Under the Weather by S.Proto 1/1
Date: Sat, 11 Jul 1998

Category: Story, MildMulderTorture,Angst, M&S/UST/

Rating: PG13 for language

Spoilers: nope

Summary: Mulder's a bit under the weather, which of course, in Mulder's case,
is never easy.

Archive: Yes

Disclaimer: The Mulder Family and the Scully Family characters belong to
10/13 productions and Chris Carter. I'm just borrowing them. I won't keep
them. At the end of the story you can have `em back, I swear, (unless you
*want* to give `em to me.) All other characters belong to me, and if Mr.
Carter wants to borrow them, all he needs to do is ask. <grin>

Flames will be noted, but constructive feedback will be appreciated

Thanks to my beta reader and cheerleader, Vickie!

Under the Weather
by Susan Proto (STPteach@aol.com)

Part 1/1

The rain was falling. I knew it was, because I could hear it beating on the
air conditioner. Thank God for that air conditioner. It had been hotter than
hell the last couple of days, though now that it was raining, there is hope it
will cool down some as a result.

I don't think it will, but I don't care. I have my air conditioner. And I'm
not going anywhere.

I feel lousy. I'm not sure if it's the weather or something's really wrong.
I'm never sure about these things. Usually I ask Scully's advice on these
kind of matters, but Scully's been out of town for the last couple of days.
Some damned workshop in Southern California of all places. Near big brother
Billy .

Well, big fuckin' deal. What do I care if she stops by and visits that
sonofabitch. He is her brother.

No sweat off my back. Well, of course not, 'cause I have my air conditioner.
But I still feel like shit, and I'm not sure why.

I think, maybe, I should eat something, but I'm really not hungry. Haven't
had any kind of an appetite for the last couple of days. Not a good sign.

In fact, I feel kind of nauseous.

Definitely not a good sign.

I run into the bathroom, but manage to only dry heave. No surprise there,
since I haven't eaten anything for the last couple of days. I'm really not
hungry now either.

Drink. In this heat, even with my air conditioning, I can still dehydrate
badly. Scully will kill me if I dehydrate..

If she was here. Which she isn't. Not for the last couple of days at least.

But that's okay. I'll survive. No big deal, ya know?

Drink. I go into the kitchen and pull out the container of store brand
Gatorade. Be damned if I was going to pay three times the price of the store
brand for the brand name. Supermarket personnel obviously take all consumers
for idiots.

Not me. An idiot that is. Just sicker than all get out. I drink the store
brand Gatorade. Of course, it tastes like shit.

And now I feel even more nauseous. God, I hate being sick. I hate being sick
without Scully around to watch over me.

I walk back into the bathroom just in case I really am sick again. After a
few "unsuccessful" minutes of dry heaving, I go back into the living room and
lay down on the couch.

Sleep. I am so tired all of a sudden. All I want to do is sleep.

I hear the hum of the air conditioning and I say a grateful prayer of thanks
for it.


I know I'm having the loveliest dream.

I hear Scully walk through the door and move directly to me. My smile is so
broad, she begins to laugh out loud in response. I hear her. Scully's laugh
is so fucking lyrical.

I feel her cool hand touch my forehead. "Mom always checks our 'keppies' with
her mouth," I mumble. Not a moment later, I feel soft lips touching my

"Tsk, tsk, dear," she says softly. "You're running a fever."

She leaves me to go into the kitchen to retrieve a glass of the shitty
Gatoraid and the bottle of aspirin. She pulls out three and hands them to me
with the glass of liquid.


I can't figure out for the life of me if I had been dreaming or not. I see
the half-filled glass of pseudo-Gatoraid. I also see the bottle of aspirin
next to it.

I think it was a dream. Oh, it was such a wonderful dream. I need her. I
really need her. My head (my 'keppy?') is really throbbing now. I hear
moaning and suddenly realize it's me. I'm moaning.

And for some absurd reason it makes my head feel better.

I never could understand why the production of a moan or a groan eases pain to
a certain degree. I mean, it takes more energy to emit moans and groans, so
you would think it would cause greater discomfort. But it doesn't. At least
it doesn't in my case.

And I'm moaning and groaning mighty fine now. My head feels like it's going
to explode, and my stomach is doing some vicious somersaults now too.
Wonderful. I feel nauseous again, and the thought of getting up and walking
to the bathroom does nothing for my disposition.

I try to sit up a little too quickly. I moan even louder, and even worse, I
begin to cry. My head is pounding so hard now, and my stomach is so queasy, I
want to find a hole, crawl into it, and die. I can't remember the last time I
felt this horrible. Can't remember.

Don't wanna remember.

I push myself off the couch, but keep my hand on its back for balance. I'm
literally hunched over at this point. My stomach is quaking beyond belief, and
my head feels like it's got an entire timpani section playing Sousa marches.

I wonder at this point if I can even make it to the bathroom. The room is
doing its best to spin itself off of the earth's axis, of this I am sure. I
try to take a deep breath, but the unexpected discomfort that small act causes
makes me drop to my knees.

I feel the tears start to fall unabashedly down my cheeks. Hell, the pain
doesn't give me a choice. I want it to stop. I'm desperate for it to stop.
I don't know who can help, but I am now at the point of feeling in desperate
need of help. I pull myself back up to the couch and sit back down in defeat.

I pick up the phone. I punch in memory and hit the number one. *Please,
Scully, please. Pick up the phone,* I pray silently, or at least I think I'm
silent. It's Scully's cell phone, so I'm actually praying it's turned on. I
don't have a clue if it is or not, since she's probably still at that damned

I'm dreaming that wonderful dream again.

"Hurts," I cry. I guess I'm saying it loudly enough for the dream Scully to
hear me. I don't know if I'm saying it aloud for the walls to hear.

"I know it hurts, sweetheart," she coos sympathetically. "I know. But the
doctors are going to fix you all up. I promise."

"Doctors? What doctors?" I ask weakly. "You're my doctor," I cry out
anxiously. I don't understand why there are doctors in my apartment. Scully
wouldn't let the doctors in my apartment, would she?

"Hot," I rasp out.

"I know," she says and the I feel her cool hand on my forehead. Her hand
feels so nice. So comforting. So soothing. "Drink this, sweetheart."

My eyes are still closed and feel her hands bring the glass to my lips. The
liquid tastes cool. It tastes good. It's different from the store brand shit
I had bought. I try to sip some more, but I can't.

"Hurts," I moan. I'm crying again. I don't want to cry 'cause it makes my
head hurt more, but I cry anyway.

And it hurts more.


I open my eyes once more and sit up with a start. This is not a very wise
move, as the room begins to spin, so I lay my head back down on the pillow.

I look all around.

I'm not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

When the hell did I go to the God damned hospital? I don't understand. I
don't remember going to the hospital. I don't remember calling a cab to go to
the hospital. I don't remember squat.

Now that's a bit of a scary feeling. What's even scarier is it's not the
first time I've been in this situation.

My arms are covered with IV's and I reach down to see if my worst nightmare is
a reality.

Yup. God damned fuckin' Foley. God, how I hate this.

How long have I been here, for cryin' out loud?

"Help," I manage to rasp out. I finger the oxygen tube in my nose with one
hand and reach for the call button hanging on the side of my hospital bed
with my other. A nurse appears within minutes of my pressing the button.

"Mr. Mulder! You're awake. How nice. How do you feel?" the nurse asks me

"Hurts," I grumble.

"I should think so," she replies quickly. "You've had quite a time of it, my
dear man."

"Why?" I imagine she's going to tell me some horrible diagnosis. I mean,
what else could force me into the hospital needing a God damned Foley?

Encephalitis? Meningitis? Brain tumor?

"You've had one of the worse cases of the summer flu I've seen this year,"
she elaborates.

"What?" All of this pain and aggravation over something as mundane as the
flu? This can't be.

I mean, I could understand if it was something exotic like Rocky Mountain
Spotted Fever, or Malaria, but the flu? Not even pneumonia.

The flu?

"Oh yes, you were running a very high fever when you were first brought in and
you were terribly dehydrated. It's a good thing your mother found you when
she did. You wouldn't have been so lucky if it were any longer… As it is,
you've developed a nice little case of pneumonia," she says smiling.

Ah, so I do have something more exotic. Pneumonia. Well, at least that.
Then something Nurse Cheerful said strikes me suddenly.

"Mother?" I ask dumbfounded.

"Oh, yes, what a lovely woman. We kicked the dear thing out for a while. Told
her she had to get herself something to eat or she'd be the next one admitted.

"When?" I can't believe I'm speaking in monosyllables, but I just don't have
the strength to string more than one syllable together at the moment. God
damned flu really knocked the hell out of me.

Oh wait. It's now pneumonia. Shit.

"Oh, a little while ago. Don't worry, I'm sure she'll be here soon. She
refused to leave your side for the last thirty-six hours, Mr. Mulder. She's
obviously very devoted to you," explains Nurse Cheerful.

Devoted? __My_ mother? I am thoroughly confused at this point, and my head,
which had begun to feel better, is now doing a good imitation of a jackhammer.
I can not fathom why this nurse thinks my mother is devoted to me. It's been
a long time since she showed any interest in my physical well-being. Won't
even try to think of a time when she cared about my emotional health.

I think I'm crying again. Jeeze, I really have to stop this. I don't have a
clue as to why I'm crying so much. I mean, sure, my stomach's in knots, my
head is throbbing, my sense of time and reality is totally screwed up, I want
my Scully, and Nurse Cheerful tells me Mrs. Mulder is suddenly up for the
Mother of the Year Award.

No wonder I feel like crying. I don't have a clue as to what the hell is
going on, and I feel lousy to boot.

I close my eyes and try to block out the confusion. I figure it's time to let
whatever drugs they have me on do their job.


I feel cool, but soft, lips on my forehead. Mom is checking my kepilah for a
fever. I remember her doing this when I was a little boy. I remember there
were times when she worried about me. When she was a mom to me.

So long ago.

But now Mom's here and she's worried about me.

*I'm sorry, Mom. I don't mean to worry you,* I tell her mutely.

I try to open my eyes, but it hurts too damned much. I still can't believe
this was a result of just the flu. Next year, I let Scully stick with me the
God damned flu vaccine, that's for sure.

"Fox," I hear her say.

"Mom?" I whisper softly. My eyes are still closed.

"How do you feel, sweetheart?" she asks.

"Hurts, Mom." Wow, that was two syllables in a row.

"I know it does. You've been so sick," she sympathizes, and then she adds,
"Dana will be here soon, sweetheart."

Scully? I wonder about this for a moment. Why would my mother mention
Scully? There was never any love lost between the two of them. And I can't
believe my mother understands how important Scully is to my well being.

How important Scully is to my life. To me.

And then it hits me. I finally realize what's going on.

"Mom?" I ask.

"Yes, Fox," she acknowledges.

I smile. Well, I try to smile. I realize what probably appears on my face is
more like a grimace, but I really am trying to smile.

I open my eyes and see her sitting in the chair, holding my hand. The angel
of my dreams. She's caring for me and protecting me now like she did in my

Only I guess I wasn't dreaming. I was hearing her and seeing her, and now it
makes so much sense why I thought it was my Scully.

"Thank you," I manage to rasp out.

"Your welcomed, Fox," replies Maggie Scully warmly.

And now I finally manage to smile. A real smile for a real mom.

End 1/1

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