creamsicle
by Pares

There was a hard streak of New England Stoic in Mulder; more from his mother's side, he suspected, although his father had never had a problem keeping his mouth shut. Wherever he'd gotten it, it was austere and stern and unforgiving of the rest of him. As it was, he had few pleasures that didn't come under the subheading of "guilty".

The furtive peck to Scully's cheek as she lay tethered to an IV drip was one of them; the offered conciliatory box of Creamsicles was another.

Mulder allowed himself such liberties only when Scully's physical condition required hospitalization. It was the only time that he felt it wasn't an imposition; somehow, her weakness gave him leave to coddle her. Unfortunately, the sweetness of being allowed to kiss her was usually undercut by a galling sense of culpability. And because he almost looked forward to such times, he found his ability to somehow enjoy Scully's vulnerablilty, in any way, petty and shocking and ghoulish.

However, it was the gift he regretted the most keenly. Surely Scully would never forgive him the *real* reason he brought her Creamsicles. There wasn't a shred of altruism in their presentation: only the guilty hope that he'd get to see her eat them. Oh, to see Dana Scully suck on a frozen dairy treat...

Of course, usually she would feign disinterest and decree that *he* must have one before they melted...

Perhaps she was not unacquainted with the pleasures of watching people eat dessert. Mulder grinned in spite of himself.

"They're melting," he pointed out. "You'll get sherbet on the bedspread. And I'm not eating these alone this time."

After a moment of cool assessment, Scully whispered, "Just this once."

Mulder felt dizzy; Skinner was back at the hotel room in a welter of anticipatory and repressed lust and *today* Scully chooses to linger over ice cream on a stick... Was this karmic recompense or retribution?

As he watched, mesmerized and absurdly obvious, she licked the slippery sherbet with her quick, pink tongue. Mulder threaded his fingers together in his lap and hoped for spontaneous paraplegia. This was ridiculous.

//Be careful what you wish for, Agent Mulder.//

To distract himself, he unwrapped a Creamsicle as well, and watched her smile around the popsicle approvingly.

"Mulder," she murmured, her dry little voice throaty now, a honey coated Lauren Bacall due to the melting slickness. "This is silly."

He was glad of the Creamsicle; he was incredibly thirsty, and it was deliciously cool.

"What's silly?"

"Having you sit at the foot of my bed like Nana the faithful nurse."

"Nurses give sponge baths," he offered, inclining his head graciously.

Once, she would have rolled her eyes. "I'm always surprised by how attentive you can be."

He laughed. "Unfortunately, I'm cursed with both a flair for servility and a reservoir of resentment. That's what made me such a dangerous waiter."

Giving the popsicle stick a thoughtful, finishing lap, Scully tugged the blankets up under her chin, closed her eyes and smiled.

"You can't be serious. You waited tables?"

"Yup. The summer before Oxford. I needed the cash and my Uncle had a seafood place. Uncle Oslo. That cheap old bastard."

"Oslo?" One eye was open, and the famous eyebrow was propped.

"Oslo. My mom's brother." Sighing internally, Mulder tried to scrape up details he could spin into an amusing story for Scully. Besides making her smile, it would give him time to settle down enough to get up and get back to Skinner.

"He worked me like a dog. And the place was always overrun with Grade A cranky pensioners. They bitched about everything and never tipped. And they came back every weekend. It was provoking."

"Provoking," Scully echoed, amusement in her tone. "What made you ëdangerous', Mulder?"

With a look of imperfect regret, he regarded her soulfully.

"I did things to their Linguine Alfredo, Scully. Questionable things. Terrible things. Things that even today... I can't bring myself to tell you about."

Scully squinted and curled her lovely upper lip. "And you know I appreciate that discretion, Mulder." She made a little buzzing sound and pushed the sagging box of Creamsicles a little further away.

"Mulder, why don't you take these back with you and come see me in the morning?"

"Sure thing, Scully." He bounced to his feet, relieved.

He kissed her cheek noisily, and she squirmed a bit, trying not to smile. He squeezed her hand, held it.

"Skinner says he's glad you're feeling better."

"Mulder..." She locked those luminous eyes with his. "Thank you." She patted his hair lightly with her free hand and he felt a rush of warmth swell his chest.

"See you in the morning, Good Humor Girl."

END