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It starts with a twinge in her stomach. Scully ignores it and takes a few sips from the water bottle she and Mulder are sharing. There’s another twinge and she bites her lip to stop herself from groaning in pain. She doesn’t want to concern Mulder, who seems happy enough driving, rapping his fingers on the wheel, occasionally singing along to the radio.
“Scully, I know you love this song,” he says, glancing over at her. “Sing with me.”
“You know I can’t sing,” she says, nausea overwhelming her. Her tongue seems to big for her mouth and there’s too much saliva. She knows all the signs well enough and she knows what this means. Just because she is aware of it, though, doesn’t mean she’ll address it. If she ignores her gurgling stomach, the sharp pangs, and the waves of nausea long enough, it will all clearly just go away by itself.
“It’s not about sounding good,” he says. “It’s about having fun.”
“I’m singing in my head,” she replies.
“Party pooper.” He chooses the worst possible moment to give her a smile because her stomach protests again and she winces in pain, holding her side.
“Hey Scully,” he says, sounding serious now. “Are you okay? Are you not feeling well?”
“I’m fine,” she says, closing her eyes in an attempt to will ache pain away. Except it only makes it worse. Her eyes fly open again and she tries to wipe the sweat from her forehead without Mulder catching the motion. It’s no use. She has no idea how he manages to pay attention to the road and to her at the same time. His hand lands on her thigh and he squeezes it gently.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No,” she says and it sounds whiny. If they stop, she will have to admit that she’s not feeling well. That she might even be sick. She swallows hard, nausea knocking against her intestines.
“Let me know if you need to stop, all right?”
“I’m fine, Mulder,” she assures him, lying through her teeth. She would be fine, she thinks, if he stopped making her talk.
Twenty minutes later she knows she can no longer deny the obvious. She is not fine. At. All.
“Mulder,” she says, his name almost too much already.
“Hm?”
“How long till a…,” she pauses, swallowing. Tears shoot into her eyes. Why is this happening to her? “Till a rest stop? I don’t,” she pauses again, her insides turning against her, her stomach gurgling so loudly that she’s sure Mulder must have heard it. “Feel good.”
“We just passed one. I don’t- it could be a while until the next one.”
The noise she makes is barely human.
“How bad is it?” He asks.
“Very bad,” she says, trying not to cry. She needs a bag. Something. She can’t be sick in the car. Their rental cars have experienced many, many things, but so far neither of them has ever been sick in one. They may have dodged that bullet, but she remembers that time when she was a kid and Charlie got sick in the car, no rest stop in sight. He threw up all over himself and his sisters. Which in turn made Melissa got sick too. The car had reeked for weeks.
“Can you- no, of course you can’t. Hold on, Scully.” Mulder sets the blinker and the car comes to a stop. Getting sick by the side of the road in the middle of nowhere has not been on her bingo card for today – or ever. Wanting to get out as quickly as possible, her fingers are numbly trying to unbuckle her seat belt. In the end, it’s Mulder helping her that frees her from her seat. Scully pulls open the car door and stumbles out. She doesn’t make it far before she can no longer hold it in.
She stands there, hurt and humiliated, but feeling – at least for the moment – a sense of relief. It doesn’t take long until she hears the car door and she knows Mulder is walking up to her.
“Hey,” he says. “Better?” His hand lands on her back and he strokes in gently.
“This is embarrassing,” she says and Mulder hands her a bottle of water.
“Why? You got sick. It happens to the best of us. Do I need to remind you how often I’ve been sick? There’s nothing embarrassing about this. I just want you to feel better.”
“I’m feeling a bit better,” she says, knowing her stomach is not done with her yet.
“We can stay out here for a while. Take all the time you need.”
“You’re not feeling sick at all?” She asks him.
“No,” he admits. “I feel fine. As in really fine, not Scully-fine.”
“Haha,” she says, leaning against him. Her clothes are sweat-soaked and she shivers out here in the breeze. Mulder holds her and hugs her to him, sweat be damned. She’s grateful that he’s here after all. Even if he had to witness her being sick.
“Could it be something else you ate?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “Must have been.” Another wave of nausea crashes over her, surprising her. She just about manages to turn away from Mulder before she gets sick again. This time he’s there for all of it, stroking her back and holding her hair back.
“Oh Scully,” he says. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” she reminds him. She wonders what it was. The sandwich she and Mulder shared? It can’t be because then he’d be sick too. The breakfast she had earlier? Can’t be that either because Mulder had the same one. There must be something she’s missing.
“How are you feeling now?”
“Better,” she says, realizing she means it. Her stomach is still grumbling, not quite finished throwing a tantrum. But it has settled down, is only growling from a distance. She no longer feels like she’s going to be sick again any minute. She takes another sip from the water bottle to rinse her mouth with it. That will have to do for now.
“We’re stopping at the next motel.”
“Mulder, we’re done here. We have a plane to catch.” He shakes his head.
“We have to make sure you’re okay.”
“I am okay.”
“Puking your guts out is not being okay. So what if we don’t get home before tomorrow? Skinner is always telling us to take a day off. Now we’re doing exactly that.”
“Not the kind of vacation I imagined,” Scully says, following Mulder back to the car.
“We’ll make the best of it,” he says, smiling at her. He stands close to her, blocking the car door. Scully looks up at his soft expression that’s full of worry. She reaches up to touch his cheek, wanting to brush away the worry lines she sees.
“I’m fine, Mulder. My stomach just didn’t agree with something. You’re not thinking about kissing me, are you?”
“I was,” he admits with a grin. “But I think I can wait until later. Let’s go find a place to stay.”
*
They find a nice hotel and Mulder pays for their room with his personal credit card. Scully walks out of the bathroom just as Mulder is on the phone with Skinner, informing their boss that they won’t be back tonight, or possibly even tomorrow, depending on Scully’s health. She rolls her eyes in amusement, running her fingers through Mulder’s hair to let him know she’s not mad.
“Um, Scully,” Mulder says once he’s hung up the phone. He doesn’t need to say anything because she can see it written clearly on his face. She steps aside and he dashes past her into the bathroom.
“I think it was the sandwich after all,” Mulder says once Scully has joined him in the bathroom. He’s leaning over the toilet bowl, looking terrible. She kneels bis his side, rubbing his back, just like he did for her earlier.
“Good thing we stopped, huh?” She touches his warm cheek and he nods. “I’ll see if they have Pepto-Bismol for us.”
“We’re gonna take a real vacation after this,” Mulder swears before he gets sick once more.