Unusually Suspect

Unusually Suspect

"I'm fine."

A couple of seconds pause as Mulder pushed his ear to the headset and listened for the reply, wincing uncomfortably as the sound hit his ear.

Mulder stared unhappily at the phone, before suddenly becoming aware again of the nurse hovering at his bedside. The woman managed to ask the question simply by raising an eyebrow. Mulder shrugged politely. "She called me a... Well, anyway, she wasn't pleased. Then she hung up."

"Want some advice from an old married woman?" The nurse ignored the slow shake of Mulder's head and carried on talking. "If you talk to your fiancee for the first time in a week, don't tell her you're fine."

Mulder reflected on that. Her words certainly reflected a concentrated dose of worldly wisdom. Carole was still on the wrong side of the continent. She'd left to go on that business trip to LA only a few days before he'd got caught up in his one man Modeski hunt.

It was hardly his fault that he'd spent the last week in five point restraints and with a supply of drugs buzzing through his system that would make the local crack dealers green with envy. It was hardly his fault? That was right, wasn't it? Not his fault.

Aliens? Big guys with scrubbing brushes? The geek gang? Modeski?

It was somebody's fault.

Carole Cooper arrived without fanfare. It was her way. She'd suddenly appear and all anyone would notice initially would be a change in the electromagnetic field of the room. A quick survey of the area would reveal her as the source of the disturbance, but by then it was too late, the observer would be trapped. The prey already mesmerized by the hunter.

Mulder gulped at the first sight of the predator. Deep breaths. She's not going to hurt you.

"What the hell happened to you?

Or maybe she was. If her voice could make his heart stop quite so abruptly, he could only hope that she would keep her distance. What if she was one of them? One of what? Them.

She moved forward, he moved backwards. The instrument trolley he collided with, hit the ground with what seemed to be an unreasonably loud cacophony of crashing metal.

Martin, the nursing auxiliary who raced to the scene, stood in the doorway carefully trying to analyze the problem before entering the room. More sedatives for Mr Mulder?

Sedatives scarcely seemed appropriate given the way Mulder was sitting absolutely silent in the wheelchair and apparently trying desperately not to shiver. Some other drug perhaps? Time to call the Doctor.

Then Martin made the mistake of looking in the woman's eyes. Ouch. He quickly averted his gaze, no point getting involved in a stare down match with a wild cat that size.

Her voice purred as it commanded. "It's no problem. Just a little accident. We're very sorry. Aren't we?" She turned the lasers onto the poor creature in the chair, who just nodded frantically and backed even further into its un-upholstered comfort.

Martin considered his next move and decided that Mr Mulder was in no need of assistance. In any case, even if he was in need of assistance it was absolutely certain that nothing smaller than an assault rifle would be of any use. All Martin could do was shrug apologetically and hope that Mulder understood that he would have liked to help. But that it just wasn't possible.

Too late for second thoughts. The woman was already out the door and pushing the wheelchair and their ex patient down the corridor. Martin leaned against the bed and breathed a sigh of relief.

So very obedient. Mulder had made no protest during the transfer from wheelchair to taxi. Raised no objections to being delivered to her home rather than his own. No struggling as he'd walked slowly into her living room and sat tentatively on her couch. He offered no defense against the charges she'd laid against him.

It was all very clear. She had heard the story from the hospital, from the police, even Reggie Purdue had tried to intervene to defend Mulder. Not his fault that he was in hospital. Not his fault he was jabbering like an idiot and hadn't been allowed out of the restraints to make a phone call. Not his fault that he was so high on legal happy pills he couldn't even remember where she was staying.

It wasn't so easy for Carole to forgive and forget and not to lay blame. After four days, it had been her who had cracked. Called Reggie Purdue, braced herself in anticipation of dreadful news. Mulder had put her through the wringer. Again. Didn't the Bureau have any other Agents? Why was it always her idiot who had to stay to work late on these cases after the sane had left them behind?

Which was why she had laughed when she heard about them putting him in restraints and why she was delighted when they told her about the medication they'd had to prescribe. He'd finally got what was coming to him. A vacation on the psychiatric unit. Of course her laughter had faded as fast as it arrived, but at least she'd had a moment to gloat.

In the battle of nerves they'd waged, she'd seldom come out on top. Well, tonight was the night. She looked him over. Klutz.

Mulder looked around her living room. Tried to keep his voice businesslike as he talked to her. "Why have you brought me here?"

Huh? He'd said it so seriously. She responded, soft, sultry and only slightly ominous in tone. "Why shouldn't I have brought you here?"

Swallowed. No reason. No reason he could think of. She could do anything she liked with him, it wasn't like he was in any position to defend himself. He wouldn't get his gun back from Reggie until next week.

Her tone, purring as it threatened. "It's time you learned to look after yourself. You put in too many hours. You take too many risks. Do you understand?"

Gulped in air, like he'd forgotten even the basics of breathing.

She advanced on him slowly. He tried and failed to melt into the cushions on the coach. She captured his hand, stroked his thumb softly until his fingers stopped shaking.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Reciting mantras in his head like good luck charms. She is your friend. She was your friend. She used to be your friend. Last time she cuffed you to the furniture, you enjoyed it. Didn't. Did. That was when she was still your friend. Before they replaced her. Or changed her. Or.

She sat back on her heels and stared at him. He was supposed to be ok. Why had they let him off the ward if he wasn't ok? "You think I'm going to hurt you?"

"No." Squeaky voice, like disuse had made it rusty.

This was getting ridiculous. He'd managed to make her feel like her sitting on her own couch quietly stroking her fiance's thumb was one step down from statutory rape. She considered it. A sudden realization. Of course. It was a game. That was it. It was one of his mad games. If she backed off, he would pin her to the kitchen floor and collapse laughing at her.

He really was impossible. There were times when she'd swear the only thing they actually had in common was the sex. And the battles of course. The locking of intellectual antlers that invariably left them too exhausted to do anything that involved their brains for hours. Which was just as well, because if she had to think about some of things their bodies did, she could get really embarrassed.

Play to win, the voice in her head suggested. "Don't move. I'll get some food." She said severely.

Comically pathetic nod of the head in reply.

The walk to the kitchen gave her the chance to think. She'd taken the precaution of preparing the meal before she went to collect him from the hospital. Joke food. To remind him of a long ago trip to the hospital after one of Phoebe Greene's little experiments went wrong. Carole shook her head at that. He'd been so drunk when he told her that story. She wondered if he could even remember admitting it to her.

She couldn't imagine it was something he'd have told her if he'd been sober. Utterly at odds with his supercool image. Anyway, that was not the point. Comfort food. Strange and mysterious. It had taken her weeks to find the recipe. Weeks more to make one successfully. Tonight would be the grand unveiling. She just hoped that he appreciated all the trouble that she had gone to.

With care, above and beyond the call of duty, she carefully positioned potatoes, carrots, peas, leeks, broccoli before adding the piece de resistance. She carried her platters to the dining table. This deserved his full attention, not just a tray on the lap in front of some nauseatingly trite repeat thing on TV. She lit the candles and called him in.

He slid into his seat, rubbing his eyes to encourage them to adjust to the low light level. He suddenly spotted the food. "Aaargh." A stifled scream. "What's that?"

"Steak and kidney pudding." She said proudly. What's his problem? It looked like the ones in the pictures. Close enough, anyway. Certainly too accurate to merit an insult before he had even tasted it.

Breathless, gasped out words. "I know it's a steak and kidney pudding." Slow breaths. "But why?" Anxious. Hurt. More painful breaths. "I didn't do anything bad to you."

What? She'd made him this as a special treat and he was acting like it was some kind of punishment. "Mulder? I made it specially. I thought you would like it."

"You're her aren't you?" Thought about it and decided that was a stupid theory. Tried again, much more likely, just as desperate. "You're in league with her."

"Who?"

Not possible. How could she act so innocent when her guilt was as plain as day? "Phoebe. This is her idea of a joke."

"Pardon? You said you liked English bulk food when you were sick. Plenty of calories and no complications."

Deep breaths. She's not. She wouldn't. This is Carole, she's your friend, your love. She's not in some kind of alliance with Phoebe Greene. Ok. Test the theory. "Can we call for Chinese?"

Bastard. It had taken weeks to get the recipe, weeks to get it right. Now he could damned well eat it. "You leave that food. You die."

He stayed quiet. Carefully chewed every mouthful fifty times to avoid choking on it.

This was getting out of hand, surreal. She felt like the Principal of some comic book school struggling with her most unruly pupil. What did he want? Discipline? A spanking? God. That was so. English? Sexy? Weird? Is that what Phoebe used to do? Oh, wow. He'd always acted like the generously sensual, but ultimately dominant, type in bed. Maybe this was his way of suggesting he wouldn't mind her taking the initiative. Taking the lead. Taking that slim, smooth body of his and making it... Making it do her bidding. Oh, man.

Her eyes narrowed, a predatory glow, bright and sharp and focused. Playful, was he? Oh, she was up for it. Just looking at him in the soft glow of the candles did strange things to her heart. Just watching the way his mouth slipped open to take in the next morsel, the way his throat moved as he swallowed. Tiny bites, excruciatingly slow, luxuriating in the sensual pleasure of the experience. Watching the meat filling as it yielded to the demands of his mouth, as it melted under his attentive care. Watched his tongue as it slipped forward to lick the excess juices from those, oh so soft lips.

She couldn't remember how to eat. Her dinner remained untouched. She would leave plenty of room for dessert. Food was sacrilege. Six foot of hazel eyed nourishment was coyly playing games with her. Her confident, acerbic, Federal Agent lover had vanished. Tonight, he wanted to play fragile. He would be the innocent. Tonight, there would be no struggle for mastery, no battle for control in which ultimately she would succumb to the force of his body and his mind. Tonight, he wanted to be her boy toy.

Oh, wow. They'd been together for months. And she'd never seen him like this. Maybe he liked hospitals? Some fetish about crisp linen sheets and disinfectant. Maybe she should start dressing as a nurse once a week or something. Whatever. It had given her iceman a whole new dimension.

He stared back at her. Wide eyed. Playing scared. She had to give him credit. When Fox Mulder played games, he played them for keeps.

She carefully moved her fork forwards and picked up the last piece of steak from his plate. Lifted it delicately to her lips and blew. Pushed it gently towards his mouth so it brushed his lips, a special treat. He opened his mouth. She slipped the morsel inside. Carefully waited for him to swallow, then brought her lips to his.

He squirmed under her touch.

"Do I need handcuffs?" She suggested, giggling brightly.

Ferocious shaking of head in reply.

She quickly looped the towel around his neck and dragged him to the bedroom.

He'd been out of hospital for a month. A month?

She'd scarcely seen him in that time. Her work. His work. Never enough hours in the day for more than the occasional tumble in the sack. Even that was different. He was more. What was the word? Hesitant. Cute, the first couple of times. But, frankly, not the same guy. She'd read up on it, apparently that could happen after an illness or a shock. He'd get over it.

But as for his new "friends". Friends? Talk about the odd couple, he'd decided to buddy up with the intolerable treble. Geeks. But no, not just any geeks. Regular geeks she could take. She worked with geeks for God's sake. Deep down, she was one herself.

But did they have to wear their geekiness on their sleeves like that? Whenever she met them, it was an almost physical thing, she felt uncomfortable tugs at her body. Almost as if her Armani jacket was plotting its own escape from the indignity of appearing in the same room as them.

It was like they'd seen a job advert for nerds and leapt straight to the front of the queue.

And Mulder loved them. Told her snippets of information they'd gathered. Repeated their jokes. Their jokes. For God's sake. What next?

What next indeed. Saturday night and lover boy wasn't here. Why. Because lover boy was too busy. Working? Nope, that would be too normal. He'd gone to watch for lights in the sky. He'd invited her along. Invited her to sit on some windswept hill with the rest of the folks whose idea of a good night out was howling at the moon.

A joke's a joke. But this had got way out of hand. If he gave her another possible explanation on the assassination of the late President, or produced another theory on the type of power system needed by extra terrestrial people movers. He was dead.

She scanned the ring on her finger. It had been fun. While it lasted. But she really didn't see it surviving much more of this. Especially now he'd started whining at her for smoking.

She mixed herself another vodka and orange, lit another cigarette, kicked the dog off her favorite chair and wondered how easy it was to relocate to California.

He'd miss her. Sure, he would. Soon as he noticed she was gone. He might even be relieved.

She considered her raised glass. To old friends and new lives.

I know. I planned to write a serious story, but my evil twin stole the keyboard from me and said I'm getting far too serious.