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The trouble began with a sniffle. “It’s harvest season and the air is full of dust, that’s all”, she’d said, but after sharing a small office and countless modes of transportation for years, he knew the signs. The sniffling progressed to sneezing - “Mulder, stop, it’s just allergies.” This led straight to coughing - “Must have something stuck in my throat.” It then predictably rounded things out with chills - “Can you turn the air conditioner down?” The air conditioner hadn’t even been on, by the way, it being a brisk week here in western Nebraska. Motel walls being what they were, all he could do was stew on his side of the wall and listen to her coughing well into the small hours of the night. His palms itched to rub her back. He had visions of bringing her matzo ball soup. When she dragged herself through their connecting door in the morning her blue eyes were bleary, her freckled nose was red, and she cleared her throat every time she spoke. After breakfast he’d tried to ply her with Tylenol and cough drops from her own toiletry kit and been met with the old chestnut of “I’m fine, Mulder.”
She was always fine, even when she wasn’t, even when she’d been dying. He fell into the well-worn rut of orbiting as close as she would let him, offering her tissues and water with as much subtlety as he could as they wrapped up their investigation with the local authorities. He wasn’t sure if he should be pleased or concerned that, more often than not, she took them with a nod of gratitude. His hands trembled every time he felt the tissues in his coat pocket, even if they were for a completely mundane reason this time. That was months ago, and now her skin was bright, her body strong, her cheeks beautifully rounded, but the matted white shreds he still pulled out of his laundry took him right back to falling drops of blood and a ventilator in the ICU. She’d come so close.
Her wracking cough as they exited the station into the chilly sunset wind rolling off of the plains shook him from that particular spiral. Her shoulders hunched in on themselves, shaking with each paroxysm. His hand found her back and he soothed between her shoulder blades as the fit wore itself out. She leaned back into his touch for a beat, then turned toward him, “It’s the cold air, I’ll be ok. We should start driving.”
They dropped into the car and he pointedly turned the heater up as she drew her coat around her in her seat. “It’s a five hour drive to Lincoln, Scully, are you sure you’re up for this? We can reschedule the flight.”
“I’d rather just get it over with, Mulder.” She adjusted the vents and burrowed into her coat. The engine turning over muffled a frustrated sigh. He pulled out onto the dusty road and began the long drive east. Her forehead dropped against the window within ten minutes, but she didn’t sleep, at least not well. He winced every time her compact body shook and stole glances as she shifted and tried to get comfortable. After two hours, he couldn’t take it anymore. She’d mount a good protest, deny her obvious misery, but to hell with it. Let Scully be mad, at least she’d be comfortably mad.
He pulled off into a town that called itself Cozad, home to a quaint main street, the regional girls’ varsity basketball champions, and exactly one motel. With, courtesy of one of said team’s playoff games, exactly one room, with exactly one bed. Scully hadn’t even noticed when they’d rolled to a gentle stop in the gravel parking lot and slipped out to book the room. When he returned to the car she was rubbing her eyes.
“Where are we?”
“We’re stopping, Scully. You're sick. I'm rescheduling the flight and you're going to rest tonight.”
He could feel the counterargument brewing in her mind, but a fit of hacking cut her off before she could begin. When she stilled and sank back into the seat she eyed him without any real fight behind it, and he knew he’d won this battle. His hand snaked across the console and took hers, running his thumb along her delicate knuckles. “Please, Scully? I know you could manage the trip home tonight just fine. But you don’t have to. No one’s going to miss us for an extra day.” What he didn’t say was the same prayer he’s said over and again for five and a half years - please, please just let me take care of you.
She nodded and weakly squeezed his fingers, like she could hear him. Maybe she could. “Ok. Ok, Mulder.”
Mulder’s shoulders sank with relief. He squeezed back before hopping out to open her door and grab their bags from the trunk.
The room was small but clean and even included a barebones kitchenette with basic utensils. The one bed wasn’t usually even a point of discussion - they’d shared rooms before out of necessity, pointedly ignoring how they inevitably wound up curled around each other, pretending to be asleep. This time though, as she collapsed into a chair, “Mulder, there’s only one room, you’re going to get sick too.”
“And sharing a car and an airplane row would be any different?”
Her rosebud lips opened to protest but she decided against it. She must be feeling worse than he thought. He turned the thermostat up a bit. “I’m going to go get some food.”
She nodded and stood to shuck her coat. “Mulder I…” she started, but paused, reconsidering. With a wan smile, she sighed “I feel like hell.”
Finally. His shoulders relaxed and he returned her smile. “Yeah, no shit. I’ll be back soon.”
It turns out that Cozad, Nebraska shuts down after 8pm, leaving only the ever-reliable savior of small town business travellers, Dollar General. He returned with a bag of goodies to the sound of the shower running and got to work in the kitchenette. She emerged after a few minutes out of a cloud of steam, hair curling around her rosy face, and she’d changed into soft pajamas. The way her socked feet poked out from under the long cuffs pulled at something in his chest. It was all he could do not to scoop her into his arms.
“Feeling any better?”
She sat at the cramped table. “Yeah, the steam helped.” Her voice was still hoarse as she continued, “What were you able to find?”
“I’m pretty sure they roll up the sidewalks at night here, but I don’t think I did too bad, all things considered.” He sat across from her and flourished items as he withdrew them from the plastic bag. “Cherry cough drops. Vapo-rub. Chamomile tea. The smallest honey bear I’ve ever seen. A lemon that might actually still have some juice in it. And the finest generic red Nyquil money can buy.”
This earned him a genuine Scully smile, and pride suffused his chest. “What more could a girl ask for?”
“I’m not done yet.” He rose and went back to the tiny two-burner stove where water was just coming to a boil in a cheap aluminum pot. He shook the familiar blue boxes at her. “Kraft mac-and-cheese with frozen peas. I figured you’d appreciate a vegetable. Nothing but the best for you, Scully.”
She nodded approval while trying and failing to stifle her coughs. He met her with a glass of water and waited for it to end. When it did, he said “Why don’t you take some meds and get comfortable? I’ll finish this little culinary adventure.”
She took the lozenges and cough syrup and shuffled toward the bed. They were quiet as she sat against the headboard, flipping through channels before landing on His Girl Friday while he cooked and put the kettle on to boil. The soporific warmth of the room seeped into him, and he kept stealing glances at her over his shoulder. He relished the moments when the world narrowed down to just the two of them. If you’d asked him five years ago if his fantasies included making breakfast for his argumentative partner while she watched him from her kitchen counter, or falling asleep together on his couch, he’d have balked. But here he was. His whole world was contained in a five-foot-two redhead with a smart mouth and a gun, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Maybe one day, if he was very lucky, he’d even deserve her.
He set a heavily honeyed lemon chamomile tea on her nightstand and returned with two bowls of macaroni to sit next to her against the headboard. Scully smelled like mentholated petroleum jelly and artificial cherry, and there was nowhere else he’d rather be.
He cleared and washed the bowls when they finished while she sipped her tea. Settling back next to her he asked, “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” she croaked, “Genuinely.” She looked down at the mug in her hands and started to say something, but was cut off by more coughing. She winced and twisted to rub her back and side when it stopped. “Except my ribs are killing me…”
He set her empty mug aside and motioned for her to scoot forward, earning him a familiar quizzical look. With some awkward fumbling he shifted himself so she sat between his legs. He splayed his large hands across the graceful curve of her back and started to gently rub up and down. This earned him a low, satisfied sigh, and she crossed her arms over her drawn up knees, resting her head on them to give him better access.
“Is this ok?”
“Mm, yeah. Your hands are warm. Feels good.” she murmured into her arms, and he felt her relax under his palms. He couldn't help but imagine that sensation in different circumstances and forced himself to think of literally anything else. They stayed like that for a while, with him firmly but carefully rubbing the lean muscles along her spine and her occasionally letting out soft moans, which didn’t help matters at all. Her ribs no longer stood out, once again cushioned by strong muscle and fat, and he thanked every plump cell and fiber for keeping her with him. Her arms went slack and he could feel when she caught herself from nodding off.
“Hey, it’s ok, lean back,” he said as he guided her to lay back against him. He felt around for the remote to turn the TV off and shifted the blankets so they were covered with her bracketed by his legs. His arms found their way around her waist, pulling her heavenly soft weight against him.
“How are you always so warm,” she muttered, head lolling against his shoulder.
“They used to say madness was due to an excess of heat in the brain.”
“That must be it.” She shifted against him. “Hey Mulder?”
“Hm?”
“Thank you for taking care of me. I know I’m a terrible patient. Especially since…everything. I don’t want to go back there.”
“I know,” he mumbled into the crown of her head. And it was the truth, he did know. “You’re the strongest person I know. You can take care of yourself. But…thank you for letting me take care of you, too.”
She murmured her assent against him, and was out like a light. He kissed her hair and tightened his grip around her waist. He knew before long he’d have to get up and change, let her sleep properly so they both didn’t wake up with cricks in their necks. But for now he held her close, willing his love into her, before the rest of their long journey home.