TITLE:  Getting Plastered
AUTHOR:  Nicknoc
EMAIL:  nicknoc@hotmail.com
URL:  http://members.xoom.com/nicknoc/
DISTRIBUTION: Wherever
SPOILERS: None
RATING: PG-13
CLASSIFICATION: MSR, H
SUMMARY: This is the result of a Scullyfic Birthday
challenge - the required elements are listed at the end.
Mulder does something incredibly stupid, and Scully is
not happy. Can she maintain her anger in the face of his
charm?
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:  Many thanks to Jean, Alcott, bugs and Christina
for their beta-help.


**********


"Of all the stupid, irresponsible things to do!"

I meant to be nice, I swear. I'd even brought him some of the
chocolate fudge I'd made earlier that day. But the sight of him
lying in that hospital bed was enough to awaken the rage that had
been simmering in my belly since I received the phone message from
Langly.

"I brought you some fudge," I said, unable to contain my anger as
I threw it toward him. It landed with a satisfying thud on his
groin, and he flinched.

"Dammit, Mulder! It's not enough that you've already been in
hospital twice in the last three months?" My voice echoed off the
sterile walls, causing the nurse to poke her head in and frown.

"What the hell were you thinking?" I hissed, my voice a little
quieter in deference to the nurse, but sharp enough to cause
Mulder to wince.

"Ah, not much really. I was drunk," he said sheepishly.

I rolled my eyes and then raised my eyebrow, employing my vast
arsenal of Scully body language to denote my displeasure. He said
nothing more, so I folded my arms and tapped my foot to indicate I
was waiting for a further explanation.

He sighed.

"We were celebrating, okay? The Lone Gunmen had finally managed to
hack into a government..." At the sight of the expression on my
face, he back-pedaled. "Well not hack into...exactly. It doesn't
really matter. We were out, we got drunk...and sometimes when
you're drunk you do things you wouldn't normally do," he ended
lamely.

"I wouldn't know," I said icily. "Enlighten me, Mulder; the
message I received from Langly was rather garbled. From what I
could make out, you broke your arms falling from a dead cow?"
Either Langly was still drunk when he left the message on my voice
mail, or Mulder had done the stupidest thing I've ever heard of.

"One arm, Scully," he said, holding up his plastered right arm.
"The other one is just sprained. And I didn't fall from a dead
cow."

I was relieved. He could still salvage some dignity, and as his
partner, so could I. Guilt by association was rife in the FBI.

"I broke my arm falling from the Cow of Death," he continued.

"The *what*?" My jaw clenched involuntarily.

"The Cow of Death...or at least, that's what we named it," he
mumbled. "It's a mechanical bull that you pay to ride and the
trick is to stay on as long as possible before it bucks you off.
They have one at the Cowpoke All-You-Can-Eat Steakhouse."

I don't know what appalled me more - that he'd paid good money to
ride a death machine, or that he'd eaten at the Cowpoke
Steakhouse, a place that was notorious for serving quantity over
quality. After a short battle, however, the cow machine thing won.

"You *paid* to ride on something that is designed to inflict
injuries, and possible death, on the person who rides it?"  My
voice was laced with contempt and I waited for him to wilt in its
wake.

Instead, he grinned.

"Have I told you how cute you are when you're angry, Scully?"

"Dammit, Mulder! This is not funny!" The nurse came in again, and
I muttered my apologies while shooting daggers at Mulder with my
eyes.

"I can't believe this," I muttered. I really couldn't. Mulder
rarely got drunk, and the few times he had, he'd never done
anything this ridiculous. *Of course* the Lone Gunmen were
involved. Naturally.

"So let me get this straight. All four of you went to some God-
awful restaurant, got appallingly - no, shamefully - drunk, and
*you* are the only one who ended up injured?"

"Actually, no. Frohike's ankle's in a cast," he smirked, seemingly
oblivious to my escalating anger.

I was staggered. "You mean Frohike got on that machine *after*
you'd already broken your arms??"

"One arm, Scully."

"Whatever, Mulder. I can't believe they didn't take you to the
hospital immediately."

"Actually, it was the other way around." At least he had the
decency to look embarrassed. "Frohike broke his ankle first. But
we didn't know it was broken," he protested before I could say
anything. "It wasn't a bad break, just a small chip, and we
thought it was just sprained. It was swollen, but he said it
didn't hurt very much and I'd already paid for my turn. It wasn't
until we got to hospital that he started sobering up and he
noticed how painful it was."

Mulder's snort of laughter told me that *he* hadn't yet sobered
up. After chortling a bit more, he noticed the expression on my
face.

"Oh, come on, Scully, lighten up."

Lighten up? Lighten up??

"You drag me to a hospital at -" I glanced at my watch, "12:45am
and I find you with not one, but *two* injured arms because you
fell off a cow, *and* you've probably ruined your digestive system
with the revolting food they serve at that place, not to mention
the fact that you told me you were doing important work tonight,
and then you have the audacity -" I stopped. He was laughing at
me.

Choosing to ignore his mirth, I opened my mouth to continue my
tirade, "Dammit, Mulder, it's not -"

"I know - it's not funny," he said, a shit-eating grin belying his
words. "I did a stupid thing."

"A very stupid thing," I said petulantly.

"Yes, a very stupid thing," he agreed amiably. "But you're not the
one with two damaged arms." He paused. "You know what this means,
don't you?" His voice dropped to a conspiratorial level, and I
automatically leaned in closer. "Sponge baths for six weeks."

I snapped back and drew myself to my full height, which admittedly
is not much.  "If you think I'm coming anywhere near you with a
sponge, you are sorely mistaken, Mulder."

"Well, *somebody* has to do it. And I told the doctors it would be
you. They only agreed to release me tonight because I told them my
own doctor would be caring for me."

He paused, and pouting slightly, he threw me one of his best ever
wounded puppy dog looks.

****

By the time we arrived back at my apartment Mulder had sobered up
and the pain had set in. Together we struggled to get his clothes
off, and I gave him the prescription painkillers provided by the
hospital. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Unfortunately it took me longer to drift off. My emotions tossed
back and forth from crests of sympathy to troughs of rage, finally
settling into waves of sexual desire as I gazed at his body,
inches from mine. I'd contemplated putting him on the sofa, but it
hadn't seemed right considering his injuries. Instead, while he
slept peacefully, I lay awake for a good part of the night,
resisting temptation.

I woke the next morning with my face pressed into his shoulder,
breathing in his earthy smell. He didn't stir as I got out of bed,
so I went for my usual Sunday morning run to clear my head. It was
my own form of Sabbath worship; communing with nature before
humanity woke and spoiled its quiet beauty.

When I arrived home, I heard Mulder moving about in the bathroom.
I couldn't help but hope he was suffering a monster hangover,
which was a little uncharitable given he had two injured arms.

"Mulder? Are you hungry?" I called to the bathroom, pouring myself
a glass of orange juice.

"Starving," was his croaky reply.

"How are your arms?"

"One broken, one sprained."

I smirked. Only Mulder could retain his sense of humor in the face
of this kind of adversity.

I looked in the fridge, searching for breakfast food. I ate a
bagel and cream cheese for breakfast every morning, seven days a
week, fifty-two weeks a year. Somehow, I didn't think Mulder would
consider that a substantial breakfast. Then I remembered the
groceries I bought yesterday. A smile spread across my face, and
Evil Dana took hold. Mulder was having steak for breakfast.

As I pulled out the blood-red slab of meat, the doorbell rang. I
quickly located my gun. Bitter experience had taught me not to
answer the door without my weapon, especially when I wasn't
expecting company.

I opened the door a crack and peered out into the wrinkled face of
my upstairs neighbor.

"Dana, I couldn't help but notice you and your lovely partner
returning rather late last night. I was having such an awful time
sleeping; my gout is acting up," she explained. "It looks as if
he's been in an awful accident, the poor love."

Mrs. Longbottom had an obvious crush on Mulder. I was convinced
she spent her days - and nights - gazing through the cracks of her
curtains in the hope of catching a glimpse of him. If only she was
as good a watchdog when my place was invaded by people other than
Mulder.

"I brought him cookies. Chocolate chip," she added, pushing her
way into my apartment. Her eyes darted around, looking for Mulder.

"He's still sleeping," I said as I frantically tried to hide my
weapon somewhere on my person. Mrs. Longbottom knew I was a
federal agent, but she wasn't the type to react calmly to the
sight of a gun. Unfortunately, I was still dressed in my running
clothes. The best I could do was stick it down the back of my bike
shorts and remember not to turn around.

"Here, let me take those. They look delicious." I took the plate
of cookies from her outstretched hands, standing firmly in place
so she could advance no further into my apartment.

She handed them over, disappointment clear on her face. I don't
know if it was because I felt sorry for her, or because I was
still pissed at Mulder, but I said, "I'll be at work tomorrow, and
I'm sure Mulder will be lonely. Perhaps you could drop in for a
cup of coffee in the morning - he'd love that."

Her face crinkled into a wide smile. "Oh, what a lovely idea. You
make sure you tell him now. Goodbye, dear."

When I closed the door behind her, I turned to find Mulder glaring
at me. "That was not very nice, Scully."

"Cookie, Mulder?" I asked innocently.

He leaned against the doorframe and attempted to cross his arms
before grimacing when the pain reminded him why he couldn't. His
expression changed into a smirk when he saw me retrieve the gun
from my bike shorts.

"Is that a gun in your...never mind," he finished with a grin as I
raised an eyebrow at him. "Scully, I think I need more of those
wonderdrugs you gave me last night."

His tone was flippant, but I could tell from the pallor of his
skin that he was hurting.

"You need to eat something first. I shouldn't give them to you on
an empty stomach."

His face brightened somewhat at the thought of food. That was my
Mulder. Food, sex and aliens. Not necessarily in that order.

"So what's for breakfast?" he asked, following me into the
kitchen.

I pointed to the steak, trying to contain the grin threatening to
spread across my face. "I thought you'd be hungry."

"Scully," he said in mock admiration, "You have quite a vicious
streak when you're angry with me. First coffee with Mrs.
Longbottom, and now this. Thanks, but no thanks on the steak for
breakfast. Do you have any Coco Puffs?"

"I most certainly do not. I have bagels, or yogurt."

He tilted his head, considering the menu options, and I took the
opportunity to admire him. Mulder was that rare breed of person
who looked good in the mornings. His hair was messy, his chin
stubbled, but standing there dressed only in boxers he looked like
the closest thing to heaven that I'd ever seen.

"Yogurt," he decided, interrupting my lustful thoughts.

I took out the container of yogurt and spooned it into a bowl.
When I placed it before him, he grinned.

"What?"

"You're going to have to feed me, you know."

"Mulder, I'm sure you can pick up a spoon with your sprained arm."

He shook his head. "I'm useless with my left hand. Unless you want
yogurt all over the place, you're going to have to feed me. The
doctor said I should be able to use the fingers of my right hand
soon, but until then..." He shrugged, grinning wickedly.

Briefly I considered making him struggle with his left hand. But
then I considered the mess I'd have to clean up and I decided
against it.

"Fine," I grumbled. "But you owe me big time for this."

He flashed me a smile, and sat there expectantly as I pulled up a
chair and sat in front of him. As I scooped some yogurt into the
spoon, he said "Aren't you going to do that airplane thing?"

The spoon hovered in the air as I closed my eyes briefly. God give
me strength. "No Mulder, I think you're old enough to open your
mouth without me doing the airplane thing."

He leaned forward expectantly, and I spooned some yogurt into his
waiting mouth. He kept his gaze fixed on me as he swallowed and
licked his lips, and I felt little goosebumps rise on my arms.

"You missed a bit," I murmured, reaching forward to wipe the
corner of his lips with my finger. Before I could pull back, he
turned his head and captured my finger with his teeth and tongue,
sucking longer than necessary to remove the yogurt.

"This is going to take us all day, if you keep doing that," I
admonished softly.

"I don't mind," he said, smiling a boyish smile.

He hooked his ankles around the legs of my chair, pulling me
closer into the vee of his legs. Resting his arms on my bare legs,
he tickled the top of my thigh softly with the fingers of his left
arm. A warm puddle of caramel started spreading from my belly to
my groin and down my thighs.

I offered him more yogurt, and he took another mouthful, never
taking his eyes from mine. There was something incredibly intimate
about feeding Mulder, and I felt my anger from the previous night
slipping away. Without thinking, I began sharing the yogurt with
him; one spoonful for him, one for me.

The heavy silence in the kitchen was broken by the phone, causing
me to jump. Pushing back my chair, I moved quickly into the living
room to get it before the machine picked up.

"Hello?"

It was my mother, calling to see if I wanted to go shopping later
that afternoon. I explained what had happened to Mulder and then
chatted for a while, watching Mulder valiantly finish the rest of
the yogurt with his sprained arm. With the exception of a smear of
yogurt on his cheek, he seemed pretty adept at using his left
hand.

After saying goodbye to Mom, I got Mulder's painkillers from his
room.

"Thank God for modern medicine," he joked when he saw me with the
pills in my hand.

"Are they sore?"

He nodded.

"Well, you're lucky it wasn't a bad break," I said as I offered
him the medication and a small glass of water. "You could have had
a full cast, and that would have been much worse, believe me."

Noticing how pale his face had become, I helped him stand up, and
directed him to the sofa. "Why don't you sit for a while, until
the painkillers start working? I've got to put some wash in."

He nodded gratefully, and I brushed my hand over his messy hair.

As I carted my dirty clothes down to the laundry room, I wondered
how I was going to handle having Mulder as a house guest over the
next week or so. His sprained arm would heal quickly, but until
then he was pretty much reliant on me to do the basics such as
eating...and washing.

I set the clothes basket down on the machine and contemplated
washing Mulder. Three weeks ago we'd finally decided to take the
plunge and begin a relationship. After much discussion we'd agreed
to take it slowly. It had been a mutual decision, although a
little more mutual on my side than his. I'd been concerned about
how we would cope mixing work with pleasure, so we'd agreed to
test the water for a while before taking that final irrevocable
leap. In other words, there'd been no sex, only lots of kissing
and some hot and heavy groping. Washing Mulder was going to test
my willpower quite considerably.

When I returned to the apartment, he was already looking perkier.
He smiled at me as I entered, and stood up.

"Hey, Scully, I think I need a wash."

Sometimes I wondered if he really could read my mind. He smirked,
and I couldn't help the faint blush that traveled up my neck to
rest on my cheeks.

"I'll fill the bath and you can have a long soak. You don't need
me for that."

"I hate baths, Scully. I'm too big for baths. I want a shower."

Fine. He wanted a shower.

"Okay," I said evenly. "Come with me."

I led him into the kitchen, and pulled out a large roll of Cling
Wrap. He was already shirtless, both of us deeming it too
difficult to dress him after our struggle to get his shirt off the
previous night. He held out his right arm, and I began to wrap it
tightly in the clear plastic film.

"She's dead...wrapped in plastic," Mulder drawled in my ear with a
mischievous grin.

I shot him a puzzled look, having no clue what he was talking
about.

"Oh, never mind," he grumbled. "Someday, Scully, I'm going to
induct you into the delights of television."

I snorted. Mulder would watch anything on the idiot box. The
chances of me joining him in this pointless activity were slim,
unless George Clooney was involved.

"Okay, done," I said, admiring my handiwork. I wrapped some tape
around the top of his arm to prevent water leaking in and then
gently unwrapped the bandage from his sprained wrist. When his
left arm was bare, I declared him shower-proof.

"You sure you don't want to join me?" he asked hopefully. He
leaned closer and I automatically lifted my head in anticipation
of his kiss. His lips hovered near mine, and I rose up slightly on
my toes, my eyes fluttering closed. When I felt nothing but the
warm air between us I opened my eyes to his grinning face. "Guess
you're not mad anymore."

I flopped back down onto my heels, and shook my head at him. "Just
because I want to kiss you, doesn't mean I'm not still angry,
Mulder." Unfortunately, I couldn't hide the smile twitching at my
lips. His warm body pressing against mine was easily overcoming my
resistance, and when his lips started nuzzling my earlobe, I
allowed the final vestiges of my anger to slip away.

His lips traveled quickly from my ear to my mouth, and soon we
were kissing like teenagers, tongues deep in each other's mouths,
sucking in lungfuls of breath when we temporarily parted.
Eventually he dragged his lips from mine, and asked raggedly,
"Sure you don't want to help me wash?"

I placed my hands on his chest, setting up a physical barrier. For
a short moment we breathed in unison, gazing at each other, and
then I shook my head. Not yet, Mulder. He understood and backed
away, and I playfully slapped his bottom as he turned. He couldn't
resist sighing dramatically, and I smirked as I watched his lean
form amble down the hallway.

Suddenly realizing he was probably unable to turn the water on, I
followed him into the bathroom.

"I haven't changed my mind," I said to his grinning face. "I'm
just here to turn the water on for you."

"And help me with my boxers?"

"You can do that yourself." I turned on my heel, leaving him to it
before I *did* change my mind.

I made myself a cup of strong, sweet coffee, and sat in the
kitchen, appreciating a few moments of quiet to myself.

"Scuully, I need your help."

His voice echoed down the hall, and my stomach was suddenly
invaded by thousands of butterflies. Yes, I was nervous about
helping him shower. I'd seen him naked before, but not in a sexual
context. And I had a feeling this was about to become a sexual
context.

Still, we were both adults. He needed my help, and I was a doctor.
We could be sensible and objective about this.

As I entered the bathroom, I was overwhelmed by his scent. The
steam was impregnated with his distinctive musky aroma and as I
moved toward him it enveloped me, caressing my skin and sinking
deep into my lungs. I approached the shower and the butterflies'
wings started fluttering in excitement, rather than nerves.

Mulder. Naked. Something I'd thought about many times over the
past few years, yet something I wasn't sure I'd ever get to see
without death or illness lurking nearby.

Mulder. Naked. And wet.

I pulled back the shower curtain and breathed in deeply at the
sight of his well-muscled back. He looked over his shoulder at me
and said beseechingly, "Wash my back?"

"Sure," I said, my voice a little too bright.

I reached for the washcloth and the soap, and worked up a good
lather before applying it to his skin. While one hand diligently
soaped and rinsed, the other developed a mind of its own, and was
soon roaming over his back.

His skin was slippery and soft over the hard muscles that bunched
up under my hand. I traced his scapula, then the hard knots of his
spine, before coming to rest on the dimple above his left bottom
cheek.

I felt him tense as we both wondered where my hand would venture
next. I watched, fascinated, as it moved to lightly cup his bottom
cheek.

"I think I'm finished now," I stuttered weakly, removing my hand
before it could do anything else against my better judgment.

"My front needs washing now, Scully."

Oh.

He turned around and stood before me, wearing nothing but a small
smile and a big hard on.

A very big hard on.

My throat contracted. I knew my mouth was hanging open, but I was
powerless to close it. Instead, I was transfixed by the sight of
water cascading in rivulets down the length of his sleek body, and
the even more engaging sight of pounding shower spray hitting his
penis.

I looked at him, and he smiled a sweet, soft smile. In his smile I
saw every moment we'd ever shared. Times spent sharing
confidences, moments of blazing anger and frustration, occasions
of pain and holding back, rare times of laughter but frequent ones
of tenderness, and moments when the universe stood still,
consisting only of him and me. Like this moment. And then I
realized - we didn't need to test the water; we'd been doing that
for seven years. It was well and truly tested and it felt good.

This water was going to feel even better.

THE END.


NOTES:  The elements required for this story were, (1) A
dead cow, (2) one character with his/her leg in plaster,
(3) one character giving another a homemade gift and (4)
Scully trying to hide her weapon in an unsuitable outfit.