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[allyinthekeyofx]

Playing Hooky 1/1

Playing Hookey

AllyinthekeyofX

Summary:

Who was it that said Doctors make lousy patients? Mulder attempts to alleviate Scully’s boredom as she recuperates from the whole Ritter thing.  It’s fluff.  Plain and simple.

1/1

Scully is bored. Correction; Scully is bored, antsy, tired and angry at the world right now. Add to that whole cacophony of emotional turmoil a gunshot wound that isn't healing as quickly as she’d like 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 misdemeanour 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. He doesn’t hate us exactly – or at least I don’t think he does. 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 beeline 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 because if she's pissed off, then I see it as my purpose in life to alleviate that.

And not to mention 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.

Peyton Fucking 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 as I do so.

The man who almost killed my partner.

The man whose hands were still covered in her crimson blood when in a blind fury I barrelled into that New York Hospital and wrapped my own hands around his throat and truthfully, 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 repair the damage the bullet had wreaked as it tore through her delicate flesh.

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

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

I hadn't realized I was crying. I have no conscious recollection of when the tears began to form crystalline paths down my face. Only that she shakily reached up, wincing as she did so, and smoothed the wetness away, her sweet voice barely more than a whisper as she grimaced through each word.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later”

And then she was gone.

I hadn't believed her though; convinced as I was that I would never see her again. 

Never look into those liquescent blue eyes that give her the ability to gently sooth my soul without her ever having to utter a single word; never feel the fluttering of her hands against my skin as she chased away my demons, held my nightmares at bay. Never watch her smile that gentle smile when I needed someone, anyone, to give me a reason to believe in myself. That I still had something to offer a world that had already taken so much.

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

That a life without Scully wouldn’t be a life worth living.

But, of course I should really have known better because my Scully is tough. And against insurmountable odds she survived yet again to fight another day..

I brought her home a mere eight days later and left her in the care of her Mom - she protested weakly of course, It’s not Scully's way to admit need - but I think when all was said and done, 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.

Not for long, of course because that would just be too much to hope for and it came as no great surprise when, just two days ago she insisted vehemently that she was recovered sufficiently to cope alone. 

 Neither Maggie nor I wasted time arguing with her. And she is okay - of that I have no doubt - but she's as bored as hell, and 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 way too far before it is ready. So, I have come prepared, my plan of action necessitating a quick side trip on leaving the office.

It actually makes me smile to realize that despite her guarded exterior, I know this woman almost as well as she knows herself because after all, 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 what she and her kind would term 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 when it’s appropriate to put a lid on the mutants so as to deliver what she needs to take her mind off her boredom. 

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.  Well, for the remainder of today at least. A bottle of mid price white wine -Gallo Turning Leaf, to be precise, which is one of Scully's favourites and while I’m aware she probably shouldn’t be drinking too much (being that I’m not entirely sure whether she’s still taking regular pain relief or not)  I figure one glass won’t hurt.

A quart of Rocky road ice cream which I know she will eat straight out of the tub, and the knowledge that recently she’s been on a kind of health kick and has substituted full fat for some insipid tasting tofu based shit hasn’t deterred me in the slightest, because ice cream is like a drug to this woman and there is no way on earth she will be able to resist when I put the spoon in her hand. 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.

I’ve 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.

And finally, the impulse buy to end all impulse buys and one which, if I’m honest, is so out of character for me that the shock might just send her straight back to the hospital.  Because I have bought her flowers for no other reason than the fact that I saw them and they reminded me of her.

Twelve huge tiger lilies, velvet petals against a backdrop of delicate green fern, bound with wide, white ribbon and so beautiful that the sight of them stopped me dead in my tracks.  I had to buy them, the decision totally out of my control and I was reaching for my credit card before I even reached the doorway that led to the shop, barely even batting an eyelid when faced with the cost.  I don’t buy her 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 because what the hell do you offer your best friend and centre of your universe 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 she didn’t die because against all the odds, she survived that too.

Like I said before, Scully is tough.

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 and as I take one more glance across at my hoard of Scullyesque goodies, I can’t help wondering suddenly if I'm doing the right thing.  But I force myself to take a deep breath and before my courage can fail me completely, I scoop everything up in my arms, being careful not to crush the delicate lily petals against my chest and exit the car.

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 and after everything that's happened here over the past six years, I can’t 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..........guilty. Why does she look so guilty?

"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 and eventually, conscious that the ice cream is beginning to melt I take the initiative.

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

I don’t like the way she reddens slightly, as if she is embarrassed by my sudden appearance and for a fleeting, moment that makes the blood literally turn to ice in my veins, I wonder if she’s got a guy here.

Which is stupid I admit. But my paranoid insecurities can be a bitch at times.

Eventually though 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, not 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 pissed off I sound.

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

She 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 so much like a petulant child that I almost expect her to jut her lower lip out.

The sudden mental image of pouty Scully though does little to dispel my anger. In fact if I’m honest, I am fighting the urge to grab her by the arms and attempt to shake some sense into her; not exactly the best course of action, given her current condition.

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

My words increase in volume until I am right on the cusp between firm voice and shouty voice. Her neighbours will be hammering on the wall in a minute.

But right now I don't care.

Scully on the other hand, apparently does care. And if looks could kill...well, let’s just say that this month’s triple X membership payment would have been $50 wasted.

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 volume a little because my diminutive partner is now slightly red in the face and spitting the words right back at me like an angry cat.

"Stop being so damn melodramatic all the time Mulder. 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 to bring my emotions under control; emotions that are still raw enough to make my throat tighten every time I think of her lying, 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 gauge 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.

The truth.

Softly spoken, almost whispered.

"No, you didn't. But you might have done and that's just as hard to handle Scully. I wasn’t there. I should have been there.”

Sudden understanding floods her features and her eyes film as tears gather at their corners because she knows if I’d been there I would have been covering her back. Just like she covers mine. Splitting us up made her vulnerable.

She could have fucking died. And I wouldn’t even have known until the phone call came through; the notion that I could have lost her is absolutely paralyzing and one that has been at the forefront of my mind for every second of every hour of every fucking day since it happened.  Because I wasn’t there when she needed me and I should have been.

She chooses this moment to take a step towards me, bridging the gap I myself created only seconds ago and lays her palm flat on my chest, right 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 okay.

"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. Because 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; this innate stubbornness that we both seem to have been blessed with in spades and which often gets in the way of us really seeing the other’s point of view..

She remains there for a few seconds, until the air between us clears and we are able to breathe again, allowing my focus to snap back to the reason I came here in the first place.

"I brought you flowers" I say stupidly.

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 lazily because I think I’ve only had the pleasure of seeing this phenomenon 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.

XXXXX

It’s much later now although 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 into 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 bolognaise quite like that again.

We didn’t wind up watching the movie.

The damn thing wouldn't play for some reason and I was disappointed at first. I mean, that was the sole purpose of coming here.

I had 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, nothing seemed to really matter very much anymore except the feeling of her fingers squeezing mine just as tightly as when I had squeezed hers when she lay broken and bleeding on that hospital gurney.

Only this time it was different, because this time we are safe.

And now that the afternoon shadows have turned in to night, Scully is nestled against me, her head resting against my chest as she finally loses the battle with herself and succumbs to the healing sleep she so desperately needs.

And that’s okay; because I feel her heartbeat merging with my own - chasing away my fear and allowing me to finally breathe into relaxation for the first time in days; my eyes growing heavy as I am soothed by the weight of her against me.

Today has been a good day.

Maybe I will play hooky more often.

END

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