What About A 'Sick Fic Archive'????
Red Valerian
Hattie's request for pointers to 'Poor Mulder Sick Fic' elicited a
clutch of very sweet recommendations. I found myself reading them
all, and wanting more, more, more.
If anyone is thinking of starting a new archive at this late date,
might I suggest Sick Fic as the theme? Not just Poor Mulder stories
but Poor Scully and Poor Skinner and Poor Everyone Else stories too?
And speaking of Skinner, wouldn't I just *love* to plump his pillows
and stroke his fevered.....um.....brow?
Don't answer that. It was a rhetorical question.
Barring a new archive, might I ask for more Sick Fic Recommendations
from the avid readers out there? I'm in need of some comfort fic - as
opposed to comfort food - and this genre seems to fit the bill
perfectly.
Red
Wayward
<hg...@dial.pipex.com> wrote:
>
> Barring a new archive, might I ask for more Sick Fic Recommendations
> from the avid readers out there? I'm in need of some comfort fic - as
> opposed to comfort food - and this genre seems to fit the bill
> perfectly.
>
> Red
Tucking up with a cuppa and some comfort fic...sounds wonderful to me.
Of my own, I'll shameless mention "Tender Loving Care" (which involves an
ailing Mulder) and its companion story "Care and Feeding," which features
an under-the-weather Scully...and a whole lotta other stuff too.
Both are at my web site A Scintilla of Truth at
http://www.justanyidiot.com/scintilla
Hope this helps.
--Wayward
--
Wayward
Wayward Fluffy Publications -- Web Design/Graphic Art & Illustration
artwork at -- http://www.fluffy.com/gallery
fanfic at -- http://www.justanyidiot.com/scintilla
way...@fluffyNOSPAM.com sans the stuff in caps
Alice In Wonderland
You could try "Goblin Market" which is over at MulderTorture (and is
by...ahem... me). Mulder's sick AND crazy in it - so it's, like, value for
money.
Alice
X
Red Valerian
wrote:
>Of my own, I'll shameless mention "Tender Loving Care" (which involves an
>ailing Mulder) and its companion story "Care and Feeding," which features
>an under-the-weather Scully...and a whole lotta other stuff too.
>
Hey - these were adorable! Of course it turned out I'd read them both
before, but hey - who cares? It was lovely to revisit.
Poor Scully - all quivery-lipped and tearful over her empty cupboards.
Everything apparently purloined by Mulder apart from the dog biscuits.
I just loved that to bits.
And the line about the suspect items in Mulder's fridge being so
rancid they "would have required that you draw your weapon to escort
them to the microwave" had me hooting too.
I love your characterisation, best of all. Your Scully is so
amusingly cynical and your Mulder is the quintessential endearing
goofball.
It was all just perfect. Comfort food indeed.
Thanks so much.
And thanks also to Hattie for the wonderful recs she's been sending
me, and for having such a good idea in the first place. Looks like
You're going to get an archive full of Sick Fic before long!
Red
Nicola Simpson
: Barring a new archive, might I ask for more Sick Fic Recommendations
: from the avid readers out there? I'm in need of some comfort fic - as
: opposed to comfort food - and this genre seems to fit the bill
: perfectly.
A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I wrote a sickfic. Here it
is, unrevised since that fatal day I posted it in 1995 (well, almost
unrevised--I fixed a few things in the course of posting it. Forgive
the complete lack of structured POV--I knew not when I wrote it.).
Title: AISLE BE BACK (1/1)
Author: Nicola Simpson (nsim...@ualberta.ca)
Rating: G
Keywords: H, M/S (god, I've never done this before--I don't know!)
Insert standard disclaimers here. No copyright infringement is intended
of characters created by Chris Carter and owned by Twentieth Television.
The rest of this sordid episode is mine, copyright 1995. Oh, the title is
to be pronounced with a heavy Austrian accent <g>...
Aisle Be Back
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
by Nicola Simpson
"Okay, Mulder, what else do you need?"
"Ub, sub bilk ad..." She could barely hear him rasp out his
feeble grocery list, but scrawled the contents down carefully on a piece
of green paper. She hung up the phone and stretched her arms above her
head, a small triumphant smirk on her rosy lips.
*Finally*, she had a good excuse to get some decent food into
Mulder's kitchen. The last time she was there, she had opened the fridge
to get a drink and slammed it shut, her heart pounding in fear and disgust
at the new and unusual life forms she had oh so briefly seen within. His
cupboards weren't so great either, mostly a collection of dented cans of
Chef Boyardee and generic macaroni and cheese dinners. There was
ice cream in the freezer, and some *extremely* soggy lettuce in the
ineptly-named crisper, but that was about it.
Now, with her partner sick as a dog, she had an opportunity to
plant some items with actual nutritional value within his home without him
whapping her lightly on the head with a ruler and sarcastically deigning
her "Mother Earth". Thank god. Dana grabbed her purse and coat, and was
still smiling as the car growled to life and started towards the grocery
store.
She found a parking space after only a few circuits of the lot,
and whipped out her list as she entered through the automatic doors. Her
cart was wobbly and made embarrassing noises along the linoleum floor, but
she didn't care. She was in control, she was empowered, she was...grocery
shopping for a man?
Ugh. She hadn't stopped to realize the domestic ramifications on
her way to the store, but now it gave her pause. She just hoped that he
wouldn't expect this from her every time he got sick from now on.
She walked briskly, squeaking down the aisles past the Count
Chocula to place some Mini-Wheats in the cart, lots of fruits and
vegetables, yogurt, various cans of soup, peanut butter, cheese, pasta,
anything she could think of that he might like. She picked up some cold
medicines in the pharmacy, and approached the check-out line triumphantly.
Her purchases beeped as malevolently as Mulder would scowl at her when she
showed them to him, but she handed over the cash happily. She was nearly
humming as she wheeled the cart back to the car and placed the groceries
carefully in the trunk.
She wasn't humming shortly thereafter as Mulder accused her of
trying to kill him.
**********
"Scubby! I can'd ead dis-" he gingerly plucked up a bag of
oranges and frowned forlornly, "dis... stub! Id's doo healdy!"
"That's exactly why you *should* eat it, Mulder." He wasn't
convinced, and his face fell as he extracted the wheat cereal from the
bag. "You'll get better faster," she reassured him.
He muttered something under his breath, but she had the feeling
that it would be unwise to ask him to repeat it.
"Just think of all the vitam-" She broke off as he threw a
package of fresh pasta at her head. "Mulder!" Dana rubbed her cheek
wryly. "There are sharp corners on that thing."
He pawed through the rest of the bags, tossing stuff out on the
counter, some slipping to the floor unheeded. She scowled at him and
began putting the groceries away. She had vainly hoped that he would
leave her to it, so she could get rid of some of the other stuff in his
kitchen in secret, but to no avail.
Mulder was definitely staying there, propped up against the
counter, a wool blanket wrapped around him. His eyes and nose were rimmed
with red, the only color in his thin pasty face. She sighed, she felt
sorry for him. It must be galling to face down anonymous hitmen and
aliens and be knocked out completely by a common cold. Oh, sorry, a cold
and a *fever*, as he kept reminding her.
His dark head popped up from the last bag with shock delineated on
its features. "Scubby!"
"Hmmm?" She turned from the fridge to face him.
"Dere's do puddink ib here."
"What?"
"Bubberscotch. I dike bubberscotch."
"Mulder..." She trailed off as he leaned heavily against the
counter and started wheezing. She sighed and led him over to the couch,
where he had built his own little Toomslike nest of used Kleenex and
magazines. He finally stopped coughing and looked up at her, salty tears
streaming from his swollen eyes. She sighed again, and grabbed her coat.
At the door, she turned back. "Butterscotch?"
Mulder grinned sickly. "Bubberscotch." He nodded excitedly, then
moaned and dropped his head onto the leather cushions, leaving a slimy
trail near the armrest. The door closed behind her. She could hear him
start to hiccup halfway down the hall.
**********
"Excuse me, I'm looking for the pudding section."
The lanky bespectacled teenager's head jerked up from the case of
lima beans that he was so engrossed in and looked at her quizzically.
"Wahuh?"
Dana sighed. "Pudding. Butterscotch pudding."
"Oh. Aisle seven, on the left."
She thanked him quickly and scurried to aisle seven. Her mental
fingers ran over the left side, near the middle. Rice pudding, chocolate,
tapioca, custard, jello, instant chocolate mousse, it had to be in there
somewhere. Finally, she pried out the last package of butterscotch
pudding, hidden behind a stack of vanilla.
Twenty minutes later, Scully was still in line at the grocery
store, which was now teeming with people stopping on their way home from
work. She tapped her foot impatiently and tried to ignore somebody's red
plastic basket prodding into her back and the irritating snap of the
bubblegum of the patron in front of her. Sighing, she leaned over as far
as she could and peered at the check-out girl. Great. She knew it.
*Trainee*, the name-tag read, right below *Sharli* with a heart lovingly
drawn over the i.
She silently fumed and absently shook the pudding in her left
hand. "Mulder..."
**********
"Aaaahhhh, bubberscotch." Mulder's eyes gleamed waterily as he
ripped open the package. Scully handed him a spoon and watched him devour
the pudding, pausing only to breathe in between mouthfuls. After a few
swallows, he set the pudding down on the coffee table and folded his hands
on the blanket on his legs.
"Scubby?"
She silently groaned, recognizing the look on his face. "Yes,
Mulder?"
"I'b abbergic doo duh colb bedicide you god be."
She shook her head. "Pardon?"
"I'b abbergic doo Bebadryb. I beed Dyquib."
Understanding dawned on her reproachfully. She thrust her arms
back in the sleeves of her still-chilled coat and tromped towards the
door.
**********
Pleasenopleasenopleasenopleasenopleaseno... Yes! 5:57 and the
in-store pharmacy was still open. Scully let forth a sigh of relief and
approached the counter. She knew that Mulder wanted Nyquil, but she had
decided in the frosty car on the way there to get him a prescription cold
medicine that would hopefully knock him out for the rest of the night.
She rummaged through her purse, looking for her prescription pad.
Ever since she became Special Agent Fox Mulder's partner, she had taken to
carrying it with her at all times. It saved a lot of time and unnecessary
trips to the local doctor, wherever they were.
She scrawled on it hurriedly and handed it to the pharmacist, who
pinched the slip of paper between her index finger and thumb and narrowed
her eyes at Scully. The pharmacist waved the prescription slightly in the
air and asked suspiciously, "May I see your medical license, please?"
Scully plucked the card out of her wallet and handed it to the
white-coated man behind the counter.
He peered at it, then focused on the prescription. "This isn't
for yourself?"
"No, it's for a friend."
"I don't think you can do that..."
Scully sighed and withdrew her badge. She flipped it open at the
man and amended, "It's for my partner."
He pursed his lips and shook his shock of gray hair. "Doesn't
matter. You need an authorized physician's approval."
"But I *am* an authorized physician!"
The pharmacist leaned against the counter. "Look lady, I don't
know you from Adam. Or Eve. I saw you write up that prescription right
here, and your ID can easily be fake. We simply can't fill that
prescription, I'm sorry."
Scully turned bright red and narrowed her eyes. "You think my FBI
badge is a fake?"
He shrugged. "Could be. I. Just. Don't. Know. Do I?"
She swallowed the angry words rising from her stomach and snatched
back the piece of paper from the pharmacist's bony fingers. She stepped
back from the counter momentarily to reach over and grab a bottle of
Nyquil from a nearby shelf. Banging it down on the counter, she remained
silent as he rung up the purchase. Her boots squeaked on the drab
linoleum as she stomped away.
He beamed after her. "Have a nice evening!"
**********
She heard the wheezing as her hand turned on the knob. Though
labored and painful, it was even. She opened the door slowly, and crept
through the doorway, her suspicions realized when she saw him asleep on
the couch. His dry, cracked mouth was wide open and the plaid wool throw
twisted around his long legs. The leather sighed as he shifted
restlessly, his wheezing stopping only long enough for him to swallow in
his sleep or cough quietly.
She tiptoed towards the kitchen, ignoring the tracks her boots
were making on the hardwood. Wriggling out of her coat, she eyed the
dishes lying around the counter and sighed. Two empty ice cream
containers lay near the sink, and two more empty pudding cups sat nearby.
She put the ice cream cartons in the garbage and reached for the small
plastic cups when her sleeve brushed against a spoon, sending it
clattering into the sink.
"Scubby!" Mulder bolted upright out of sleep, then groaned and
slid back down the couch, his sinuses protesting violently. Her fiery
head appeared around the corner, a slight blush tinging her cheeks.
"Sorry, Mulder." She disappeared again to reach into her coat
pocket and withdraw the cold medicine, the one he had requested. She
walked back into the living room and placed it on his heaving chest. His
eyes opened again, then squinted cross-eyed at the green bottle on his
sternum.
His limpid brown eyes shifted to hers in the dim light of the
apartment. "Spoob?"
She returned to the kitchen and opened up the cutlery drawer. A
shaky voice emanated from the living room.
"Is dere aby iced tea, Scubby?"
Her shoulders collapsed into a hunch over the counter and her hand
moved quickly over her face tiredly, stopping briefly to rub the freckled
bridge of her nose.
**********
She simultaneously thanked and shook her fist at the gods that the
supermarket was open so late. She passed through the automatic doors yet
again, feeling more and more tired. She'd had to stop for gas on the way
there, and it was tempting to pick up a map to Canada and make a run for
it. A sick Mulder was turning out to be more trouble than a healthy
Mulder. She hadn't thought that was possible.
"Bottled beverages are in aisle six," a lady in a red apron
informed her. *Aisle 666 is more like it*, Scully thought grumpily. She
swept three large bottles of tea into her basket and marched towards the
check-out counter.
She stuffed her gloves into her pockets and her right hand rose to
rub lightly against her throbbing temple. She could swear she felt a
pulse burn brightly in her forehead, and she eyed the Tylenol bottles in
the aisle near the check-out. She eased her way out of the line, hearing
grunts of approval from the tired shoppers behind her. She walked the few
feet, then reached out and took one of the bottles off the shelf.
She twisted the cap off, plucked out the cotton and shook two
pills into her small hand. After swigging them back with one of the
bottles of iced tea, she replaced the cap back on both the bottles and was
about to put them in her basket when she heard it-
"STOP!" The pharmacist hurried towards her, a burly security
guard squeaking on the floor beside him. They came to a halt three feet
away from her and the pharmacist pointed malevolently at her.
"She was tampering with the Tylenol." Scully groaned inwardly,
and reached for her ID. The pharmacist continued, "AND she tried to use a
fake prescription earlier. She must be some kind of junkie," he assessed
triumphantly.
Her hand froze in her pocket. "Now just wait a minute, I-"
The security guard rested his hand heavily on her shoulder.
"You'd better take that hand out of your pocket slowly, ma'am." Dana
shuddered with silent fury and withdrew her fingers, clutching her ID.
She handed it to the guard and glared at the pharmacist. The security
guard flipped it open and examined it for a minute, frowning.
"Looks fake to me," he finally said. The pharmacist smiled
widely. Scully turned white, then flushed a bright scarlet, sputtering
wordless epithets.
The pharmacist chirped gleefully, "Are you going to take her
downtown?" Scully's heart sank into bilious fury as the rent-a-cop
nodded.
*Mulder, when you get better, I'm going to murder you.*
**********
His voice echoed in the dark apartment. "Scubby?" Even the
Nyquil couldn't soften the whining reproach. "Where are you?" His aching
head sank down on the sofa. "I'b dirsdy..." The wheezing soon became
even and relaxed again, like Darth Vader in the shadows, lit only by the
silent television set on the Sci-Fi channel.
THE END
[yes, I know "Scuddy" is more correct, but I loved the way "Scubby"
sounded]
--
Nicola Simpson
E-mail: nicola....@ualberta.ca
Hattie54
>Mulder's kitchen. The last time she was there, she had opened the fridge
>to get a drink and slammed it shut, her heart pounding in fear and disgust
>at the new and unusual life forms she had oh so briefly seen within. His
>cupboards weren't so great either, mostly a collection of dented cans of
>Chef Boyardee and generic macaroni and cheese dinners. There was
>ice cream in the freezer, and some *extremely* soggy lettuce in the
>ineptly-named crisper, but that was about it.
LOL ! I just love those fics that describe in gory detail the aging and molding
contents of food in Mulder's frig that could bring down a tiny country's army
with food poisoning !:)
Harriet
december02
This is too funny that you'd repost this now while I'm stuck at home with
the flu.... :o)
Laura
Wayward
<hg...@dial.pipex.com> wrote:
> I love your characterisation, best of all. Your Scully is so
> amusingly cynical and your Mulder is the quintessential endearing
> goofball.
>
> It was all just perfect. Comfort food indeed.
>
> Thanks so much.
>
You're quite welcome, Red. I hope you're feeling better.
And thank *YOU* for the kind words about my stories. I find that my
writing tends to be like a possessed shopping cart, moving along the
designated path until the jammed front left wheel becomes unstuck and
suddenly it takes a hard 90-degree turn into the Twilight Zone.
I think my Muse likes to mess with my mind.
Only wishing that the Muse would straighten things up a bit after playtime,