#cotp

So to start off, we have the Riverclan triplets in Graysky, Mistpool, and Frostdawn. Graysky and Mistpool are mostly the same, but there are still a few changes. Frostdawn changed completely. I came up with this new design for her ages ago, but I wanted to wait until she got her full name to post it. The waiting took FOREVER. The smaller scar on her neck is from Splashtail's first attack on her, it was initially a much larger wound, however the advanced medical care from the Twolegs made it heal better and therefore left a smaller scar. TNR ear tip, and I'd imagine the flank scar would go away after a while, but I thought I should put it anyway. After them is Whistlebreeze! A duller brown but still brown. I don't know what to call the little tufts of fur under her cheek fur, but I really like them on her <3. Then is newly crowned Icestar! You go girlie I am eagerly awaiting new PMVs and MAPs about you now that you're in the spotlight. I included below where the star would have gone on her old design, I didn't change the design because the star wouldn't fit, I changed it because she needed a new design; I wasn't satisfied with the old one anymore. After is Splashtail. Okay, look - his old design is nice to look at, but there's just too much going on. It's not cohesive, and I was having trouble remembering all the little details. So here's a new one. Gave him little fangs as a trade off for changing it so drastically again. Then is Berryheart, her design didn't really change I just wanted to fix her shapes and make the colors more contrasting. Then is Riverstar, whose design really changed. I think he looks like a blue jay now. And finally a new design for Dark Forest Curlfeather. It's the exact same base design, but now with her visceral death wounds. Oh and the curls/spirals on her body are more squarish in death, just to make them look more dense or matted.

SCULLY

It's true what they say about doctors being the worst patients, but to be fair, my medical history is extensive and complex. Providing a full and accurate medical history would take hours and most likely result in a psych consult, so I've learned to only ever disclose what is absolutely necessary. Being a neurologist myself, I can appreciate my doctor's concern, but she doesn't have all the of the facts and wouldn't know what to do with them even if I gave them to her. So for the second time today, I sign myself out of the hospital against medical advice.

After reviewing my MRIs, there is little doubt in my mind that the impulses driving my abnormal brain activity were somehow generated by my implant. The dull ache and burning sensation that coursed through the base of my skull and down into my neck just before losing consciousness doesn't fit the etiology of any known medically based seizure.

Eighteen hours later my neck still aches, but for an entirely different reason. One that may or may not be related to the visions I have received from Willam.

The man who entered my hospital room earlier this evening is someone that Mulder recognized as working for the syndicate, but our sources within the FBI have yet to formally identify him. All of this should frighten me more than it does, but at the moment, all I care about is getting out of here and going home to sleep in my own bed.

By the time Mulder and I leave the hospital, it's close to midnight. He hasn't let me out of his sight since he returned from Spartanburg. Under normal circumstances, I would find his zealously overprotective behavior to be suffocating and would insist that he give me space, but tonight I don't have the energy to fight him nor do I think that it would matter even if I did.

The force of my assassin's hands has left me stiff, sore, and hoarse, limiting my responses to brief and very brief. So when he asks me if I'm hungry, I merely nod, settling into the passenger seat and resting my eyes as he merges into traffic.

—

I don't remember falling asleep, but I must have because when I come to we are pulling up to the house.

"Mulder," I croak, "I thought you were going to take me home?"

As soon as I say it, I regret it. Although I haven't lived here in close to four years, the house is still technically mine. I tried to sign it over to him after we separated, but he refused to sign the papers.

"This will always be your home too, Scully," he says softly, not meeting my eyes.

I didn't mean for it come across as a dig, but it clearly has.

Great. As if today wasn't shitty enough.

"I'm sorry Mulder, I didn't mean … I'm just exhausted, and I don't have any clothes here."

"I stopped by the impound lot and cleaned out your car, so I have your keys and overnight bag. They're in the trunk."

I clearly slept through that pit stop.

"Oh … okay … thank you," is all I can manage to say.

"It wasn't a big deal. Common. Let's get inside. I think there might even be something that's eatable in the fridge," he says placing his hand on my thigh and giving it a light squeeze before exiting the car.

We climb the porch stairs together in silence. Once inside, he places my overnight bag at the bottom of the stairs and then makes his way into the kitchen.

"I'm going to start some tea. That should help soothe your throat."

"Mulder, you really don't have to—"

But he cuts me off before I can finish, raising his voice.

"Stop thanking me and telling me that I don't have to take care of you. If I hadn't come in when I did, that man would have killed you … you do realize that right?"

The look on his face stops me cold.

"Do you have any idea what that would have done to me?"

Grabbing the top of the one the kitchen chairs, he shifts his weight and looks down at the table in an attempt to calm himself. At first, I say nothing. Mulder is one of the most controlled people I have ever known. Even with everything we've been through in the last 25 years, I can still count on one hand how many times he has raised his voice at me in anger.

But anger isn't what I see now. What I see now is pure, unadulterated fear.

"I'm sorry Scully, I didn't mean to … I just—"

"It's okay," I say, interrupting him. "I buried you once — so yes, I have an idea." It comes out low and raspy, strained by events of the last 24 hours, but it silences him nonetheless.

As my words register, his eyes return to mine, and the fire in them dissipates.

Loss is something that we are both intimately familiar with.

Sighing, he releases his hold on the kitchen chair.

"I know you can take care of yourself, Scully. You've always been able to do that, but we still don't know for sure who sent him or why. Until we know, more I don't want you staying alone. If something happened you … something that I could have prevented … I would never forgive myself."

I don't know how to respond, so I don't.

"Are you sure you're not hungry?" he asks softly. "I have some yogurt in the fridge if you just want something light."

"No, but I will take some tea."

He nods and turns to turn on the stove, filling up the kettle and placing it over the burner.

"Why don't you head upstairs and take a shower. I'll come up in a minute with your tea and change the sheets."

"I'm sure they are fine."

"I haven't washed them in a while. I usually just sleep on the couch."

His tone is soft but final, and his message is clear. He's going to take care of me, and I'm going to let him because he's not taking 'no' for an answer.

—

Mulder wasn't kidding. The bed is made and looks as if it hasn't been used in months, but other than that, the room we once shared has changed very little in my absence.

My eyes are immediately drawn to a picture he has framed and prominently displayed on what was my bedside table. It's a picture of the two of us that I have never seen before. As I take a closer look, I recognize the scenery and the clothes we are wearing. The trip to the Keys had been a surprise anniversary gift. He must have had the film developed after I moved out and had it framed.

The realization causes a lump to form in my throat that is painful to swallow in more ways than one.

"There are some clean towels under the sink," he says, startling me as he enters the room behind me.

Although it's clear that he noted my interest in the picture, he doesn't say or do anything to draw attention to it, and for that I am grateful. I can hear him stripping the bed as I retreat into the bathroom.

It's not until I turn on the water and begin to disrobe that I realize that I have a problem.

Somewhere between the seizure, car accident, and struggle with the mysterious assassin, I have lost the ability to put my arms behind my back. I silently curse at my bra for a few moments before relenting and shutting off the water so that I don't have strain my voice to speak over it.

"Mulder?"

There's a periodic moment of silence before he responds.

"Yeah?"

"Can you come in here for a minute?"

"Um … yeah, sure, Scully, just ... give me a minute."

Within a few seconds, he's at the door.

"What's wrong Scully? Are you OKAY?"

"Yes, I'm fine, I just … I'm having trouble with the clasp, can you undo it for me?"

He steps into the bathroom and freezes.

"Jesus, Scully."

I'm half naked, but that's not why he's cursing.

"Is this from the accident or from …?"

His fingers gently trace over the bruising as he spins me to take a closer look.

"I'm not sure, but I can't quite get the … can you …?"

"Yeah."

He unclips my bra rubbing his hands lightly over my low back and shoulder blades until he reaches the tops of my shoulders. My back is to him, but his eyes meet mine in the mirror.

"I knew it was bad, but I had no idea it was this bad. Do you have any pain meds?"

"No … I'm okay … just going to be sore for a couple of days."

He doesn't believe me, but he doesn't press the issue either. Instead, he kisses the top of my head and leaves the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

I half expect him to be lingering around when I get out the shower, but he isn't.

The bed is covered with fresh sheets, and the clothes from my overnight bag are laid out at the edge of the bed. If I weren't so tired, I would probably be more embarrassed by the fact that he found one of his old tee shirts in my overnight bag. Although we've been separated for nearly four years now, I still find myself sleeping in his clothes. I silently curse myself for packing something so intimately personal in an overnight bag prepared to use on company time.

"Scully?"

"Just a minute," I say as I gingerly finish dressing.

When I open the door, he's waiting on the other side with a steaming cup of hot tea.

"Thank you."

He smiles.

"Got everything you need?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Okay. Well … I'll see you in the morning. If you need anything, I'll be down here."

For a moment, we just stand in silence, neither of us knowing quite what to say.

As I gaze into his eyes, I realize that what I want more than anything is for him to come to bed and wrap his arms around me, but I have no right to ask that of him. I threw that right away the moment I left him, so instead of asking him to stay, I allow him to kiss my forehead and then watch him walk away.

—

I wake up to hands on my body.

I want to scream, but I can't because there is no air in my lungs.

Panicked, I kick, claw, and fight for my life, but my efforts are fruitless. Everything is moving in slow motion, and I am powerless to stop it. That's when it hits me … I'm dying … this must be what dying feels like. Unable to fight any longer, I surrender to fate and still my body. Just as my field of vision begins to darken into a black blur, I hear a familiar voice. A voice that clears the fog and fills my lungs with air.

He releases me quickly, narrowly avoiding getting headbutted as I bolt up out of bed.

"SCULLY … SCULLY … It's me … It's just a dream. It's me. Mulder."

I'm gasping for breath and unable to speak, but relief floods me as my vision clears.

"It's just a dream, Scully," he repeats softly. "I'm here. You're safe."

Once he sees that I have oriented back to reality, he wraps his arms around me, pulling my head into his chest.

I try to swallow the sob before it leaves my throat, but I can't. The tears quickly follow.

"Shhhhhh … It's OKAY. I'm here. You're safe."

This only makes me cry harder.

He lays us down gently, cradling my head against his chest — taking care to not to apply too much pressure to my bruised and battered body.

Neither of us speaks for quite some time.

When the tears subside, and my breathing normalizes, he's the one to break the silence.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I sniffle, trying to clear my nose and throat so that I can speak. I've made a mess of the shirt he's wearing. It's so wet in places that it's sticking to his skin, but I don't care, and I doubt he does either.

"I couldn't breathe."

It's likely not the detailed explanation he was looking for, but it's the only explanation that is required.

He takes a deep breath and pulls my body more tightly against his.

"I'm not going to let anything happen to you, Scully."

"You can't promise that, Mulder. No more than I could promise it to you."

"I've gone to the ends of the earth for you … killed for you … and I would give my life for yours in a heartbeat. You know that."