paige had been calling her. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Mulder, but I need some more information on your husband." Scully started to go into her standard explanation that they weren't married, they were just partners, when she stopped. For some reason she remembered the wink Paige had given Mulder back in the exam room. It had looked innocent enough, but it had still raised her blood pressure a few notches. Besides, it wasn't like there was anyone to contradict her. "What information?" she asked with a pleasant expression plastered on her face. "Well, I need his age . . ." "38." "His height, unless you want me . . ." "6 foot, in bare feet." "Would you know his . . . "One-forty-five. Oh, wait. One-forty. He's been feeling bad for a couple of days and he hasn't been eating well at all." "Allergies?" "None. He suffers a little from hay fever, but has no allergies to food or medication." "And when was the last time he saw a doctor?" "I'm a doctor," Scully said, with a very knowing smile on her face. Paige blushed slightly, but enough to let Scully know: Message received. "He was hospitalized in mid November. Boating accident," she supplied and watched as Paige noted it on the chart. "Thanks," Paige said sweetly and turned on her heel to hurry down the hall. Scully smiled to herself and knocked softly on the door. "Yeah, I'm ready," Mulder's disgruntled voice was muffled, but audible. Scully entered the room and saw her partner, sitting on the exam table with both their coats wrapped around him. "It's f-f-f-freezing in here, Scully. Hope you don't mind?" "You're just torturing me by not giving me a floor show," Scully winked at him as she sat back down in her chair. "I heard you talking outside. What are they saying?" Always the paranoid one, her partner. But this was too good to pass up. "Well, they're quarantining the whole clinic. We're pretty sure you have Ebola," she said with a deadpanned expression. His look informed her that she was _not_ funny and she relented. "Paige forgot to fill out the top part of the insurance form." "So she asked you? Gee, Scully, next time I'll just phone in my exam and send you in my place," Mulder griped, but the words held no malice. Another coughing fit nearly toppled him from his perch on the table. "Mulder, why don't you lie back, take it easy? You know how these places are. The doctors are the same ones from the ER and that means . . ." "We're here till retirement," he sighed. He sniffed again, then took his coat that had been covering his shoulders and wadded it up to form a pillow. Punching it a few times for good measure, he laid down on his side facing his partner. She took pity on him as he struggled to cover himself with her overcoat. "Here, let me," she growled affectionately and he allowed her to pull the coat away from him only to cover him with it again. "This is a nice coat, Scully," he said sleepily, and yawned for effect. "I never thought it would have to cover you, but I think I may have to remember this the next time I go coat shopping," she replied and stood next to the table, allowing them both the luxury of close contact. Gently, she stroked his forehead. "Sleep, Mulder. It may be a while before the doctor gets here." In minutes, his breathing had evened out and she could tell he was dozing. Scully had reviewed the facts of osteoporosis, had weighed herself, had counted the number of surgical scrub packages and even glanced briefly at the other pages of the Girl Scout calendar hanging over the small desk. She refused to look at either her watch or the oversized clock on the wall. That only made the time pass more slowly. <