Playing Hooky
ALLY112038@AOL.COM 

RATING - PG

CLASSIFICATION - MSR Post-ep

SPOILERS - Tithonus

ARCHIVE - Gossamer/Spooky yes. Others please ask

FEEDBACK - Feedback is more precious than watching a chick-flick with just ice-cream and wine for company. <g> All feedback to ALLY112038@AOL.COM

DISCLAIMER - They arent mine. And frankly, this fic is just way too insignificant for me to justify it any further than that. <g>

SUMMARY - Who was it that said Doctors make lousy patients? Mulder attempts to alleviate Scullys boredom as she recuperates from the whole Ritter thing.

Scully is bored.

Correction:  Scully is bored, antsy, tired and angry at the world right now. Added to that whole cacophony of emotional turmoil is a gunshot wound that isn't healing as quickly as shed like it to and we have a recipe for disaster.

Listening to her on the phone just now - the *fourth* call in the space of two hours I might add - as she pathetically attempted to deny that she was crawling the walls, made my decision an easy one.

I'm aware I'm in the process of going AWOL which isn’t exactly going to endear me to our beloved AD Kersch, but then again what's another small misdemeanor when you compare it to the mounting pile of faux pas Scully and I have committed since finding ourselves thrust under his less than supportive command?

The guy is kind of an enigma to me. I think that hate is maybe too strong a word. The man doesn’t *hate* us exactly. But I get the feeling that he was as horrified as we were when he suddenly found himself saddled with Mr and Mrs Spooky.

I think maybe we have upset the delicate balance of his well-oiled manure detecting machine.

What can I say? Scully and I just don't *do* fertilizer. Simple as that.

So, here I am, jacket discarded, shirt sleeves rolled up, tie loosened comfortably, making a bee line for Scully's apartment and whistling as I do it. *Whistling* for Christ's sake. Obviously I have no conscience anymore with regards to my precarious position within the Bureau.

What I do have though, is an obligation towards my partner.

And, if she's pissed off, then I see it as my purpose in life to alleviate that.

Of course, at the back of my mind is the mind numbing realization that I almost lost her.

*Again*

Only this time around, it wasn't as a result of anything I did. This time she almost died because of the blind stupidity of a rookie agent who was prepared to go to any lengths to ensure his fast track ascent up the golden rungs of the VCS division ladder.

*Ritter*

My hands tighten on the steering wheel as I once again roll his loathsome name around my tongue. Feeling the bitter taste of unrequited revenge rising up at the back of my throat.

The man who almost killed my partner. The man whose hands were still covered in her crimson blood when, in blind fury I barreled in to that New York Hospital and wrapped my *own* hands around his throat.

The only thing that stopped me squeezing the life out of the bastard there and then was the sight of Scully, her eyes tightly closed against the pain, being wheeled away from me as they took her up to the OR to remove the bullet.

Suddenly, Ritter was reduced to the insignificant little toad that he was, and I dropped him like the proverbial hot coal before sprinting after my partner.

I reached her just before she disappeared in to the elevator, grasping her pale, slender hand in mine as though my life depended on it. I was rewarded a thousand fold when her eyes fluttered open and she regarded from behind the drug induced haze.

And even then, as sick and hurting as she was, she sought only to lessen my own suffering.

I hadn't realized I was crying. I have no conscious recollection of when the tears began to drip purposely down my face. Only that she shakily reached up, wincing as she did so, and smoothed the wetness away.

<Ill be fine. Ill see you later>>

And then she was gone.

I hadn't believed her. I was convinced that I would never see her again. Never look in to those luminous china blue eyes that had the ability to quite my very soul, never feel the fluttering of her hands as she chased away my demons.

And with it came the stark realization that if she *did* die, then I would surely follow her.

But, I should really have known better.

Dana Scully is tough. Pure and simple, and no way was she going to let something as insignificant as a bullet stop her.

She survived and so did I.

I brought her home a mere eight days later and left her in the care of her Mom. She protested weakly of course. Its not Scully's way to admit need. But I think even she appreciated that she was in no shape to care for herself.

The placement of the healing wound made it difficult for her to even walk around without pain arriving once again to cloud her delicate features, so she accepted the help that was offered to her with rare equanimity.

Didn't accept it for long, of course. That would just be too much to hope for.

She insisted vehemently two days ago, she was recovered sufficiently to return home and neither Maggie nor I wasted time arguing with her. It wouldn’t have done any good anyway.

And she *is* OK. Of that I have no doubt. But she's as bored as hell, and I've taken it upon myself to do something about it.

From bitter experience, I've discovered that a bored Scully is a dangerous one and I wouldn't put it past her to push her still healing body too far.

So, I have come prepared.

I took a quick side trip on leaving the office.

It makes me smile to realize that despite her guarded exterior, I know this woman almost as well as she knows herself. Six years spent with someone, day in and day out means you get to pretty much know their likes and dislikes.

Scully has a penchant for she and her kind would term as *Romantic comedy*. Light hearted romantic blurb of the movie variety.

In other words a *Chick Flick*

Now, I’m not the most sensitive guy in these regards - a nice B rated Sci Fi is more my scene - but I know enough about women, and Scully in particular, to know which buttons to press.

Jostling for space on the passenger seat beside me are all the elements that will hopefully drive all thoughts of a premature return to work out of Scully’s mind.

At least for the remainder of today.

A bottle of mid price white wine. Gallo Turning Leaf, to be precise. One of Scully's favorites.

OK, so she probably shouldn’t be drinking too much - I’m not entirely sure whether she’s still taking regular pain relief - but I figure one glass wont hurt.

A quart of Rocky road ice cream. She loves ice cream, straight out of the tub, although recently she’s been on a kind of health kick and has substituted full fat for some insipid tasting tofu based shit.

This knowledge didn't deter me though, because I know she won t resist the urge. Ice cream is like a drug with this woman.

The video of course. Recommended to me by the guy in the store who took one look at the wine and ice cream and raised his eyebrows knowingly. I glance across at the title. *While you were sleeping*. Ive never heard of it, but the guy was insistent. If it turns out to be a bad choice I’ll just go back and shoot him.

After Ive shot *myself* of course.

And finally, the impulse buy to end all impulse buys.

Flowers.

Not just any old flowers either. No daises or chrysanthemums here. These are *quality* flowers. Twelve huge tiger lilies, velvet petals against a backdrop of delicate green fern, bound with wide, white ribbon. I had to buy them. Out of my control. Something about them just screamed Scully. Maybe it was the color. I don’t know. Whatever it was I handed over my Visa card without batting an eyelid when faced with the cost.

I’m aware that if anything is guaranteed to put Scully right back in the hospital it'll be the sight of me holding out the bouquet to her.

I don’t buy flowers. Never have. The one time I ever offered her anything even vaguely resembling them was that painful day when she called me to the hospital to break the news that she had Cancer.

I bought flowers because at the time I didn’t know what else to do. What do you offer your best friend when she's standing there calmly telling you that she is going to die?

At the time, flowers seemed as good a thing as any.

But that was a long time ago, or at least it seems that way.

against all the odds, she survived that too.

Like I said before, Scully is tough.

It’s a good thing that my car knows its way to her apartment building, because my mind has been drifting during the journey over here, and I’m kind of surprised when I roll to a halt outside the beautiful Georgian building that my partner calls home.

I take one more glance across at my hoard of Scullyesque goodies, wondering suddenly if I'm doing the right thing.

But then I take a deep breath and, before my courage can fail me completely, I scoop everything up in my arms, exiting the car without a second thought.

It takes her a while to answer the door but eventually, I hear the sound of locks being turned and chains pulled across.

Scully is very security conscious.

After everything that's happened over the past six years, I cant say I blame her.

Her face appears before me, eyes widening as she registers who it is that has disturbed her afternoon, and the expression on her face seems......I don’t know. *Guilty* somehow.

"Mulder......what are you doing here?"

Not exactly the greeting I had hoped for, but I smile in return anyway.

"Playing hooky. I figured that the Doo-doo could survive an afternoon without me."

She smiles wanly back at me but makes no other move. Eventually, conscious that the ice cream is beginning to melt I take the initiative.

"So, Scully, you gonna let me in or what?"

I don’t like the way she reddens slightly, as if battling with herself as to whether she should just shut the door in my face. But eventually she simply nods and steps aside, allowing me entrance.

And *then* I understand.

The apartment is littered with boxes, the contents of which are scattered haphazardly around the room. Both doors of the giant pine closet that graces the corner of Scully’s sitting room are hanging open. From my position at the rooms threshold I can see that it is empty.

Scully is having a clear-out it seems.

My recently shot-in-the-guts partner, two weeks out of the hospital and still a long way from recovery is, instead of obeying orders and sitting on her ass, having a fucking *clear-out*

I feel the anger bubbling up from deep inside me and even as I speak, I can hear how strained I am.

"What the hell do you think you're doing Scully?"

She at has the decency to at least *look* contrite, folding her arms across her chest and dropping her gaze away from mine.

Because, stubborn pride or not, she knows that this is wrong. I mean, she’s a Doctor for Gods sake. But then again, Scully is like me - never been too good at following her own advice.

"I was bored." she admits finally, sounding all the world like a petulant child.

Hearing this admission from her though does little to dispel my anger. And to be honest, I am fighting the urge to grab her by the arms and attempt to shake some sense in to her.

Somehow though, I don’t think that doing it would exactly hasten her recovery. So instead, I just settle on a tone of voice that could cut glass given the right circumstances.

"I don't care *how* fucking bored you are Scully, you were told to *rest*. Jesus Christ, you almost died. What’s the matter with you?"

My voice rises in volume until I am literally screaming the tail end of the sentence at her with a venom greater than I had originally intended. But right now I don't care. I am so angry right now that rational thought is out of the question.

Scully on the other hand, apparently *does* care, because her head snaps back up and she rivets me with those china blue eyes that are now firing dangerously in response to my tirade.

She doesn’t like being shouted at. She never has and the coward that lurks beneath my hardened exterior wishes he could pull the words back in. Or at least lower the tone a little.

"Stop being so damn melodramatic all the time Mulder" she spits back at me with all the ferocity of a feral cat held in captivity.

"I didn't *almost die* and you know it."

She is breathing hard. We both are. Only I'm not wincing the way she is. Shouting back at me has obviously pulled at her wound and suddenly I feel like the most selfish shit in the world.

No, that's not big enough. Try the universe.

So I battle with my emotions. Emotions that are still raw enough to make my throat tighten every time I think of her laying, bleeding and in pain on that hospital gurney.

I hate to see Scully in pain. Especially since she hides it so well. It makes it hard to really give her what she needs sometimes.

But that's *my* problem, not hers.

I back away from her slightly to give her some space, wanting to reach out to her, but not knowing how. So I fall back on the only thing I have left.

*Words*

Softly spoken, almost whispered, allowing her access to my greatest fears, fears that I'm not sure she has given a second thought to.

"No, you didn't. But you *might* have done and that's just as hard to handle Scully"

Sudden understanding floods her features, and to my horror her eyes film as tears gather at their corners.

She chooses this moment to take a step towards me, bridging the gap I myself created only seconds ago. Once again, seeking to alleviate my pain, just as she has always done. She lays a hand on my chest, at the point where she can feel my heart beating through the cotton shirt that covers it. Her way of affirming to me that she is *here*. That she's OK.

"I'm sorry Mulder. I guess I just make a lousy invalid."

Her whispered admission lightens the moment slightly and I am able to smile.

Scully *is* a lousy patient. We both are. Maybe that’s why we understand each other so well. Like attracts like my Mother used to say.

Maybe that’s the reason we argue so much. Because we're arguing against ourselves.

Stubbornness isn’t an endearing trait to posses, and my partner and I have both been blessed with it by the bucketful.

She remains there for a few seconds, until the air between us clears and we are able to breath again.

And then I remember my reasons for coming here in the first place.

"I brought you flowers" I say stupidly, holding up the dazzling lilies in front of me.

Scully smiles then, not one of her usual tight lipped smirks this one. Oh no - this is a brilliant, full wattage grin that lights up her face and makes my stomach flip over lazily inside me.

I think Ive had the pleasure of seeing this phenomena maybe a half dozen times in our partnership and it knocks me squarely on my butt each and every time.

She takes the flowers from me gently.

"I’ll put them in water."

And then the grin surfaces once again.

"You can clear up in here."

I don’t argue.

**********

Its much later now. I’m not really sure of the exact time. I removed my watch when I found myself standing at Scully’s sink washing the remains of a hastily thrown together dinner off her china plates.

I actually *cooked* for her. Not a practice I indulge in too often, and not one in which I profess to have any real skill.

But, even I can just about manage to put together a simple meal given the right circumstances, and since she had dutifully slipped back in to recovery mode, I was happy to experiment a little.

Thankfully, the results weren’t too bad, although I’m damn sure she’ll never taste a bolognaise *quite* like that again.

That’s probably a good thing actually.

We didn’t wind up watching the movie. The damn thing wouldn't re-wind for some reason. I was disappointed at first. I mean, that was the sole purpose of coming here.

I wanted to sit with my partner and share a chick flick with her.

Instead though, what we actually shared was Rocky road ice cream straight from the tub and a bottle of chilled Turning leaf.

I listened to the sound of her laughter, and even though she winced every time she laughed it just didn't seem to matter.

And when she tentatively reached for my hand across the tiny space that separated us, I inwardly rejoiced.

I squeezed her hand tightly just like I had done when she lay on that gurney, about to be taken from me again.

Only this time it was different.

Because this time we are together.

Exactly where we are meant to be.

Afternoon has turned in to night, and Scully is nestled against me, her head resting against my chest.

She finally lost the battle with herself about an hour ago, and succumbed to the healing sleep she so desperately needs.

And that's OK too.

Because I can feel her heartbeat. Mingling with my own until it blocks out everything else. It chases away my fear. Drives it out, allowing me to relax fully for the first time since she left for New York.

My own eyelids are growing heavy, soothed by the feel of the woman against me.

Maybe I should play hooky more often.

END

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