Title: Thirty Eight Years
    Author: Josie Marchant
    Summary: Sometimes, all you want is someone to take care of you.
    Disclaimer: They are only on loan, but thanks Fox all the same.
    http://marchant.freeservers.com
    xfiler_uk@yahoo.com

I sneezed, it must have been the hundredth time this morning,
and boy was it a painful one. Reaching out for my tissues I
am distracted as she enters the office, red and watery eyes
 meet hers and a sense of relief fills me, when I see her facial
expression as one of concern.
"Hey, you okay?" she says to me.
 Bingo! that's what I've been waiting for, the one phrase that
 will allow me to act on an impulse I've been waiting for since
 this cold hit me last night. I can moan, and whine, and get her
sympathy, then she can take care of me.
 "Scully....I don't feel well" my God, was that me? I sound like
 a pathetic child rather than my normal 38 year old self.
However my statement was rewarded with her placing her
 hand on my head, it feels cool and soft.
 "You are a little warm Mulder, you want to go home?"
 I couldn't even grace her with a reply to that one, I sneeze
 again, and let out a harsh wheeze. "Oh dear" she smiled,
 'smiled?' that's the wrong
reaction, she is meant to be worried, not smiling.
"Come on, I'll take you back to my apartment" okay, so
 maybe the smile wasn't too bad.
 "Can...I have soup?" oh no, now I sound so....so needy,
she's going to laugh this one off.
 "Yes, you can, come on honey, you're too sick to be here"
'honey' she called me a pet name, that never happens,
maybe I should tell her how I feel about her, then again,
 rejection in my current state would all but kill me.
.I'll let her honey me all she wants to. So, thisdiminutive
yet incredibly strong lady all but carries me to her car,
I'm a little shaky on my feet, and I feel really light headed.
She is talking to me, but I can't really hear her,
and minutes blur into seconds and before I know it
we're at her apartment.
 I am all but pushed to her couch, and a soft plaid
 blanket is wrapped around me and a thermometer placed
in my mouth. Scully is running her hand through my hair,
I love that feeling, and  if I didn't feel so sick, I'd
say it kind of excites me....but right now it....
well it makes me want my...Mom.
 I can't believe it, I feel like I'm a kid again, I know
I feel stupid, a grown man wanting his Mom.
She takes the thermometer out and holds it to the light.
 "No wonder you feel sick Mulder, 102, come on lie down"
 she pushes medown gently so that I'm lying down,
 her hand still sifting through my hair.
 Shit, tears are burning in my eyes, I don't want to cry,
 please don't let me cry.
"Sweetheart it's okay" she whispers. I take it I cried,
actually I can taste the salty tears as they run down my face.
  "I'm going to put you to bed" she sighs.
Now I've slept in Scully's bed before, when those
bastards were posioning mywater. I like her bed, damn sight
 more comfy than my couch. As she leads me to
it she helps me with my clothes, she undoes my shirt,
then movesto my pants. Taking them off layer by layer,
 exposing my vulnerability.
"It's okay" she keeps whispering, kind of like a mantra,
it's comforting.
All I really want to do is have her hold me, rock me,
stroke me till I feel better. I find myself drawn to her
 embrace as her arms encircle me. Gently
I lean my head on her shoulder, taking in the scent
 of her perfume upon her neck.
"Mulder, what is it, what's wrong?" she asks.
"I....feel sick...that's all" I murmer, good avoidence tactic
that one.
 "Are you sure that's all, nothing else is bothering you?"
 damn she is good.
"No" I shift in her arms slightly, feeling tears burn again,
 that's done it...
"You can tell me, you know you can don't you?"
 oh I know I can, and I want to tell her so much,
so badly, but I am afraid of looking stupid, I am so afraid of that.
"I just....want...to...please..." I'm babbling,
 it must be the fever.
"take care of...me" there, said it, now I'm just waiting for
 the laughter, it doesn't come.
Instead a gently hand runs up and down my back, lips press
 against my cheek and she begins to rock me.
 "Didn't you Mom ever do this when you were sick Mulder?"
I shake my head.My Mom never did do this, and I
think that's what's wrong. I was just put to
bed till I was better, she never held me,
never told me I'd be okay,
not like this, not like my Scully. That made the tears
 really come, harsh salty tears which stung my eyes as they fell.
Her grip tightened on me, and soon she lay down on the bed
 next to me, pulling me into her side,
tucking my head into the crook of her neck.
 "Go to sleep" she said. "I've got you Fox, shh"
I feel her hand stroke my hair again, I feel safe,
I feel loved. Why has it taken
38 years for anybody to make me feel this way?
my eyelids are heavy, I can't
keep them open, it's okay though...she's got me...
she won't let me go.
FIN