Title: Break (1/1)
Author: RocketMan >lebontrager@iname.com<
Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No fringe is
intended.
Rated:::::R? for romance and some naughty thoughts. NO sex.

Story idea was dreamed up by Tammy. Thanks again. Hope you like the
changes.

~~~~
Break
~~~~

"Spend all your time waiting 
for that second chance
For a break that would make it okay. . ."
--Sarah McLachlan, "Angel"

~~~~

Mulder stuffed his hands into his pockets, looking down at the scuffed
hospital floor and wishing that those thin black marks would open up
suddenly and drop him down into Sheol.

Sheol. 

He hadn't thought about that in awhile. He and Sam used to say Sheol
instead of hell, back when hell was still a bad word. They'd learned it
in church, learned that Sheol was the way Abraham and David talked about
hell.

Maybe he was already in Sheol.

It felt hot enough.

He tugged on his tie and unbuttoned his dress shirt a bit more, licking
his lips to clear away the sweat collecting there.

Scully was still asleep after the sedatives, and her hands rested
carefully on top of the sheet. 

She looked gentle.

When she woke up, she was going to awful.

He knew it; he knew *her* and she'd never let him get away with this.

Especially since they were still on a case and it had been his fault,
mostly, and she would have to let him help her.

Help her.

Her hands were burned. . .scalded. . .baked. . .red and angry and
painful.

He should have explained it better, should have made himself clear. He
never thought to tell her what was going on and she was always getting
left out of his sudden leaps of logic.

The water treatment plant.

So clear to him, so logical and precise and simple.

Following him, (she always followed him) Scully had screamed at him to
tell her what was going on, cursing as she moved deeper into the
darkness of the old place.

Then the man rushing them, rushing past Mulder, knocking into her as
streams of steam jetted out, enveloping her in a mist of heat.

She had gasped, choked as the hot vapor scalded her lungs and throat,
held up her hands to ward it off, even as Mulder reached for her.

Grabbing her elbows, propelling her back back back.

The emergency crew was efficient, and she was okay, would be fine once
she healed. . .

But her hands. 

Ravaged. 

The word was foremost in his mind.

Her pride, her dignity, her independence. . .sacrificed to his own
heedless impatience.

She was going to need him.

She couldn't touch anything for a few days, not with her hands so
mangled.

Mulder sighed and leaned his forehead against the bed rail.

~~~~

She was gritting her teeth, grinding them smooth, and he just watched,
helpless.

"Why don't you take-"

"No."

He sighed.

She'd been refusing the pain killers ever since getting checked out of
the hopsital, but the pain was evident in every move of her body.

"Scully. . ."

Her eyes flashed blue fire at him, cold and quick and merciless.

"I'm going to feed myself, Mulder. I'm going to dress myself. I'm going
to hold my toothbrush and brush my da-"

"Scully," he chided softly, moving up behind her as she struggled to
keep from crying.

Her hands were curled in loose fists as she tried to prove the old
addage, mind over matter, but it just wasn't happening.

"I'm not letting you hurt yourself. Not anymore."

She refused to look at him, but his eyes sought hers in the mirror,
amazed at how right their reflection looked, with him standing behind
her, close.

She was in her blouse and skirt and hose still, trying to brush her
teeth before they sat up to talk, knowing she'd forget it she didn't do
it now.

He had come back to find angry tears coursing her cheeks as the agony of
moving even the smallest finger overwhelmed her pride.

Now, tears gone, she wished him gone too.

"Scully. Here, let me-"

"No."

She turned away from the sink and her stomach grumbled loudly,
threateningly, and she moaned silently.

Mulder frowned. "You haven't had any dinner."

"I . . .I'll just eat tomorrow. I'm too tired to try . . ."

He looked at her for a long moment, then finally let it go. She sighed
with relief, choosing to ignore the determined look in his eyes.

"Mulder, do you mind if we just didn't do this tonight?"

He glanced down to the file in his hands, the unsolved case still
needing review, the reports they had yet to write. 

"Ah. . .sure. Okay. If you're tired, I understand."

She gave him a smile, hoping it didn't show her pain, and nodded gently.

"Yeah. . .yeah. Thanks."

He looked at her for a moment, then licked his lips.

"Are you going to be okay?"

Her stomach positively screamed with hunger, and he raised an eyebrow as
she clutched a hand to her belly.

"I'll be fine."

He made up his mind and left through the connecting door.

She sighed again and closed her own side of it, leaning wearily against
the frame.

She was starving.

But her hands were aching as if the skin was stretched too too tight
over bone splinters, and her pride was already damaged too much to ask
him for help.

She'd been so stupid. In the dark, reckless and more pissed at him for
leading them there than trying to find the criminal.

Her own stupidity. . . her own lack of concentration, lack of procedure
or respect for Mulder even. . .it had been her downfall.

She had thought Mulder crazy. Nuts.

Water treatment plant? Right. Whatever.

He'd been exactly right.

And she had paid the price for her own stupidity, for her unwillingness
to believe.

She deserved to suffer.

~~~~

Mulder licked his lips and leaned back on his bed, thinking.

He had to get her to eat something. It wasn't healthy for her to skip
dinner after being in the hospital for a day, not eating there either.

How could he keep her from losing her pride though? She connected
autonomy and independence to being whole, being self-confident.

Being lovable....likable....something. He didn't quite understand,
although he could totally relate.

He didn't like having to lie back and let her check his temperature, his
eyes, his degree of derangement.

He felt like a kid, a child, and children were helpless to control their
fate. Helpless to keep little eight year old sisters from flying out of
windows.

Mulder shivered and glanced to the phone book.

He had an idea.

~~~~

Scully wasn't a cryer.

But after an hour and a half, she was thinking about relabelling
herself.

Cryer.

The word itself made her want to weep.

She spent twenty minutes lying on the bed, thinking about how she should
be getting up and getting out of her skirt, but too much in pain to
start.

Her hands were on fire, all over again.

And they itched.

She flexed her fingers experimentally, and stopped cold, promising
herself she wouldn't do *that* again.

She looked at the mirror image of her pathetic self, disgusted and oddly
saddened.

Thirty something single white female, with a sexy partner who had sexy
lips and sexy hands and here she was, moping about her attitude toward
him lately and trying not to cry with the pain.

And as she reviwed her mental words, she realized that the pain was
making her just a little unhinged.

She could have taken those pain killers, but morphine made her silly. 

Silly was the last thing she needed to be around Mulder, what with this
crying jag she'd been on lately.

<and unhinged was better?>

She toyed with the button of her blouse, then managed to pop it open,
surprising herself. She'd sat there for another twenty minutes, trying
to figure out a way to undress herself without absolutely shredding her
still healing skin.

The next button slipped free and she grew exalted, felt better just for
managing a simple task she had never had to worry over before.

Soon her blouse was open and her slightly tanned stomach was peeking
through, as if a banner of congratulations at her achievement.

She smiled to herself and slowly let the material drop from her
shoulders.

She heard a slight gasp and glanced to the door, heat flushing her
cheeks.

Mulder.

"Ah. . ."

She looked at him, still a bit too proud of her accomplishment, still
feeling crazy over her handicapped state, still needing something.

His look ravished over her exposed skin and she didn't need quite so
much anymore.

"Mulder?"

He gestured to the white bag in his left hand, closing his mouth and
swallowing.

So many curves....

When had he forgotten she was a woman?

Mulder looked to the bag in his hand, feeling somewhat safer with his
eyes on the heat steamed white paper bag than skittering closer to her
bare stomach.

"I brought you something."

She sighed.

"I. . .Okay, I'll be out in a second."

She wanted him to stop her, to place his hand to her shoulder and push
down her pride with that look of concern in his eyes.

And yet she didn't. She loathed it to happen.

But as she turned, she lifted her hand to fumble with her bra clasp,
mentally berating herself for letting the nurse pick out a bra with the
fastener in the back. . .

The pain bit tight into her skin and she stiffened, withdrawing her
hand.

She felt his breath along the top of her head next, his hand on her
shoulder, tense and stiff.

"Hold on," he said, even as she weakly tried to move away.

His right hand came to touch her back, his thumb gently moving over her
skin, then under the clasp, freeing it easily.

She felt loose and dangerous, standing there with his hands on her,
undoing her bra as if he did it every day.

Mulder gently pushed her to the bathroom, and she stumbled inside even
as her bra slipped down her shoulders.

~~~~

He stood there shaking, hands running across his chin over and over, a
nervous gesture that made him feel rubbed raw.

It was electric, his hands on her back.

He'd seen that back before, that expanse of soft white peach marred only
by the thin strap of cream colored bra, except this time the silk had
been navy blue and oh. . .oh, so very sexy.

When had she turned sexy? When had he started noticing?

Her hands. Her hands. 

Remember. . .she's in pain. She needs your gentleness, your concern.

Not these schizophrenic fantasies from a man who put her into such a
postion anyway. Such a needing, tender. . .

He shook his head and set up her meal, placing each item on the table
carefully, taking great care to make it right, make it wonderful.

A vase that looked like it hadn't been washed out in years stood on the
dresser, but he grabbed it anyway and placed the two purple irises in
its slim grasp.

It looked somewhat out of place next to the styrofoam container and the
white napkins and the dark cheap grain of the table.

He waited for her to come out, but she was still changing, he supposed,
and he ended up sitting on her bed, heart thumping.

~~~~

She managed to get her skirt off and her silk pajama top slid on over
her head, with its spaghetti straps and little lace edging. 

It dipped rather low, but it was the only thing she had that didn't
require buttons or scratchy cotton, so she was stuck with it.

Her pants were silk and drawstring too, so they'd be easy to get on. . .
except she couldn't get her pantyhose off.

It hurt.

It hurt so much.

Her hands were splitting, she could feel it. Her skin was cracked and
bleeding again, and the dryness of it made her want to cry.

She bit down hard on her lip and gave up.

The baggy pants came on smoothly over her panty hose and she wiggled her
feet in the tight material to get a bit more room.

At least she wouldn't have to deal with getting them on tomorrow
morning.

~~~~

When Mulder saw the door open, he jumped up and took her by the elbow,
careful not to touch her hands, or brush against her.

It was worth seeing her face when he pulled her to the table, the look
of awe and delight and soft acceptance that radiated from her eyes.

She was looking at the flowers.

"Mulder. . ."

He smiled and sat her down, then opened the container, displaying it to
her proudly.

Soup.

Scully looked up at him, her stomach flipping at the odd little hope in
his eyes, the way his mouth quirked and asked for her to please let him
do this.

She smiled and it seemed like his whole world lit up, and everything was
bright colors and vivid images, and Scully saw the changes and felt awed
at the power she had.

"Mulder. . .My hands. . .I don't want you to feed-"

He shook his head slightly and pulled something from the bag sitting on
the table.

Her mouth dropped open as he peeled away the wrapper.

His hands shook, but he placed the instrument in her soup, giving her a
smile.

"A straw," she said, catching her breath.

He nodded.

She laughed.

"You think of everything."

"Eat, Scully. Or drink, I should say."

She sneaked a glance to the soup in her container, with the white straw
floating there.

It was tomato. She adored tomato.

He knew that.

It made her feel special.

~~~~

He watched her silently, even crumbling her crackers into tiny pieces so
she could get them through the straw, laughing when she blew into it and
made the soup bubble.

She hadn't done that since she was a kid, and it felt good, watching him
laugh.

He pulled her feet up to rest in his lap, letting her lean back, the
soup container perched on the very edge of the table.

She finished it and slurped loudly, ready to see his grin and feeling
better when it came.

He rubbed his knuckles along her toes, then frowned.

She stilled.

"You wear panty hose to bed?"

She shook her head. "It'll be less of a hassle in the morning."

He narrowed his eyes.

"You're supposed to rest. Not be working."

She glanced into the cup guiltily.

"Scully. . .I can take them off for you."

He offered softly, his hands light on her ankles, eyes deep and dark and
staring right into her.

Mulder didn't expect her to agree.

She looked up at him, taking in a deep breath.

"Trust me. . .?" he said, and even though he meant it to be joking, it
held an unasked question.

He still wasn't completely sure.

"Okay. . ."

He blinked, surprised.

She felt sick that he was surprised.

Wiggling her toes, she pulled her feet from his grip and stood.

He stood too, awkwardly waiting for her to do something, say something,
but neither of them moved.

Suddenly she laughed.

"Thanks for dinner. . ."

He tossed his head ruefully, and reached for her waist, steadying
himself.

She held her breath, waiting.

He still needed permission or something. . .right? He was about to take
off her pants. . .her pantyhose, feel that skin slide down his fingers,
and she was just standing there. . .

Didn't he need permission?

Scully touched his pinkie with a fingernail. More contact than she could
bear almost, but she needed him to understand.

She needed his help.

Sexy and alluring and *good* as it felt, she needed him to help her.

Mulder tugged down her pants and let her step out of them, her hands
coming easily to his shoulders to keep her balance.

"This wasn't so hard in Antarctica," he muttered.

She chuckled but gasped when his hands touched her waist again.

Scully couldn't look in his eyes, not when his thumbs were sliding so
seductively between her skin and the hose, tight and hot next to her.

She bit the inside of her lip, disgusted at how stupid-crazy she had
suddenly gotten over him, and dropped her hands to her side.

They hurt.

But she liked touching his shoulders.

Mulder's thumbs caught on her navy underwear as he slid the pantyhose
and they dipped down before springing back up.

He saw more than he should have.

However, not more than he'd seen before. Quite a lot less than in that
green goo thing, but somehow, what he saw just then was a *hell* of a
lot more arousing than *all* of what he'd seen that day.

He managed to get her pantyhose off and she stepped out of those too,
and he almost refused to put her pajamas back on. . .

But his intelligence must have kicked in at that point, because he
dismissed that idea and helped her into her pants.

"Never thought I'd get in your pants so easily, Scully."

His words came before he looked up to her gaze, and when he did, after
that tease, he was shocked.

She had her eyes closed and her cheeks were flushed.

When those blue discs did open, she looked hotter than anything he'd
ever seen and he stood up before he could let his hands start roaming
again.

Her eyes were positively on fire.

"You should get to sleep, Scully."

She nodded, but didn't move.

Mulder placed a hand to her waist and guided her to the bed, watching
her emotions battle across her face.

He ached to touch her more than a soft hand to her waist.

"I. . .I have to brush my teeth," she said distractedly, looking away
from him.

He felt bereft.

"I think you already tried that one, huh?"

She shrugged and headed for the sink.

~~~~

He couldn't believe it, but she had let him brush her teeth for her.

It was somehow both erotic and frightening.

She trusted him that much.

As if brushing teeth was a sign of trust. . .and yet it really was.

And then she had crawled in bed and asked him to stay there until she
fell asleep.

Her bed being so big and all. . .and her looking so soft and inviting. . .
and his own stupid overdriven hormones. . .and hell. . .just her. . .

He got in with her, and pulled her body against his and prayed she
wouldn't completely hate him, wouldn't totally laugh at him, wouldn't
punch him solidly.

She sighed and he felt it coming.

It didn't come.

She snuggled into his arms and rested her lips against his hand for a
moment. . .he dare not call it a kiss. . .and then closed her eyes
again.

It was all going to be okay.

In the morning, they'd be normal again.

In the morning.

~~~~

end
adios
RM