Title: The Muses: Thalia 01/03 Author: Daydreamer Author E-mail: Daydream59@aol.com Rating: PG-13 for language Category: SAH Spoilers: None Keywords: MSRish Archive: Yes, please. Feedback: Yes! Please! Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully are owned by Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, Fox Television Network, etc. They are wonderfully brought to life by David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson. I will make no profit from this, and neither will Fox if they sue me, for I am exceedingly poor and have nothing material they can profit from. Comments: Check out my web page, Daydreamer's Den, brought to you by the talented Shirley Smiley, WebMistress Extraordinaire! http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dunes/2113/ Summary: Part of a nine-part anthology of stories based on the Greek Muses and the artistic field each represents. Thalia is comedy. The working title on this piece was "A Pain in the Ass." The Muses: Thalia 01/03 "Scully," Mulder screamed, panic lacing his voice, "he's in the house! I just saw him!" He ran down a long hallway, ending in a great room with a huge wall of windows looking out over the dark night. "Scully," he yelled again, "be careful. He's armed, and I lost him." This house, built on a hill and overlooking a steep incline, was supposed to be empty. All their intelligence from surveillance on the suspect indicated he would not be here at this time, on this night. But he was. And Mulder had no idea where Scully was, and she wasn't responding to his calls. He skidded to a halt before the huge wall of glass, staring mesmerized for a moment out over the inky blackness of the night. From the way the house was built, it appeared to float over nothingness, the sky a velvet blanket glittering with diamond stars above it. There was a sound behind him, and he whirled, his weapon coming up, but two hands struck him firmly in the chest and he began to topple backwards. He reached out, grappling with his attacker and calling for Scully at the same time. "I've got him, Scully, he's here!" He could hear her steps as she came down the same hall he had just moments ago, but the suspect was pressing against him, moving him steadily backward. He felt the windows shatter as he was pushed through but he managed to hold onto the man, hauling him through as well. Two more short, shuffling steps, and then he heard it -- Scully's voice ordering, "Federal Agent! Stop where you are!" The suspect shoved again, desperately struggling for freedom, and Mulder stumbled back, crashing through a wooden railing and falling through what seemed to be miles of empty air before landing heavily on a muddy slope amidst the shattered remains of the windows. He let out a loud "whuff" as he impacted, and then gasped, sucking deeply as he struggled to fill his lungs with air once more. The suspect had his back to the former railing, and Mulder could hear him clearly as Scully ordered again, "Freeze!" "And how do you plan to make me?" the man sneered. "Tiny little thing like you?" Bad move, guy, Mulder thought, and almost felt sorry for the man. He watched as Scully darted forward, and fired a single shot just past the suspect's right shoulder. The man jerked to the side, his feet slipping from beneath him, and slipped over the edge. "Shit!" Mulder looked up to see Scully staring down at him, the concern in her face just visible from the light on the now demolished deck. Their suspect was hanging from the edge of the deck, and as he watched, Scully knelt and he saw metal flash. Had she really just cuffed their suspect to the railing, while he was hanging from it? He shook his head. Incredible! "Mulder!" she was calling him again. "You'd better answer me, or the next call I make is to 911." He waved at her, still gasping for air, glad she couldn't see his struggle in the dark or she *would* call the damned paramedics. He drew one more deep breath and managed a feeble, " 'm OK, Scully," waving again, as he forced himself to his feet. He couldn't believe the pain. His nerve-endings felt as if they were alive. His back and ass were literally screaming at him, and he felt like joining the chorus. What the hell had he done now? But with the threat of hospitals and ambulances firmly in mind, he stuffed the discomfort down and began the climb back up to the house on the hill. He reached the lower level of the house, and let himself in. Climbing painfully to the next floor, his back protesting every step of the way, he joined Scully on the shaky deck. He looked down over the edge at their suspect. The man was clinging to the lower part of a shattered post, wrist cuffed to the same post. His other hand surrounded the next post over. "Hey, man, help me up here," he begged, when Mulder walked up. "She's not even listening to me!" Mulder looked down at the man and smiled. "I have that same problem sometimes," he said. "Man, I'm sliding here. I'm gonna fall," the man whined. "You wouldn't want to do that," Mulder said seriously. "I can tell you from personal experience, it's a long way down. And contrary to what you might expect, that mud does not cushion your landing." "Give me your cuffs," Scully ordered, and Mulder handed them over. He watched as she knelt and cuffed the other wrist to the post the suspect clutched. "Um, Scully," he asked, "not to be critical or anything, but is there a reason you're leaving him there?" "Shit NO!" the man responded. "She's just one mean bitch." "*You* be quiet!" Mulder barked, "or you're liable to hang there all night." He looked at his partner. "And I withdraw the question. I understand now." He paused, then looked back down at the man. He was visibly sweating and Mulder could see the muscles of his arms bunch as he clung to the posts. "I couldn't very well pull him up, now could I? After all, I'm just a -- what was it you called me before?" She smiled down at the man, a sharklike expression that made Mulder very glad it wasn't directed at him. "A tiny little thing?" She looked up at Mulder and smiled. "No way a tiny little thing like me could pull him up, now, is there?" "Help me, man," the suspect pleaded. "I'm gonna be hanging from my wrists in a minute here." Mulder looked down gravely and said, "That is a dilemma. I would not recommend letting that happen. Who knows what it could do to your wrists?" "Pull me up, please. Whadaya want? Ya want a confession? I confess. There. Just get me up." Mulder looked at Scully and realized he would be taking his life in his hands if he tried to help the man. "No can do, buddy," he answered. "Sorry. See, someone just shoved me through these windows and off a deck and I fell about thirty feet. My back just can't take the strain." "Your back? Mulder, are you OK?" Scully was suddenly concern personified. "Are you hurt? You said you were all right." She glared down at the man, and Mulder was reacquainted with the term "to look daggers" as she stared at their suspect's hanging form. Mulder smiled to himself, then took Scully's elbow and pulled her back toward the house. "*Are* you all right?" she asked again, and he nodded this time. "Yep," he lied. "I just realized pulling him up would likely give you an excuse to put me over the edge again. Once a night is enough." "What the hell was he doing here?" she asked, and he could only shrug. "Well, backup is on the way. They can pull him up." She reached out tentatively and touched his arm. "Are you sure you're all right?" He nodded again, and the guilt settled over him. He hated to lie to her, but he was determined not to spend the night in the hospital. "It just knocked the wind out of me, Scully. I'm fine." She cocked her head. "Now why don't I like the sound of that?" she asked as they heard the first sirens in the distance. ********************************************** "After you," Mulder said with a small flourish, as he nodded Scully into his apartment. She smiled and led the way into his small living area. Dropping briefcase and laptop down beside her, she plopped gratefully onto the couch and immediately kicked off her shoes. "Ahhhh," she sighed, "that feels so good." Mulder frowned at her. "I don't understand why you insist on wearing those shoes if they bother your feet that much." She looked up at him. "You wouldn't," she said. "It's a girl thing." He shook his head and made his way back down the hall to his recently recovered bedroom. "Yeah," he muttered under his breath, "a short girl thing." "I heard that!" Scully called from the living room, and Mulder muttered again, "Why am I not surprised?" "You are digging a very deep hole there, G-man," Scully warned, and he decided he should change his tack immediately. After all, she was here to do the paperwork, and if he didn't play nice, he might end up doing all of it, all by himself. "I'm just going to get out of this monkey suit," he called out to the living room. "Make yourself at home." "What do you want on the pizza?" she called to him. "The usual." His voice was muffled as he pulled a sweater down over his head. "We are not having pineapple tonight, Mulder," Scully informed him. "Pick again." "I don't care, Scully," he called back, actually taking time to hang up his suit coat and throw his shirt in the hamper. The pants were a loss. Between the glass shards, the wood slivers, and the mud, they were beyond salvageable. He limped over to the bed, and shuddered distastefully. He hated this thing. If he was going to have a bedroom, he had to get a normal bed. Where the hell had this thing come from anyway? Well, it did have one useful quality. He lay down across the leopard skin spread, hitching himself into the middle of the bed, and then looked up at the mirror-covered canopy, and was rewarded with a fine view of his ass. In dappled red and brown. He was bleeding all over the place. Shit! No wonder it hurt so much. He rose gingerly and pulled a used towel from the hamper and began to wipe at the blood, watching as little crystals of glass fell. He wrapped the towel around his waist and made a dash for the bathroom, shutting the door quickly behind him. Wetting a rag, he began to pick at the wounds, and eventually managed to clean himself up. A liberal dose of gauze and tape from the medicine chest, and he was soon sporting a well-bandaged full moon. That still hurt like hell. To say nothing of his back. The base of his spine felt as if someone were digging tiny little knives in, and moving them around with each step he took. He opened the medicine cabinet again, and popped four extra-strength Tylenol, grimacing as he swallowed without water. He went back to the bedroom, slipped his jeans on and emerged into the hall, still zipping as he reentered the living room. "Comfortable, Mulder?" Scully teased, and he grinned at her, refusing to be embarrassed as he worked the button at his waistband, then decided to leave it alone and pulled his sweater down over it. "Benefit of doing the paperwork at one's own pad, Scully," he said. "*I* get to be comfortable while we work." "Well, *you* get to pay for the pizza, too," she retorted, though she did cast a rather wistful look at his casual clothing, then sighed and shed her blazer. "Hey, Scully," Mulder said, "cheer up. I can probably find an extra pair of sweats for you somewhere." She looked up, and he could see that the thought of getting out of her suit was quite tempting. "That would be great, Mulder," she answered, "I'd really appreciate that." He smiled. Sometimes he forgot how easy it was to please Scully. She really didn't ask for much. "I'm amazed at what's in my bedroom, now that I can get into it. Let me go see what I can track down." She smiled at him, and he padded back down the short hall. He dug through drawers, finding a sweatshirt immediately, but picking through the sweat pants, trying to find something smaller than what he usually wore. Though why he should expect to have something small in his drawers he couldn't answer. But he looked anyway. And was rewarded. There in the bottom of the bureau was a pair of her sweat pants. He stopped for a moment. He was sure they were Scully's. Whose else would they be? But why did he have them? He shook his head, then looked at the shirt. Did it match the black pants? He wouldn't care, but Scully liked to match. Another girl thing. Didn't black go with everything? He shook his head again, then grabbed a second shirt. Let her choose. He wandered back out to join Scully, tossed the pants to her, then held the shirts up. "Your choice," he said, "Patriots or Boston Harbor?" "Let me guess. Christmas from your mother?" she said as she scooped up the pants and took the gray Patriots shirt from him. "Birthday, actually," he chuckled. "She thinks I don't dress warm enough when I run." "Moms are like that," she said absently as she headed for the bathroom to change. The door shut behind her and he sat carefully on the couch and busied himself with pulling out the case file and notes. "Hey!" He looked up and smiled. She just noticed they were her pants. "Why do you have a woman's small pants in your drawer, Mulder?" she called, and he could feel the blood congeal in his veins just from her tone. Maybe she didn't realize they were hers after all. "Uh, they're yours, Scully," he called back. "I think I would remember if I left my *pants* at your place, Mulder, and these are not mine." Whew - he didn't know a voice could be that cold. "They must be yours, Scully," he responded weakly. "Whose else could they be?" That made sense, right? He certainly hadn't been entertaining anyone else in the past, oh, six years or so. "Who, indeed, Mulder? Who indeed?" Amazing. He hadn't realized you could *hear* an eyebrow arch like that. She padded back out to the living room, and fell back on the couch. "Exactly how long has it been since you've seen your bedroom?" she asked. Ah! An out! That was his Scully -- ready to roast him, but willing to let him slide if he'd play nice. "God, Scully, years, at the very least. They could have been there when I moved in for all I know." The eyebrow was up again, and he thought perhaps he'd gone a little too far, but then she smiled and patted his leg. "You're so easy, Mulder," she grinned. "You always take the bait." "I'm not easy, Scully," he teased back, "I just know what's in my best interest." "Best interest? Fox Mulder and best interest? Are those two phrases that can even be used in the same sentence?" He was getting nervous again, but when he looked at her, the smile was still in place and he felt himself relax. He was searching for just the right witty response, and coming up empty, when he was saved by the bell. Quite literally. The doorbell. He pushed himself up, trying to keep from wincing and moved to the door. Scrambling for his wallet, he finally produced the right amount of cash and returned with the pizza box. "Dinner is served," he announced, and they fell to with relish. ************************************************** Three days later Scully looked at the clock. Almost 10:00 a.m. Where the hell was Mulder? Tuesday after a three day weekend, and he was late. They didn't really have anything pending, but it just gave her a strange feeling. She'd spent the long weekend in Baltimore, visiting her mother, and hadn't talked to her partner since their infamous run-in with their last suspect, the man she had left hanging from the ruins of the second story deck. She'd thought Mulder would be stiff enough from his fall that he might actually stay home and rest this weekend, but it appeared now that he'd taken off again, leaving her to cover his ass. She clamped down hard on her first inclination to be angry, and decided to give him a call and see if he had an excuse. She was so convinced he'd taken off without her, that she was shocked to speechlessness when he actually answered the phone on the third ring. " 'lo?" He sounded sleepy, groggy, just not quite right. "Mulder," she asked, "are you all right?" "Scully?" he answered. "Yes. What's wrong, Mulder?" "Not feeling too good," he mumbled. " 'll be OK." "Are you coming in today?" Scully demanded. "Do you realize what time it is?" "Time?" Mulder muttered. "Why does it matter what time it is?" Scully was quiet for a minute, thinking. Then she asked quietly, "Mulder, what day is it?" "Day?" She could hear the wheels spinning as he contemplated how much trouble the answer to that one was going to get him into. Before he had a chance to say another word, she cut in. "I'm coming over," she said, and hung up. ******************************************* He woke again, feeling muzzy. What time was it? He kicked the covers off again, and wiped sweat from his face. He was laying on his sofa, flat on his belly and he'd been here for a while. He thought he might be running a fever -- he was alternately hot and cold. And dizzy. When he got up to go to the bathroom, he was dizzy. Good thing he hadn't had to go in a while. His back hurt so badly! Every little movement sent spikes of pain up from the small of his back and down through his legs. The mere thought of getting up was beyond him. He'd forced himself up several times to tend to necessities, and to pop painkillers, but in the last twelve hours or so, he just hadn't been able to move at all. And his ass. The cut on his behind ached like the fires of hell. He was afraid it might be getting infected, especially if he really was running a fever. But to look at it he would have to get up, and there was no way he was moving. Thank God it was a three day weekend! He shivered violently, suddenly chilled and reached behind him to pull the ragged blanket back over his sweat-soaked body. He really needed to get up and do something. Shower, eat, take some pills, something. He started to move, but his back exploded again, and he lay still, panting as he waited for the pain to recede. He had almost fallen asleep again, when the phone rang, jarring him back to wakefulness. He reached out and grabbed it, mumbling a hoarse " 'lo?" into the mouthpiece, and wondering why his throat was so dry. It was Scully and she wanted to know what was wrong with him. Jeez, Scully, how should I know? You're the doctor in this partnership. But, knowing she would worry, he told her he was fine, just not feeling himself. He could hear her thinking. It always surprised him that he could tell what was going on in her mind at some times, and didn't have a clue at other times. For now, he could definitely tell. She was worrying and he needed to put an end to it at once. " 'll be OK," he said, trying to sound forceful. Now she was asking him the time. Your watch broke, Scully? You have to call and wake me up to ask the time? He looked at the clock. The digital display blinked 9:52 at him. He frowned. Morning or night? A quick glance at the window confirmed it was morning. So he slept in, so what? It was a long weekend. He was entitled. He thought back, trying to sort the days out. He'd crashed hard when Scully left about midnight. Since then, he'd been up twice, both times to use the bathroom. So it couldn't be more than Sunday, right? "Mulder, what day is it?" Scully said in his ear. Damn! How did the woman do that? Could she hear him thinking too? "Day?" he muttered into the phone, still wondering how she managed to unsettle him so often. And then he heard the words that made his blood run cold. Not that they were such bad words. Actually, he liked hearing these words. They were good words when his partner Scully said them. And they were even better words when his friend Scully said them. But these words? These were not good words now. Before he could think another thought, or speak another word, his own personal doctor person spoke, and they were not good words at all. Because he knew he was in trouble now. "I'm coming over," she said, and the line went dead. End part 01/03 ========================================= The Muses: Thalia 02/03 He reached out and replaced the receiver on the hook, then groaned. Oh, God, Scully was coming over. Correction -- *Doctor* Scully was coming over. He needed to get up and take a shower, pull himself together so he could convince her he was OK. He started to sit up, but the pain washed over his back and legs, and he collapsed back onto the couch, panting. He lay stiffly for a minute, trying to avoid any movement whatsoever, and suddenly felt terribly overheated. He pulled the blanket off his back, letting it drop on the floor beside his erstwhile bed. Ahhh, that was better. The cool air brushed against his back, and he could feel sweat drying against his skin. His ass felt like it was on fire. He could almost feel the angry red streaks radiating from the gash on his buttocks. Had to be infected. He needed to get a shower before Scully got here, but he was so tired. His eyes slid shut again. He would. He'd get up and take a shower in just a minute. He was just gonna rest here for a minute more, and then he would shower and be ready for Scully. Just a minute more ... "... Mulder?" Oh, man, he'd fallen asleep again. And Scully was here. He was in trouble now. He made a sound, something between a grunt and a groan, and a soft, cool hand touched his face. "Shhh, Mulder," she said soothingly, and he felt himself relax. She might be Doctor Scully now, but she was using her Friend Scully voice. "What have you done now?" she asked sadly. That made him frown. He didn't like Scully to be sad. Her hand stroked his face, and then he heard her footsteps as she went away. He didn't like that either. He didn't want her to go away. Just having her near seemed to help with the pain. And if he really was sick, she would know what to do. His eyes were still closed, and he let himself start to drift away again. Scully would take care of him. He woke with a start moments later, when a wet rag was wiped softly across his face. "Mmmm," he mumbled. "Feels nice." "I know," she murmured. She continued to bathe his face, and then he felt the cloth on his back, sponging away the grime of his sweat filled night. He could live with this. Heck, he might even tell her the truth, she was being so nice. Tell her how his back hurt, and about the pain in his butt. The cloth stroked over the small of his back, and he jumped, a little groan of agony slipping out. "Hurts," he whimpered, as she lifted the cloth. "Where?" Uh-oh. That was Doctor Scully. The nice lady who had been here a minute ago was gone. But he didn't have the energy to try and avoid her at this point so he merely said, "My back." Her hands were on his back now, very lightly, very softly, running over his skin. He shivered at her touch, and she asked, "Are you cold?" "Sometimes. Sometimes hot. Scully?" "Hmmm?" She had pulled his blanket up, covering his bottom and legs. "I hurt myself more than I told you when I fell last night." "Last night? Mulder, that was three days ago!" He thought hard for a moment, trying to figure out if she was mad or not. Finally he decided she was exasperated. Maybe frustrated. But not mad. Good, if she wasn't mad, then maybe he could do this. "Oh. Well, Scully? It still hurts." "Your back?" "Well, yeah, that and," he could feel himself blushing and he hoped she'd think it was the fever, "a little lower. I, uh, cut myself." "Cut? The glass, Mulder? You cut yourself on the glass? Where?" She had pulled the blanket off him again, and he could feel her hands on his legs now. "Not there," he muttered. "Oh." Her hands lifted and there was a long pause. "I'm going to have to look." He nodded miserably and buried his face in his arms. He felt the elastic in his boxers stretch, then the material slid down over his ass, and he gasped as her hand pressed against his homemade bandage. "When did you bandage this?" she asked, and he could almost see her nose wrinkling. "Um, last night?" He paused, his thinking still not clear. "No, not last night. When you were here." "Friday? You haven't changed this since Friday?" "Hurt too much to get up," he mumbled into his arms. "It's all right," she said softly. "Let me take the bandage off." Her voice was soft again, and he felt himself relax. He really didn't like to upset her. "The tape may pull some," she warned. He nodded and then gritted his teeth as the tape did, indeed, pull, and then it was over and he heard Scully's sharp intake of air, followed by a little cough. He drew in a breath, and then he coughed as well. Man, what was that odor? "Mulder," Scully was talking again, and he had to force himself to pay attention. "This is badly infected, and I do mean badly. We need to get you to the hospital and let them irrigate this. They may have to lance it to get it to drain -- I think it's abscessed." Mulder groaned. "Can't you do it, Scully?" he begged. "Please don't take me to the hospital." "Hush," she said softly. "It won't be so bad. But, Mulder, this is beyond me." "Please, Scully," he pleaded again. "Shhh," she repeated, her hand touching his forehead. "Let me take your temp before we go." There were footsteps, and he could feel her absence, even without opening his eyes. In a few minutes, she was back, and her hand was on his head again, this time stroking his hair away from his ear. She cooed a warning sound, and then he felt the aural thermometer touch his ear. There was a wait, then it was removed, and once again, Scully took a deep breath. "OK, Mulder," she said, and though her tone was soft, he could feel the steel in her words. "Let's see if we can get you up." He gritted his teeth, and with Scully's help, tried to rise. For the first time in his life, he thought he really understood the meaning of the word debilitation. He understood it, he experienced it; hell, he could even conjugate it. I am debilitated. The pain is debilitating. The wound will debilitate me. My debilitation is complete. He paused, trying to think if he missed any, and was surprised to feel the rag on his face again. "MULDER!" Why was Scully shouting at him? Was he in trouble again? "Shhh, Scully," he whispered, "I can hear you." "Mulder, I called you four times before you answered. That's it. I'm calling for an ambulance." Panic! Ambulance! Hospital! It was all coming back to him now. He fought to get focused, and realized he was laying on his couch, with his ass hanging out for the world to see -- for Scully to see -- and she wanted to invite more people over to take a look. Hell, maybe she could sell tickets, make some money. "No!" he cried. "No ambulance." "No choice, Mulder. I can't lift you, and I don't think you could bear to sit for the drive to GW anyway." Hmmm. She had a point. He didn't think he could sit either. He could hear her on the phone, but the words weren't registering. He was so tired. There was a click as she put the phone down and then she was back, the cloth bathing the dirt and sweat from him, and he relaxed beneath her touch. Before he knew it, he was asleep again. ****************************************** They wanted him to move again. Sadists. He'd yet to meet a medical professional that hadn't trained under that infamous Frenchman. Where was Scully? Maybe she could make them leave him alone. He thought a moment. Probably unlikely. She'd cooperated with Frick and Frack here when they insisted he get off his couch and onto this gurney. He grunted in disgust, then opened his eyes to peer about blearily. They'd reached the hospital, that much was sure. Ms. Perky, the bottle-bleached blonde was smiling encouragingly at him now, and Frick -- or was it Frack? -- was telling him to move over to the bed. He eyed the bed cautiously. They were always too narrow and way too short for his long legs. He looked around once more, hoping his partner would come and rescue him but she was nowhere to be seen. Beelzebub's buddies were nudging him now, trying to get him to move, but his mind was on Scully. She was nowhere to be seen. That penetrated the fog in his head, and he croaked, "Scully?" suddenly concerned over her absence. He could feel Ms. Perky and Frack exchanging looks, and then she leaned down and told him Scully was filling out paperwork for him up front. She'd be back in a few minutes. "But you *have* to move over to the bed, Mr. Mulder, before your wife can come back." Damn! Ms. Perky had a spine after all. Blackmail. He could respect that. Without another complaint, he pushed himself up and slid over to the bed, biting his lip so hard in the process he drew blood. But he'd be damned if he'd tell them that. He lay quietly on the bed, breathing in shallow little gasps, waiting for the pain in his back to subside again. The nurse was talking once more and he heard himself giving automatic answers, but he was still confused on when things had happened and how long things had been going on for. Christ, she even wanted to know when he'd had his last bowel movement. "Scully'll tell you," he mumbled. Ha! That'll show her! Drag me to the hospital when she's a perfectly good doctor. She could have popped that boil on my butt at home and saved both of us this trip through hell. The woman was tugging at his shorts now, and he managed to find the strength to grab onto them pretty quick. Scully may have made him come here, but he'd be damned if he was going to willingly display his ass to all and sundry. Nope, they could just devise another plan. The shorts stayed on. Ms. Perky was saying something about a gown and he was shaking his head. Apparently, the message got through because she desisted in her quest to depants him and pulled a sheet -- a sheet! It had to be subzero in here and she gives him a sheet! Definite student of the Marquis. -- over him and told him, "Doctor will be here shortly." As if "Doctor" was a name, not a a job description. He tuned her out, settled onto the bed as best he could, and refused to speak again. Scully could deal with the evil people here. She was one of them. Let her talk to them. Eyes closed, head on the flat scrap of lumpy material they jokingly called a pillow, he resolutely sought for sleep, and it didn't take long to find it. ************************************** "Mulder? Mulder? C'mon, you need to wake up now." That was Scully. She was shaking him gently, forcing him back amongst the living. And he didn't like it. It was warm and peaceful where he'd been. And Friend Scully had been there. Well, all right, he could admit it. More-than- Friend Scully had been there, and it had been *very* nice. "Lea' me alone, Scully," he mumbled as he bunched the pillow into a bit more noticeable hump beneath his head. "No can do, partner," she answered. "Rise and shine. The doctor is here." He pried open an eye in time to see her wave another woman over to him. This one was short, with dark hair, and she bent slightly to meet his eyes. Her stethoscope swung from around her neck and he found himself almost mesmerized as it moved back and forth, back and forth. Then he realized where he was staring, and blushed furiously. He looked around to see if Scully had seen him and saw her watching him with an amused expression on her face. He frowned at her. She had no right enjoying this -- not any of it! The woman was talking again. "... is Dr. Gonzalez. What can I do for you today, Mr. Mulder?" "Well, as I told the people in admitting ..." Good old Scully, just jump right in. Mulder let his eyes close as he listened to Scully repeat the events of the night he fell. "Does that sound about right, Mr. Mulder?" the doctor was asking. He hadn't been paying attention, so he just nodded briefly and turned his head away. "All right," she said. "Let me examine you." She had him move his head back and forth, then up and down, while she watched carefully. That wasn't too bad. Then she ran her hands over his back, pressing firmly over his shoulders and rib cage. That wasn't too bad either. Actually it was rather nice. She had a nice touch. Maybe Scully should take lessons from this nice lady. Her hands dropped lower, pressing in the small of his back, and the firestorm of agony exploded once more. "Fuck!" he gasped out and was immediately hushed by Scully. Forget taking lessons from her, Scully. She trained with Satan's sickos like you did. "Ah, found the source of the discomfort, did we?" the doctor asked lightly, and he found himself wondering if "we" would object if "we" pulled "our" weapon and shot "us." That sparked another train of thought. Who did he want to shoot? The evil doctor, thus saving others from her far from tender mercies? Or himself? Ending the tortures of hell of the last few days? Hmmm. Maybe both. Damn! Her hands were moving again. Over his arms, over his legs. And then she was speaking. Roll over? I don't think so, Queen of Darkness. I am quite content to lay right where I am, and you and your evil minions can just work around me. He gave a smug, self-satisfied smile. The pain in his back was receding. He could just lay here and they could bring that portable x-ray thing, and give him some good drugs and send him home. Wait a minute -- what did she say? No pain meds if he didn't roll? Shit! Did they train all these women in blackmail techniques? What was it? Some required med school thing only the females got? Was that even legal? Fuck it! He rolled onto his side, good buttock down, and glared at the sweetly smiling Hispanic woman. She just reached out and felt his chest and belly, then told him he could lay back down. Make up your mind, O Wicked One. He rolled again, back onto his belly, and grunted. "I'm going to look at the wound on your buttocks now, Mr. Mulder." "The pants stay on," he growled warningly. Scully laughed softly, but then her hand was on his cheek and she was speaking in that nice, soft voice that he liked. "She's just going to lower them, Mulder. You can keep them on for now." He felt the waistband slide down and stop just below his cheeks. Prying his eyes open again, he took in the room. Female partner - check. Female doctor - check. Female nurse - check. Hell, there was even a female orderly or something digging in a cabinet between his cubicle and the next. And him with his ass hanging in the wind. Didn't they hire men anymore? What the hell kind of hospital was this anyway? "Doctor" was pressing on his ass now. Oh, yeah, that impresses me, Doc. Surely you can tell that's not the injured side. Oops, too soon. She found the wound. "Shit!" he exclaimed, and once more Scully was fussing at him about language. Well, Scully, you try having someone poke your butt when it's been cut to shreds and said shreds seem to have gotten infected. The woman patted the good side of his ass, and covered him with a sheet, saying, "OK, Mr. Mulder, just one more thing and then we can see about some orders for you. I need to do a rectal." "Fuck, NO!" he breathed. "No. No. No. And in case you misunderstood, let me say it again -- NO!" "Look, you have a serious abscess here, sir, and I need to be sure the rectal tissue isn't involved. I'm also concerned about your back, and I can get a feel for what has happened there through the rectal exam." "You're not getting a feel for anything in my ass," Mulder swore. "Scully, tell her. That's a definite 'no contact' area." Scully had a smirk on her face, but she erased it quickly when he looked at her. Not quick enough. Traitor. He could tell already. He was sunk. She was telling the doctor to give her a minute to talk to him. Fuck, fuck, fuck! She was going to make him do this. "I'll be back in a few minutes then, Dr. Scully," the ER doctor said. Why did everyone suddenly start calling Scully "Doctor" whenever they were in a hospital? "I've got an ER full of patients. I can see someone else," -- she turned and looked at him and he wondered if that glare was taught to the women in med school as well -- "someone who *wants* to cooperate, then I'll come see if your partner is ready to play nice." She swished through the curtain, Ms. Perky right behind. Satan's spawn. They were all Satan's spawn. "Mulder." Uh-oh. Scully was using *her* doctor voice now. No nonsense, clinical, no time to waste. He hated this voice. "You have to have this exam." "I don't think so, Scully." Ha! Let's see them force me to take this one. This, dear *Doctor* Scully, is not some pill you can force down my throat. "Mulder." Oh shit! Doctor Scully was gone. There was a soft hand on his brow, pushing his hair back, and his traitorous body was responding hungrily to her comfort. He leaned into her touch and was rewarded when she ran her fingers through his hair and then gently rubbed his shoulders. The slightest moan slipped out from his lips. "Shhhh," she murmured. "I know you don't feel good. And I know you don't mean to be this difficult." Her hands were still rubbing his shoulders, stroking his arms, returning every now and then to touch his face. "But Mulder, this is serious. Dr. Gonzalez needs to do the rectal. You don't have an option here." Wrong! There are always options. Hey, that's a good one. Let's try that, shall we? "Scully, there are always options. You should know that," he chided her gently. She was silent for a moment, her hand stilled, and he wondered if he'd really pissed her off. He hoped not. Even though she was advocating for Lucifer's lackey, she was still being nice while she did it. The hand began to move again and he sighed. "Well, you're right, Mulder. In this case, there is another option." "Great. I'll take Door Number Two, Monte," he quipped, amazed he'd actually won this round. "OK, then," she said. The hand left his cheek. "Let me tell Dr. Gonzalez to go ahead and order that surgical consult." Shit! Surgery? Damn, this woman was good! "Uh, wait a minute, Scully." He opened his eyes and forced his head up, finding her standing by the curtain, a half-smile on her lips. He dropped his head and groaned. "I hate you, you know that," he muttered. "I hate you all." Her hand was back and she was chuckling, but there was no malice in it. "I know, Mulder, but I tell you what. You be a good boy for the rectal, and I won't even say 'I told you so' about not 'fessing up to your injuries the night they occurred. How 'bout that?" Hmmm. A guaranteed pass on supercilious Scully? That wasn't such a bad deal. He guessed he could deal with having these healers from Hades venture 'where no one had gone before.' "Fine," he gritted out. "Just get it over with." He buried his head, then added, "And you *do not* get to watch." She chuckled again. "All right, Mulder. Let me get Dr. Gonzalez." End part 02/03 ========================================= The Muses: Thalia 03/03 "Pain here?" Grunt. "Here?" Grunt. "Mr. Mulder, you need to be a little more forthcoming. I need to know if this hurts." The doctor moved her hand again. "Here?" Grunt. "Muldeeeerrrrr." Ah shit! Now Scully was getting in on his torture session, even if she had been banished to the other side of the curtain. "You need to work with Dr. Gonzalez," she said warningly. Dr. Gonzalez. Mulder looked at the small, Hispanic woman, locked in an embarrassingly intimate position with him. He frowned. More like Dr. Torquemada, head of his own private little version of the Spanish Inquisition. The woman moved her hand again, and asked, "How about here?" He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Grunt. "Cooperate, Mulder, or I'm coming back in." Another shift from the woman and -- "Oh, damn, what the fuck!" Mulder writhed in agony as his back exploded again, this time from the inside. He was sucking hard, trying to draw air in through his clenched teeth. Torquemada was laughing, he just knew it. He opened his eyes and looked up to see her frowning down at him. Well, damn it, she was laughing inside. He could tell. "Enough cooperation for you?" he spat at her. "Mr. Mulder, please," the doctor said. "Let me finish the exam." She pressed several more times, and he returned to his monotone grunt. *Finally,* his torment was over and she withdrew her hand. He groaned as she covered him once more, then pulled the glove off her hand. God, he was tired. He was hot, and miserable, and in pain, and nobody was doing anything to make him better. He curled up into an even tighter fetal position, pulling the sheet up under his chin and sought desperately to shut everything out and sleep. If he could just sleep, maybe it would all go away. "Mr. Mulder." El Diablo was shaking him now, insisting he respond. "We need to discuss your options." "Talk to Scully," he muttered, then rolled onto his stomach and turned his head away. He could hear a buzzing in the background and then there was a hand on his face, brushing back the hair. "Hang in there, Mulder," Scully whispered. "We're on the right track now. Just a little longer." He nodded miserably. "Stay, Scully," he said, and her hand stroked his arm. "Shhh, of course. You rest now." He was drifting, half asleep as he listened to Mephistopheles' minion issue her orders. "Pre-op labs; wound culture -- some of the lacerations are suppurating; blood culture; IV with normal saline, one liter, wide open; morphine, 5 mg IV push; and Ancef, 1 gm IV after cultures." At last. She was quiet. He'd wondered how long it would be till the fiends with the needles would show up. Hospitals always attracted the needle worshippers. The dark-haired doctor was speaking again. "Last things: call for his admission, and get Surgical down here for a consult." "Surgery?" Mulder shifted to a half sitting position. "No way!" He glared at the doctor then turned to look pleadingly at Scully. "I took Door Number One, like a good boy, Scully, remember? No surgery." Gonzalez and Scully exchanged looks again and the ER physician excused herself. "Look, Mulder," Scully began, only to be cut off. "I don't want to look, Scully," her partner whined. "And I don't want anyone else looking either. Just get me out of here, OK?" He was struggling to rise now, fighting the pain in both ass and back and it was embarrassing how easily Scully pushed him back onto the bed. "The good news is there is no involvement of the cellulitis in the rectum, Mulder. The bad news is that it looks like you have a coccygeal fracture." "Coccy what?" "Coccygeal. Your tailbone." "And that requires surgery?" "No, actually, if that was all, you could go home today." She frowned, then reached out and touched his arm gently. "It's the cellulitis, Mulder. It's -- bad. You're going to have to be admitted to get that under control, and since you're being admitted, it's just easier to I & D the abscess in the OR." At his confused look she elaborated. "Incise and drain." He stared at her. She was on their side. It was written all over her face. She was going to make him stay, and she was going to let them loose on his behind with sharp instruments. He narrowed his eyes at her. Someday, Scully, someday. She laughed at his expression, then leaned over and felt his forehead again. "Fever's way up, partner. Know how my mom used to check us for fevers when we were kids?" She was smiling at him now, and he found himself starting to forgive her. "Let me show you." She leaned close, her voice dropping as she murmured, "Maggie Scully's patented fever detector." And then he felt it. Her lips brushed his forehead. They skimmed across his brow, then settled just above his left eye, and she was kissing him. And suddenly, surgery didn't seem like such an awful thing after all. *************************************** He woke slowly. It was dark and he was in a bed. Not his bed. He tried to look around but it was too dark. Hospital? He squinted. Yeah, that looked about right. He did a silent inventory. Nothing was really hurting right now, but that just meant he was on the good stuff. He looked around again, then croaked, "Scully?" No response. That wasn't like Scully. She was always there when he woke up in the hospital. Oh well. Maybe she had gone for a bite to eat or was talking to the doctor or something. He had a sudden flash of a short, Hispanic woman, dressed in medieval garb, her hand holding a red hot iron as she leered at him. He shivered violently, then wrote it off as a reaction to the meds he must be on. He gave one more good look to the room. Still no Scully. God, he was hot! He kicked at the blanket, using his feet until he finally had it off. As the blanket fell behind him, he heard a clunk and looked around. The call button. The damn call button had slipped over the side, out of his reach. He stared at it in frustration. What was he supposed to do now? No Scully, and he was hot and thirsty and he had to go to the bathroom. At the thought of the bathroom, he quickly pulled his gown to the side and breathed a sigh of relief. No catheter. Damn, that was close. Well, nothing for it but to deal with his situation on his own. He scrabbled at the guardrail, his hands uncoordinated, arms heavy. Must be the drugs. His bladder was sending more and more urgent signals to him, and he was getting frustrated with the rail. He pushed up from his side, rising to sit and then shifted quickly off his ass. What the ...? Oh yeah, right. Abscess. That's why he was here. He rolled onto his knees, then pulled up till he was kneeling in the bed. The damn gown made everything difficult -- how did women deal with dresses on a daily basis? -- but he managed to get one leg over the rail. He was searching for a toehold, when he was overcome with a wave of vertigo and began to lose his balance. He reached out, grasping frantically for anything that would stop the fall. He grabbed the IV pole, which promptly began to roll, so he clung to it tighter and it began to tip, which upset his balance even more and then he was going over the side, over the rail, headfirst, legs tangling in the sheets, useless for control. His arms were flailing madly, and he could feel the IV pull from his hand. The gown snagged on something and he heard a 'rrriiiiipppp,' then his wrist struck hard floor and he could hear the 'crack' as the bone gave way. The last thing he remembered thinking, before his head connected with the bedside table, was, "Scully is gonna be so pissed at me." ************************************* The next time he woke, Scully was there, and he barely opened his eyes before she was standing beside the bed, one hand gently holding him in place. He smiled up at her, feeling warm and fuzzy, and like everything was right with the world. "Hey, Scully," he slurred happily and was rewarded when she smiled back at him. "You're awake," she said. "How are you feeling?" He thought about that for a minute. "High," he finally responded, and she laughed. "Yeah, well, you are pretty doped up." She nodded to his arm and he noticed the cast that came halfway to his elbow. He frowned up at her and she explained. "You woke up, and for some still unknown reason, decided you needed to get out of bed. And you fell. And, of course, you being you, it couldn't be a simple fall." She pursed her lips as she looked at him. "You broke your wrist in two places and got a pretty nasty bump on your head." Her hand reached out and she gently touched a bandage over his right temple. " 's OK, Scully," he said, trying to make her smile. "Doesn't hurt." "I should hope not," she responded tartly, pulling her hand back. "At least not right now. But you're probably going to be uncomfortable in a day or so, when they take you off the morphine." "When can I go home?" he asked plaintively. "When your doctors agree." She seemed annoyed with him now, and he wasn't quite sure what he'd done. "Doctors?" "Yeah, *doctors,* Mulder. You have the enviable distinction of being in the care of three separate services: Medical, Surgical, and Orthopedic." Ah, that was it. She didn't like him to be hurt; she seemed to feel it reflected on her and her ability to take care of him. Teamwork. Well, here's teamwork, Scully. "So, when do we get them together and make 'em cut me loose?" "You're going to be in a good bit of pain, Mulder. You've had a lot happen and you need to let your body heal." Scully wasn't buying the teamwork bit. And now, he was feeling annoyed. "I can heal at home." "You are the most stubborn, frustrating, infuriating man ..." She took two steps away from his bed, glaring back at him. "Why do you always have to push so hard?" He was astonished to see tears hovering in her eyes as she stared fiercely at him. He extended his hand, the cast making the arm feel heavy, and when she didn't come to him, he made a little mewl of discontent. That reached her and she stepped back to the bed, gently taking his hand and cradling it in both of her own. " 's OK, Scully," he said again. He puffed up his chest and tapped it lightly with his good hand. "I'm tough. I can take it." She laughed at that, shaking her head slowly. "Mulder," she said between little giggles, "what am I going to do with you?" ************************************ Four days later Mulder leaned against the car window, eyes closed, trying to let the motion of the vehicle lull him into sleep. His wrist was throbbing, the cast chafed and his arm was itchy beneath the heavy plaster. His back was still achy, though the muscle relaxants helped some. Even worse was his ass. It was embarrassing enough to have broken his *coccyx.* More embarrassing to have broken his wrist in that ridiculous fall. But, the worst, the absolute worst, was this damn donut pillow he had to carry around with him. For both his abscess, and to keep the pressure off the broken tailbone while it knit. He and Scully had gone straight from the hospital to court, testifying against the man who had been responsible for the fall that had started this whole chain of events. He was miserable in his dress shoes, wool suit and the required 'male dress code' tie. He snorted in disgust, then hid a tiny smile when Scully reached out and patted his arm. "Does it hurt much, Mulder?" she asked sympathetically. "Some," he muttered. "The whole thing is just so absurd." He snorted again, then added, "I hate this." "I know," she said softly. "Why don't you try to rest. Traffic's a bitch, and it'll take a while to get home." She glanced at her watch. "You'll be due for meds when we get there." He grunted acknowledgment, and closed his eyes again, trying to find a comfortable place to lean his head. One good thing in all this. Scully was being *very* nice to him. No lectures, no recriminations, just her steadfast care and concern. He smiled slightly starting to feel the sleep creeping over him. He could get used to that ... "... Mulder?" She was shaking him gently, and he slowly roused beneath her touch. "Hmmm?" "C'mon, partner," she said, "we're here." He opened his eyes and looked around. The area was familiar, but he couldn't place it right away. And it certainly wasn't his neighborhood. He turned and looked a question at her. "You're staying with me," she said firmly. "I don't want any more problems." He was shaking his head. "No, Scully, that's OK. I don't want to be trouble." "You already are trouble, Mulder," she said sharply, but she smiled as she spoke, taking some of the sting from her words. "This just lets me keep track of the trouble a bit more easily." She smiled at him then, and he knew he couldn't refuse. And really didn't want to. With his arm in a cast, and a back that protested at the slightest hint of exertion, he was going to have trouble taking care of himself. If Scully *wanted* to do the job, who was he to argue? He nodded gratefully, murmuring thanks through the slight flush that colored his cheeks. She patted his shoulder, then hopped out and got his bag from the back seat. He climbed out more slowly, each move a carefully considered action, always taking the back into account. He was finally erect and starting to close the car door, when she cleared her throat, and he looked up, waiting. "Aren't you forgetting something?" she asked, a good-natured tease in her voice. He stared at her blankly for a moment, then looked down at the pillow on the seat. He winced -- he hated this thing -- and started to bend to retrieve it, but was caught by a twinge in his lower back. Scully must have seen his sudden grimace, for she scooted around, grabbed up the pillow, and took his arm, all in one fluid motion. She kicked the door shut, and began leading him towards the door to her apartment. Once inside, she helped him get settled on the couch, then went back to her bedroom and emerged a few minutes later in a sweatsuit. He looked enviously at her casual clothing, then toed the dress shoes off in disgust. "Hey, Mulder," she said, an actual twinkle in her eye, "cheer up. I could probably find an extra pair of sweats around here for you." He quirked an eyebrow at her, then nodded and smiled when she laughed. She disappeared for a minute, then returned, a US Naval Academy sweatsuit in her hands. "Why do you have a man's large sweatsuit in your bedroom, Agent Scully?" he teased. "Why, Agent Mulder," she simpered back, "are you sure they're not yours?" His voice dropped as he stood and took the clothes from her, saying, "I think I would remember if I left my *pants* in your apartment, Scully." Something had shifted in that too short moment, and he wanted to reach out and touch her, hold her, tell her how important she was to him, but before he could find the words, the doorbell rang and the moment was gone. She jumped, then gave an embarrassed smile. "That's the pizza. You need help changing?" He shook his head and moved slowly down the hall. When he emerged, she had the pizza and two sodas on the coffee table in front of the couch. His hated donut had been placed conspicuously before the pizza box. He groaned, but let himself down gingerly. There were two small pills by his soda, antibiotic and painkiller, and he swallowed obediently. That done, he looked at the pizza. "Pineapple," he said happily, lifting a slice and beginning to munch. "You're the best, Scully," he said, and though the moment had passed, the words were from his heart. She rewarded him with a smile, then clicked the remote, flicking through the channels until she found a basketball game. He sighed contentedly, reaching for another slice of the pizza, and said, "You'll spoil me, Scully." "Yeah, well, don't get too used to it, Mulder," she said warningly, but he could hear the pleased tone she tried to hide, and it brought a smile to his lips. He finished the pizza, then leaned back, dividing his attention between the game and his partner. She finished eating, then looked at him and he shook his head. Taking the box, she padded out to the kitchen, returning with two more sodas. She settled in next to him, then turned and caught him staring. "Are you all right, Mulder?" she asked gently. "Well, Scully," he said, a smile in his eyes. "I think you may need to check me for fever again." End