X-Files PB&J Syndrome

     There was no doubt about it.  Fox Mulder was sick, real sick.  He could tell the moment that he lifted his head off the cheap, smelly hotel pillows that his symptoms hadn't abated any since yesterday.  In all actuality, this morning he felt worse.  

     All week long the low-grade fever had ravished inside his body, sometimes making him feel light-headed, even nauseous.  And then there was the headache--the painful constant throbbing behind his eyes eating away at his brain as he tried to focus and concentrate.  But, he forced himself to work each day without fail.  He had a job to do and he wasn't about to let a little sickness hold him back. Instead, he popped a few Advil and accompanied Skully and Skinner on a plane to New York for the convention that would prove to be vital to their current case.  He didn't feel much like going, sick or not, but Skinner expressed its importance.  He supposed that even if he managed to cut his head off somehow Skinner would still make him go.  So, there was no getting out of this one.  A little fever wouldn't be enough to excuse him from the conference in New York.  And really, up until this moment, though he felt a little under the weather, it was still bearable.     

     Mulder had even made himself feel well enough to dodge bullets with Skully last night as they sprinted down a dark alley in Manhattan.  Although, fearing for his life too much then to allow his condition to slow him up any, now, as he sat up wiping the sleep from his hollow feeling eyes, he felt the full brunt of his illness.  8:15AM and already Mulder wished that he could go back to bed.  It was starting out to be a great day.  One he didn't think showed any signs of getting better.

     (Conference Hall in New York City, 1:50PM)

     Mulder sat miserably in the large conference room feeling the fever creep up on him.  His body felt weak and tired from fighting the sickness.  He just wanted to slip away, drop everything and leave work so he could sleep for a couple of years.  He felt terribly exhausted.  Each second seemed to drag on for an eternity and he struggled to keep his eyelids from closing.  

     He felt himself drift off for a couple seconds and a hard nudge brought him to again.  Startled, Mulder shook of sleep embarrassed and gave his wake-up caller a tired side ward glance.

     Skinner returned his look with a flash of stern disbelief, but one glance at Mulder's sickly face caused him to ease up and soften his facial features, concerned.  Skinner--no doubt appalled finding Mulder snoozing in the middle of an important conference--saw how awful Mulder looked and it made him temporarily forget his anger.  

     "Jeez Mulder, you look terrible," Skinner whispered, leaning over closer to Mulder so that he could talk without being too disruptive.  Skinner could feel the heat from his fever radiating off of Mulder's skin like fire.

     "I *feel* terrible," Mulder replied thickly.  He shivered and held his arms close to his body.  "I wish someone would turn off the damn air conditioner in here."  

     Skinner looked Mulder up and down with an alarmed expression, not at all liking what he saw.  But even more worrisome, he couldn't believe the heat coming off Mulder's body.  Earlier he assumed it was just the heat of the room.  Being mid July, the temperature in New York the past week had been a blistering one hundred degrees--the humidity only adding to the discomfort.  Even when they filed in for the conference at ten thirty that morning it had been a blessing and a huge relief to get inside and out of the heat of the crowded city that had transformed itself into a frying pan.  Now, he sat comfortably, welcoming the cool air.

     Studying Mulder's face he noted that his cheeks were flushed and bright, glistening with fever and Skinner guessed, from the looks of him that his temperature could easily be close to one hundred and three.  Easily.  And now, in the middle of an important conference, what could they do?  This was important to all of them and Mulder was clearly in no shape to be in attendance.  It seemed questionable whether or not he should be in a hospital right now.  

     Skinner glanced around the room coolly over the rows and rows of chairs and found agent Skully looking attentive, jotting notes down here and there.  Agent Graham Miller was giving a demonstration at the front of the large room and Skully listened with all her attention.  This reassured Skinner.  He knew Skully was very dependable and he could count on her later to recall key points.  

     Skinner turned his attention back to Mulder.  His usual bright eyes appeared glazed over and distant.  Surly three hours ago he hadn't appeared like this--so sick.  Maybe he did seem a bit short-tempered this morning, but certainly not noticeably ill, although, Skinner easily could have mistaken Mulder's behavior for just his usual defiant self.  Often he expressed his displeasure at the idea of being forced to do something he didn't really feel like doing in the first place.  And that was the case here.  

     Skinner knew from day one when he announced they'd be going to New York last week that Mulder questioned the importance of it.  But he had insisted, explaining the relevance the conference would have to the case.  And as usual, Mulder had seemed annoyed by his decision.  If things weren't done his way you could count on it being an issue.  And that's how Mulder seemed this morning.  Like himself—-irritated, short and pre-occupied—-nothing out of the ordinary.        

     Skinner placed a hand on Mulder's cheek, curiously and was shocked by the hotness of his skin on the back of his fingers.  It was actually hot, not warm but burning hot!  Mulder shifted his blank gaze back to Skinner's concerned eyes.  Bringing a hand up to his own throbbing forehead, he rubbed the painful area of his temple and then his eyes, where they hurt in his skull every time he moved them.  

     "We've got two hours left.  Can you hold out?" Skinner asked Mulder.  Really, they didn't have too much of a choice.  Once they entered the conference they weren't permitted to leave until it was over.  

     Mulder shrugged miserably, glancing at his watch.  It was only two.  Agent Graham Miller had been talking in the front about two hours now and Mulder didn't have a clue about what had been discussed, nor did he care at the moment.  Skinner stressed over and over to him that this conference was important since vital information, which pertained to the case, would be discussed.  But even then he didn't give a rat's ass.  He was too sick to care.  But really, who was he kidding anyway?  Even if he *was* well he seriously doubted that he'd care enough to listen anyway.  Being sick only added to his torture.     

     Mulder was sure an hour passed by the next time Skinner spoke, but his watch only read quarter after two.  A mere fifteen minutes.  

     "How you doing?" he whispered.

     Mulder rolled his eyes over to skinner without replying.  His head, pounding even harder, made him feel dizzy, almost carsick.  His stomach lurched unhappily and he swallowed hard in response, hoping the feeling would go away but wasn't having much luck.

     Agent Graham rambled on and on through Mulder's misery.  Talking about God knows what.  He picked up pieces of what he was saying here and there: bits of a fragmented sentence having something to do with fish.  Fish?  Mulder questioned himself, dazed, unsure if he was really hearing right.  Yeah, fish.  Fish in some sort of creamy white sauce.  Why?  Mulder didn't have the slightest idea.  The only thing he knew was that his own meal of potatoes and chicken would be on its way up if this conversation didn't change soon.  

     Mulder shifted uncomfortably in his seat, screaming for his mind to stop dwelling on that damn fish and white sauce.  Seconds ticked by like hours until time itself seemed to stop completely.  Mulder was only aware of himself and his thoughts and nothing else outside his realm of agony.    

     "I've gotta get outta here," Mulder told nobody in particular."  His voice sounded hollow, seeming to come from far away and he felt panicky.  Unable to think of anything else to do, he dropped to his knees, too weak to even stand.  Some of the other people around them now watched him curiously as he slumped down on to his knees, but he didn't notice.  

     "Hang tight Mulder," Skinner tried to reassure him, not quite sure what to do exactly.  He leaned forward on his chair reaching out towards Mulder who still remained on the floor.  "I'll try to get you out of here in just a second."  He placed a firm hand on his shoulder attempting to coax him back to his chair. 

     "I can't wait---shit," he said miserably.  "I'm gonna get sick." 

     Skinner had a split second to react—-register what Mulder said and grab the paper bag his lunch had been packed in.  He didn't react fast enough.  

     Mulder had already puked all over the floor and himself before Skinner could give him the bag.  His vomit was white and there seemed like a lot of it.  "There's your white sauce," Mulder muttered after he had finished.  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then puked again violently.  And again.  He blacked out briefly from the force of vomiting and slumped to the floor.

     I gotcha," Skinner told him, kneeling beside him and steadying him with an arm around his chest.  People around them now stood, alarmed—-some revolted while others seemed concerned.  Hearing voices, heads turned everywhere to see the commotion going on.  Someone asked if they could help. The voices around Mulder seemed to meld together in a blur.  

     Skinner stood up, helping Mulder back to his seat.  He flopped down in the chair with little hesitation, relieved that he could finally close his eyes and rest. 

     "No, it's okay we don't need any help," Skinner responded.  "I'm sorry agent Graham," he apologized to the man at the front now pausing from his speech to see along with everyone else exactly what was going on.  "He's sick." 

     "Call a janitor in here to clean up," somebody close by ordered.  Skully was looking over concerned, trying to figure out what happened.  Skinner gestured for her to come closer.  

     "You know what?" agent Graham said, speaking to everyone again.  "Let's call it a day.  It's hot in here and we've covered enough for today.  I didn't realize I was making you guys sick," he joked.  "I'll see you all tomorrow."

     Skinner roused Mulder from his half-sleep.  "Come, let's get you out of here."  Mulder stood on his own will.  He looked groggy and grotesquely sick standing in his vomit soaked shirt and jeans.  His head still pounded, although not as much and he swayed dizzily on his feet.  

     Skinner tugged off Mulder's soiled shirt, not wanting any part of touching him with the disgusting thing on.  He pulled it over his head, revealing Mulder's brightly fevered skin, which had broken out in goosebumps and dumped the shirt on the floor.  Someone brought a nice clean cotton blanket and Skinner wrapped it around Mulder.  And now they were walking.  One large arm slung under Mulder's arm and around his waist guided him as he walked.  Skinner noted that Mulder's skin felt alarmingly hot as he directed him though the lobby.

     Mulder was aware that Skully was at his side now too.  She walked on his left and he could feel her hand run across his cheek and forehead as they stood in the elevator.  He studied her intense blue eyes and could see that she looked worried.  

     "You're the doctor agent Skully," Skinner began.  "But I know he's really sick." 

     "How are you doing Mulder?" she asked.  "Can you hang in there until we got you to the car?"

     "I sure can clear a place out can't I Skully?" he joked, giving her a weary smile.  She felt somewhat relieved to find that he hadn't lost his sense of humor yet.  

     "Just a bit further Mulder.  And did anyone ever tell you that you smell like rotting shit?"  She returned Mulder's smile.  

     The car ride home was like heaven.  The temperature had climbed outside and inside the car it felt stuffy and toasty hot.  He sat on the edge of the seat, blanket between his knees, concentrating so that he wouldn't black out again, this time from the sheer ecstasy of the warmth.  

     He was aware that he puked again onto the street and then into the blankets between his legs.  He coughed in agony convulsing from the pain in his stomach.  Icy hot sweat and tears streamed down his cheeks.  After the pain subsided, he dozed peacefully, hardly remembering how he got inside the car, but glad to be there.  

     The car ride was way too short.  Before he knew it he was once again on his feet walking.  Where?  God only knew.  He just wanted to lie down again.  The steps were agony, but soon he was at a door, their hotel door he realized and Skinner was searching for his keys.  

     Once inside, Mulder hesitated very little.  He had quickly found his bed and gratefully climbed inside—-jeans, shoes and all.  He shivered violently under the light covers.

     "Mulder," Skully called to him from somewhere close. "Wait a minute before you sleep."  She leaned in close next to him.  "I want to take your temperature."  A cool thermometer was placed under his tongue.  Skully's concerned hands invaded him, smoothing back the sweaty hair on his forehead and touching his burning cheeks.  

     Skinner brought some water over and some fever reducers along with a cool washcloth.  Skully took the rag and dropped it over Mulder's closed eyelids, gently compressing the cool cloth to his head and tracing it over his sweaty face.

     A few minutes later Skully removed the thermometer from under Mulder's tongue.  She studied it hard, not saying anything.  Mulder opened his eyes and attempted to read Skully's face, but her facial features remained blank and expressionless and he found it impossible to decipher what she was thinking.  This only added to his discomfort.      

     Finally, in the background, Skinner broke the heavy silence.  "Jeez," he muttered from behind her.

     "Wha, what is it?" Mulder asked weakly, straining to sit up as if the information was suddenly vital to him.  Skinner came over and pushed him back down.  "What is it?" he demanded again.

     "One hundred and four degrees," Skully finally replied calmly and then pressed the cool cloth to his face again before Mulder could react to the news.  "Mulder, swallow these."  She placed two pills in his mouth and held some water up to his burning lips.  He swallowed them down on command and then laid back down onto the bed.  "It's okay. You'll feel better soon," she reassured him softly, running her hands through his sweaty hair.  "You're going to feel better in a bit.  Just relax."  And already Mulder did feel better.  Skully was calm and quiet and this soothed him.  

     Skully turned to skinner.  "We have to hope these pills stay down long enough to break his fever, otherwise we'll have no choice but to take him to the hospital."  Skinner nodded, understanding.

     Mulder tried to shake off the cool cloth Skully was holding to his head.  "I'm cold," he managed to say through clenched chattering teeth.  He shivered violently under the thin sheets as if to further emphasize his necessity for warmth.  

     "I know it's cold Mulder," Skully replied.  "Hang on, we're going to get you warm."  Skinner rummaged through the closet bringing out warm, heavy blankets while Skully pulled back the thin sheet covering Mulder so that she could remove his shoes and jeans.  His jeans were damp with vomit and sweat and smelled sour.  Skully tossed them to the floor and found a clean pair of sweats and a tee shirt.  Skinner pulled the heavy blankets on the bed and tucked the covers under Mulder's chin.  Soon his shivering eased and they left him alone to sleep.

     Mulder felt blessed to be able to finally sleep.  Every once in a while he stirred as he felt a hand on his face quietly checking on him and then he slept some more.  When he opened his eyes again a few hours later, Mulder felt remarkably better and instead of chilled, he felt hot—-an indicator that the fever had broken.  He stripped off the heavy sweatshirt and tee shirt and let the sweat soaked clothing fall on the floor next to the bed.

     He felt a million times better and even a bit happy.  Slowly, he climbed out of the bed and walked to the bathroom.

     While washing his hands and face with the cool water he heard a knock on the door.  

     "Mulder?" she called to him softly, her voice a bit muffled behind the closed door.  "Are you okay?  Can I come in?"

     A few seconds later Mulder opened the door, drying his face and hands on a thick towel and let Skully in.  He smiled as she stepped in the doorway.    

     "How do you feel?"

     "A hundred percent better than before," he replied, hanging up the hotel towel on the rack.  He looked at himself in the mirror and ran a hand through his short, matted hair.  "But I don't look so good," he added, frowning at his reflection in the mirror.  

     "Put this in your mouth," she instructed, handing him the thermometer.  Mulder gave himself one more look over in the mirror before pealing his eyes away from his reflection.  He took the thermometer Skully offered him and put it in his mouth.  

     "Come back to bed."  He did as he was told and climbed back under the covers.  Skully tucked them in place under his chin and smoothed back his damp hair.  "You really do look a lot better.  I thought we were going to have to take you to the hospital."

     "Don't I always recover?" he replied, the thermometer in his mouth making his speech slurred.

     "Well, you're not out of the woods yet Mulder," she reminded him.  "The fever can come roaring back at any time."  Mulder just looked up at her with his deep hazel eyes as if challenging that.  They were bright and clear and Skully smiled at their stubbornness.  

     She removed the thermometer from Mulder's mouth and carefully read it.  "One hundred and two."

     "Shit," Mulder replied almost in disbelief.  "I felt better than that."  He sat up angrily, rubbing his aching eyes.  

     Skully handed him a cool glass of water, which he drank, then pushed him back down on the bed, tucking the blankets in around him.  "Skinner is picking up some food and if you feel up to it, you can eat later."  Mulder's stomach shuddered at the thought of food.  Especially fish and white sauce.  He dared not ask what Skinner planed on bringing back.  

     Mulder slept some more before waking again, feeling cold and somewhat sick.  His stomach ached and his head hurt.  

     The room, dark now made him feel terribly alone, almost unsure of where he was.  The hanging fog of sleep slowly lifted as he sat up and strained to see in the darkness.

     "Skully?" he called, almost urgently, his voice thick.  "Skully?"

     A light flipped on, sending sparks through Mulder's head.  He squinted in pain, turning away from the light and brought his hand up to shield his eyes.  Skully came to the bed.  "Are you okay?"  She forced him to lay back down, and Mulder resisted only a little, shutting his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the light.  

     "Cold."  Mulder groped on the floor blindly with his hand for his sweatshirt.  Skully quickly located the item of clothing before he was even aware she had done so and began pulling it over Mulder's outstretched arms.

     "You'll feel warm soon," Skully told him, brushing her fingers over Mulder's hot skin as she pulled the sweatshirt on.  She helped him sit up and he rested his head on her shoulder—-radiating heat on her neck and face--as she tugged the sweatshirt the rest of the way down his back.  His hair, though sweaty, smelled clean like sweet apple cinnamon.  

     He was shivering again and she wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly, stroking his face tenderly with her hands.  His face was silky smooth and very warm.  She nuzzled her face near his burning neck, feeling his fevered heat with her own cheeks.

     "Feels good," Mulder commented, allowing himself to be held.

     A wave of compassion suddenly swept over her and without thinking much, Skully felt her lips brush Mulder's.  They stayed there for a minute as Mulder reciprocated, opening his mouth and accepting Skully's brief and unexpected kiss.  

     Startled by her own actions, she pulled away quickly. Ashamed and confused, still tasting Mulder's lips lingering in her mouth, she struggled to explain her unexpected behavior.  "O,oh God," she stuttered, looking away embarrassed and angry.  Here she was, taking advantage of her partner, her friend, too sick to be completely rational.  He depended on her now, and in his time of need all she could think to do was use him.  There was no excuse for it.  "I don't know what I was thinking.  I'm sorry."

     "Don't be," Mulder replied, sounding surprisingly serious and coherent in his sickness.  He Pulled Skully back towards him gently.  The firm hands on the back of her neck held her close until their foreheads touched.  She could feel his breath, warm and scent less on her lips.  "You did nothing wrong."  

     He kissed her gently on the forehead.  His mouth, soft and very hot, sent chills through her body.  After a moment, he withdrew his lips and she raised her eyes once again to his deep hazel gaze.  Holding her gaze, he spoke directly into her bright blue eyes, "it's okay.  I love you so much as a friend, partner and life-long companion.  You could never do anything to hurt me.  Thank you for always being there for me.  Thank you for everything."

     Finally, he lowered his eyes and let his hands run across her cheek, pausing to cup her face tenderly before dropping his arms down to his lap. 

     Mulder realized then, as he sat there silently looking at Skully, that he had been wrong.  This morning he had woken up here—-the same cheap hotel bed where he now sat with Skully--feeling crappy and absolutely positive that the day would only get worse as it progressed.  But, being sick today turned out to be the greatest thing to ever happen to him and without a doubt he'd do it all over again if he had to.  

     For the first time all week, he actually felt good.     He felt happy, content and most of all, grateful to be with his partner.     

(Three days later)

     Mulder and Skully stood quietly, eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and drinking chocolate milkshakes.

     "You know what Skully," Mulder broke the silence, looking at his sandwich thoughtfully.  "We're a lot like peanut butter and jelly, you and I."

     Skully smirked loudly.  "And how's that Mulder?" she asked quizzically, awaiting his explanation with huge anticipation.  

     Mulder took a bite out of his sandwich and chewed it up a bit before answering.  "Well," he began, speaking as he continued to chew.  "Like peanut butter and jelly, we compliment one another.  You rarely see one without the other."  

     Skully watched her partner with amused eyes.  He finished the remainder of his sandwich in one huge bite, then tossed the empty milkshake into the garbage and turned to leave without saying another word.  Skully continued to follow him briefly with her eyes as he walked away before focusing her attention on her own sandwich.  

     "Oh, and Skully?"  She looked back up at him with raised eyebrows.  "You've got a little peanut butter on you cheek."  

     She reached up with her hand slowly—-eyes still fixed on Mulder as he disappeared down the street—-and rubbed at the peanut butter smudge on the corner of her mouth.  Finally, she looked down at her hand, mesmerized by the small glob of food gluing her fingers together.

     He was right.  Like Mulder, peanut butter always had a way of sticking with you.

     She studied her fingers for a moment longer before heading on down the street after him.                   


End file.
