Easy Lies
by witness protection

witsec@altavista.com


Rating: PG

Archive: ask me first, please

Disclaimer:  Mine?  Yeah, right.

Summary: Sort of post-'Tooms' but only in the vaguest of ways.
There is no summary here.  Move along.




He mentally recoiled when he heard her call him 'Fox'. Too 
close. Too much too fast too close! 

"It's no good, Scully. I even made my parents call me 
Mulder. Mulder..." 

His voice had trailed off, knowing she knew it was a lie. 
His parents had never called him anything but 'Fox'. Too 
close. He pushed her back to a safe (safe?) arm's length. 
She didn't stay there. She pressed on with what she had been 
about to say, calmly letting him know that it didn't matter 
what he made her call him, that words were just words, that 
in spite of his running and hiding, she was going to make 
him feel. 

And god, how he hated to feel.  Feelings were dangerous, 
painful, and usually best hidden. He'd had feelings when Sam 
was taken, and all they'd done was torture him. He'd had 
feelings when Phoebe had taken him for the ride of his life, 
a ride he was certain, still, he'd have been better off 
without. No more feelings, ever, he'd told himself after his 
experiences at the hands of The Evil One. They hurt, clouded 
his mind, and did him no good at all. So, he had at last 
decided, no more. He'd built up protective walls and over 
the years gotten quite good at keeping them in excellent 
repair, quickly mending any chinks almost before they 
appeared. 

No feelings.

And then one word from Scully's soft lips had threatened to 
bring his walls all down around him and he had fled from her 
in terror, desperate to reinforce their solid strength. 

"Fox." 

At first he had tried to run her off, somehow instinctively 
knowing that she was a danger to him. She had proven to be 
more tenacious than he would have ever guessed. Every time 
he had acted like a jerk, hoping to finally drive her away, 
she had neatly turned the tables on him. Eventually he had 
given up, resigning himself to the fact that she was 
apparently here to stay. What he refused to admit to 
himself--it was a notion, in fact, that he refused to even 
entertain--was that he no longer wanted her to go.

And now, after making him feel, she wanted to touch.

"Mulder, let me take a look at that ankle. It could be 
broken." 

He pushed her hands away, his face twisting in agony. "It's 
not broken, Scully, I'm fine. Don't worry about it." 

She deftly avoided his hands pushing at hers and gently 
removed his shoe and sock, cautiously palpating his ankle, 
which was already beginning to swell. As she rotated his 
foot slowly, she watched his face for the signs of increased 
pain that she knew he would never verbalize. When she saw 
his mouth tighten and his face drain of all remaining color, 
her heart sank. Maybe not broken, but if not that, a sprain, 
a bad one. 

"All right, we've got to get you to a hospital. You need to 
have it x-rayed." She reached down and tried to help him to 
his feet. 

"I'm all right, Scully," he ground out, ignoring her offer 
of assistance and forcing himself to his feet. "I don't 
need--"  His voice stopped abruptly, and he clutched blindly 
at her small frame as he put his weight on the injured ankle 
that refused its support. 

"Come on, Mulder, lean on me," she said softly, bypassing 
the opportunity to remind him that she had told him so, a 
fact which did not go unnoticed by him even through his 
pain.  It was so like her to be kind to him now, while he 
ached, but later, he knew she'd never be able to resist.  It 
was part of her charm, but he denied she even possessed such 
a thing.  It was just Scully. 

He was reluctant to put his arms around her and feel her 
support him, because he knew from experience how hard it 
would be to let go. She felt so warm and strong up against 
him, and he found himself allowing her to help him to their 
rental car, assisting him in crawling into the back seat. 

"It needs to be elevated above the level of your heart, 
Mulder. I know you'll have to scrunch, but do you think you 
can lie down?" He stared at her for a moment, considering 
further protest, but the concern on her lovely face made him 
comply. When he had situated his bulk into a position that 
met with her satisfaction, she took off her coat and wadded 
it up, tenderly placing his injured foot atop it. She made 
sure he was well-covered with his own coat to help ward off 
shock before going around to the driver's seat and climbing 
in.  He almost rolled his eyes at the level of care she was 
providing, as if he was some fragile thing, breakable.  It 
never occurred to him she might see him that way, and he 
felt uncomfortable with the idea.  It threatened him.

"Couldn't you just take me home, Scully? I'll be fine." He 
had to get away from her, from her gentle care of him, 
before the tiny hole she had poked in his wall became too 
large to repair. 

"No," she said flatly, her tone brooking no refusals. "I'm 
pretty sure it's not broken, but there is still the chance 
of a minor fracture or torn ligaments." 

He gave in gracefully then, which was quite unlike him. 
Mulder usually fought to the death about things like this. 
Instead, he lay back and waited, feeling her increase the 
car's speed a bit. They reached the nearest hospital in 
record time. 

A couple of hours later, after thoroughly losing the battle 
against having her take care of him, a battle he refused to 
admit to himself he *wanted* to lose, Mulder lay stretched 
out on Scully's couch, foot elevated, channel surfing. She 
had covered him with a homemade afghan, coerced him into 
swallowing a pain pill by pretending to be on the verge of 
tears, (a tactic he knew for a fact was nothing but a ploy, 
because Scully was much too strong to cry over such a minor 
thing), and then gone into the kitchen to make them lunch. 
Mulder sighed heavily as he thought of all the fuss she had 
made over him. He ignored that part of his soul that craved 
these small, womanly touches that had always been denied 
him. He didn't need them. He never had. 

He was afraid she would bring him soup to eat, or something 
equally difficult to consume in his reclining position, but 
a few minutes later she placed a plate with a sandwich, 
chips and a sliced pickle on the coffee table beside him. He 
gave her a grateful look when she added a sport bottle full 
of ice water. An entire meal he could eat without her 
assistance. Had she known how his helplessness affected him, 
or was it simply chance? She had known, he decided, sipping 
at the water. The finger food he could chalk up to 
coincidence, but to bring his drink in a bottle so it 
wouldn't spill all over him --she must have been trying to 
preserve his dignity. He smiled when he realized she had 
even put lemon in the water, just the way he liked it. 

They watched TV in companionable silence until the 
medication began to make him sleepy. He was almost out when 
he felt her wisp by him, removing the water bottle from his 
loosening grip. "Thanks, Scully," he murmured, and in answer 
she smoothed his hair back from his forehead and dropped a 
light kiss there. With a small smile he nestled down into 
the comfort of the afghan and fell asleep. 

When he awoke it was dark outside. The only light on in the 
room was the reading lamp beside her chair. Scully sat 
quietly dozing, an open copy of "To Kill A Mockingbird" face 
down on her lap. 

With a wince, Mulder realized that he really needed to get 
to the bathroom. Stealthily, so as not to disturb her, he 
threw back the afghan and sat up to examine his ankle. The 
swelling had subsided somewhat, but the pain was still 
evident when he placed his foot carefully on the floor. He 
grimaced, but bravely stood, keeping as much of his weight 
as possible on his uninjured side. All his precautions were 
for nothing when he took one step and was unable to stifle 
his gasp. He hadn't known it would hurt this bad. 

Scully was beside him in an instant, supporting him to keep 
him from falling. He marveled at the way her small body 
could support his much larger one when necessary. 

"Let me help you, Mulder. You're supposed to keep your 
weight off it." 

"Sorry, Scully, but this can't be helped. I can do this--" 

She silenced him with a look. He couldn't make it to the 
bathroom on his own and they both knew it. When she had him 
standing in front of the toilet, she allowed him to brace 
himself against the sink. At his pained look she smiled. 
"Don't worry, Mulder, I'll give you a little privacy here." 
She stepped outside and pulled the door shut. A few minutes 
later she heard the toilet flush and the water in the sink 
run. She opened the door and this time he accepted her 
assistance without comment. 

"Can't I sit up now, Scully?" he asked with a small sigh. 
Fighting her was fruitless. He would just end up doing what 
she said anyway; better to act pathetic and hope for her 
sympathy. 

"Not until the swelling is completely gone," she said 
firmly. "Tomorrow, probably, although I think you still have 
a day or two of staying off your feet." 

"Scully!" He sounded slightly desperate. "You know I can't 
stand lying around doing nothing for the next two days!" 

"You'll do as I say or I'll handcuff you to my bed, Mulder," 
she said. Seeing his automatic leering response, she 
continued, "And then I'll drug you into submission." He 
closed his mouth, biting back the suggestive comment he had 
been about to make. Deep down he had a nagging suspicion 
that if he gave her any trouble she might just follow 
through on her threats. The image that crossed his mind at 
that thought caused him to shift uncomfortably. 

Too close. 

"Scully?" he asked a little while later. She looked at him 
questioningly. "Why do you always do this for me? Take care 
of me like this?" 

She considered. "Why do you think I do it, Mulder?" 

He shrugged, not meeting her eyes.  "Because you're a 
doctor, and it's in your nature and training?"

"No." He looked up at that one word. "That's not the reason 
at all." 

"What then?" he asked again, curious. 

He felt her, about to say it, coming so close to breaking 
down the walls, and for a long moment, he thought he even 
wanted her intrusion.  Then, when she finally answered, he 
felt relief; she was lying, he was lying, but it was an easy 
lie, a comfortable one, and required no frightening 
commitment on either of their parts.

"You're my partner," she told him.  "And my friend.  
Besides, if I don't do it, who's going to?"

He could have answered, told her he recognized the lie 
because it was one he told himself frequently, but instead, 
he nodded, snuggled back down into the afghan and let her 
take care of him.

As long as she maintained a safe distance.

END


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