#h0lywaters

From Our Wounded Heaven

Read the full fic on Ao3!

Summary: Following her kidnapping by Donnie Pfaster, Scully is still struggling in the aftermath of it all. She can't eat, can't sleep, and hiding it from Mulder is only growing more difficult as the days pass. Finally, she breaks, and the only comfort she can get is from him. Scully, navigating the turbulence of healing, journeys through the realisation that to be supported by Mulder, she must forsake her fears of being seen as someone to be saved—to allow herself to be vulnerable where it is safe to be. Rating: n/a Chapters: 3/? Contains: PTSD, panic attacks, nightmares, hurt/comfort

Chapter 1:

"No!”

Dana Scully's shriek pierced the silence of the night, ringing loudly even in her own ears. Her eyes scanned the room frantically, but search for the figure that loomed over her in her dreams was fruitless.

Despite this, she reached for the gun nestled beneath her pillow. Slipping it from its holster and turning the safety off, she threw the sheets from her body, rising hurriedly to press herself against the nearest wall. From here she had vision of her bedroom door without the threat of surprise from behind. Her heart thrashed in her chest.

Cautiously she crept along the perimeter of the room, her footsteps silent as she navigated her home with practised ease. The ritual had demanded her attention nearly every night of hers for the past month, when she woke from these dreams that felt all-too-real.

Donnie Pfaster stood above her, always, her arms bound and body bare as she laid in a bath of iced water. The stench of rotting flowers suffocated the room, flooding her senses with each gasp of air through her nose from the shock of the chill. It was all she could do, to scream out through her gag as he pushed her head beneath the surface.

She’d jolt awake then, the panic thrumming high in her veins, and nothing could soothe the disquiet that followed.

For weeks this had been her life, and each time he tormented her, she felt her distance from reality grow that much further.

As Scully finished her sentry, the heaviness of the night settled onto her. Any resolve she had managed through the rush of adrenaline abandoned her, and without a moment to catch herself, her lip quivered—a preamble to the heavy tears that fell hot on her cheeks.

The hours that followed were indistinct, distorted by lack of sleep and the anxiety that had made home in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t know when she had moved to the couch. She couldn’t recall when she had stopped crying, when the sun had begun to rise, nor when her eyes had closed and she fell into that brief sleep.

But now, as her alarm clock radio blared from her bedroom and she jolted awake, the reality that she had slept through the noise for far longer than she could afford hit her.

Scully’s eyes found her wristwatch, a curse pushing past her lips as she saw just how late it was.

She rose from the sofa and hurried to the bathroom to begin her day.

---

Scully pleaded in silent prayers that Mulder wouldn’t ask questions of her whereabouts as she walked down the hallway to their office. The walk felt longer than ever. She laid her hand upon the doorknob when she arrived, closing her eyes and imploring to God one last time that he wouldn't inquire much beyond the expected ‘Where’ve you been?’

She twisted her wrist and pushed forward, releasing an exhale as she opened the door and entered the room. Mulder sat at his desk, his attention shifting from a file laid out before him to meet her. He gave a half smile as their eyes met, leaning back casually in his chair.

“Stay up too late poring over the latest article in the NEJM discussing transesophageal echocardiography in the diagnosis of traumatic rupture of the aorta, Scully?”

Her lips twitched towards a faint smile that eventually reached her tired eyes, thinking to the journal in question. It was presently buried in a stack of unread mail on her kitchen counter, and she realised it had been weeks since she had read for leisure.

Closing the door behind her, Scully walked further into the office, placing her satchel in one of the chairs positioned opposite of her partner.

“You’re reading medical journals now, Mulder? Your usual brand of entertainment must be getting pretty boring.” Her brow cocked up affectionately, her smile easing into a subtle smirk as she approached the coffee maker.

In a tone that belied her fatigue, Scully admitted, “I haven’t gotten to read it yet, actually.” A playful look at Mulder was tossed over her shoulder. The weariness in her eyes was hard to be hid.

She looked forward once more, her back to him as she poured herself a cup and stirred a packet of sweetener into the black void. It looked unending—not unlike how the hole in her chest felt.

“The power blipped and I forgot to reset my alarm.” She hoped the explanation would be enough.

Silence followed as she took a sip of her coffee, trying to let the warmth of it ease her nerves some. She could feel his eyes on her back, and it was all she could do to not shiver. She closed her eyes and inhaled.

“Scully?”

Mulder’s voice broke the silence, gentle and warm. Her prayers began again.

“Hm?” She couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge him with a full word, busying herself with another swallow of coffee instead.

“You’re not well.”

It was neither question nor accusation. He knew her both more and less than she would have liked him to, and she knew he would be hard to hide from. Impossible, even. It wouldn't deter her from trying.

“Mulder, please,” Scully began, hoping a stern tone would be enough to put an end to him prying any further. Maybe it would have worked, if only it hadn't come forth as exhaustion.

“C’mon, Scully. We both know you didn’t forget to reset your alarm… that’s if you even lost power.” His concern made her feel cornered. The scrape of her mug was loud as it made contact with the metal cabinet of the coffee station when she set it down. She pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration, willing herself to not say anything she'd regret when she was finally able to get some sleep.

She heard him rise from his chair then, and her eyes closed even tighter. She swallowed her emotions down, and suddenly he was beside her.

“Did you even eat breakfast today?” His voice was quiet.

“I didn’t have time,” she quipped, not a lie.

“Did you have any breakfast last week? Or lunch?”

Her eyes flew open, enraged, her head turning sharply to throw a glare his way. “I didn’t realise I came to work to be on the receiving end of an interrogation, Mulder.”

“Scully, I haven’t seen you eat anything at all in weeks.” Another truth of his. His eyes held the heavy weight of his care, and Scully couldn’t bear to witness it. She turned her face from him, staring at the coffee that still rippled in its quake.

Mulder took her arm in a careful grip, gently turning her to face him fully. He didn’t remove his hand. Scully’s eyes settled on his tie, avoidant.

“Scully,” he spoke, in a voice so tender it gave her chills. She still couldn’t raise her gaze to look at him.

The knuckle of his index finger found the underneath of her chin, lifting it gently upwards until she was exerting more effort in her avoidance. Her lip trembled, and finally her gaze flicked to his, tears thick at the edge of her eyes. It took nothing for them to spill over.

She heard him say her name again. Her breath quickened, and words wouldn’t come. Everything felt so far away. Reaching for his arm, Scully couldn’t see beyond the panic closing in on her, and she was sure of nothing but the cold that filled her veins, now—the cold of that bath he had made for her, the pressure of his arms around her, restraining her, and she knew he would show her no mercy.

There was a woman’s scream somewhere far away, and Scully pushed against his chest, trying to free herself. Her vision grew darker until she could see nothing but black, and her fist came down hard, meeting muscle. His hands came to her wrists and she writhed, trying to break free and falling to the floor in the process. She kicked and flailed and screamed, and no matter what she did, he only held her tighter.

She was floating, falling, her consciousness fleeing. All she could do was give in.