[Scully enters the apartment, arms loaded with groceries that help build up the immune system. And some regular food too. She puts it down on the kitchen counter and heads towards Mulder's bedroom to check on him before deciding what her next course of action should be.
[He's in bed, wrapped in a blanket, doubled over a bit. His head is splitting and he's running a fever, and at this point he's given up on trolling the network in favor of lying in a crumpled heap and feeling like crap warmed over. Crap warmed over that occasionally shivers with unjustified cold.]
[For all he knows, though, that was yesterday. He hasn't felt well enough today to get far, wracked with chills in spite of his fever. His headache isn't helping his concentration.]
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She knocks on his door.]
Mulder?
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[He's in bed, wrapped in a blanket, doubled over a bit. His head is splitting and he's running a fever, and at this point he's given up on trolling the network in favor of lying in a crumpled heap and feeling like crap warmed over. Crap warmed over that occasionally shivers with unjustified cold.]
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You look like hell, Mulder.
[She puts her hand to his forehead, though it's hardly necessary. One look tells her most of what she needs to know.]
How long have you felt like this?
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If I'd been feeling like this you would've heard about it. Been sluggish a couple days.
[He's barely audible, not able to manage more than a mutter, eyes half shut against the light since it aggravates his head.]
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[What Scully really means is she should have noticed. She strokes his head comfortingly.]
Have you taken any kind of medication yet?
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[For all he knows, though, that was yesterday. He hasn't felt well enough today to get far, wracked with chills in spite of his fever. His headache isn't helping his concentration.]
I don't feel well enough to feel like shit.
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