it will probably be fine.

He never thought that this would happen, that something would be so far out of the realm of possibility that Scully would have to be convincing him. 

But here she was, ghostly and insistent and nearly tangible. 

No, she wasn’t ghostly, because they would have called. They would have called if anything worse had happened to her, if she had slipped away from him. 

Or perhaps they were calling, right now, and his imagination was too busy conjuring up this little torture scenario and keeping him too distracted to answer his damn phone. 

‘Ok, what is the last thing that you remember?’ Mulder asked, wrapping his hands tighter around the glass of water he couldn’t yet bring himself to sip from.

She was pacing, her posture as proper and intimidating as ever. He sat on his couch, just perched on the edge like he was afraid to touch the leather. 

‘We were on a case.. or, no, I was on a case..’ She shook her head lightly, then looked up. 

The expression on her face forced him to drop his eyes back down to his hands again. 

‘.. In New York,’ she added, quieter. 

‘Mmmh-hmm.’ He waited, afraid of the next moment, the one where she remembered. 

‘And then… I got home from New York, and I came straight here.’ She narrowed her eyes, almost trying to convince herself of the memory. 

‘Straight here? From New York? It’s the middle of the night. You were that desperate to see me, Scully?’

‘I… we would have had case notes to go over. I would..’ 

He blinked, and again, waited. 

‘It’s…’ She looked down at her clothes, neat and pressed, fitted and neutral, not an airplane wrinkle in sight. Exactly how she’d remembered putting them on this morning. In New York. 

‘Scully..’ 

‘Why can’t I touch anything?’ she asked, her tone panicked as she stepped back. 

‘You can touch me.’ 

‘And only you! I can’t hold anything else!’ 

‘How did you get here? Did you drive?’ 

‘Of course I drove! Do you think… what, you think I..?’ She was panting, her vision narrowing like a caught animal, tunnelling around a truth she wouldn’t face. 

Mulder stormed to the window and twitched his curtain with practised hands.

‘Your car’s not here,’ he said slowly. 

‘Maybe I’m parked around the corner,’ she snapped, the anger giving her a glimmer of control over the unraveling sensation in her stomach. 

He turned back to his room, expecting her to be gone. Why wasn’t Scully gone? Was Scully gone? 

He was pacing alongside her then, taking opposite paths around a tattered coffee table, little paranoid laps of united despair. 

‘Scully, you were shot,’ he said finally, exhaling. ‘In New York.’

She ceased her pacing, stopping him abruptly in his own tracks. 

‘Mulder, don’t be ridiculous! You don’t think I’d remember a thing like being shot?!’ 

He ran his hand over his forehead and dragged it up into his hair, pressing everything back with desperation.

With a long, painful sigh, he held out his hand for her without meeting her eyes. 

‘Come on,’ he said, regretfully. 

JANUARY 19TH 1999, WASHINGTON DC 

He was overcome with terror, the kind that claws at your throat and sends waves of nausea through your torso, forcing you to look at the world through a haze of confusion. 

Hospital. Scully. Accident. That was all he knew of now, that was all he had to curl his life around. 

‘We’ll be able to tell you more once you arrive, Mr Mulder.’

They always said shit like that, half-truths and vague descriptions. Just enough to send your pulse skyrocketing, but never enough to actually clue you in on what the fuck you were about to see. He knew there was a reason that they did that, Scully would be able to tell him exactly what it was, but Scully wasn’t here right now and his mind was too full. Hospital. Scully. Accident.

He slammed his hand in desperation against the steering wheel, feeling a stinging band of pain against his palm, wondering why the hell he hadn’t caught a cab. Now he’d have to worry about parking, about lining up his car in one of those little narrow painted bays and remember to take a ticket before he could get to her. 

Hospital. Scully. Accident. He could almost swear he tasted blood, the tang of absolute horror waiting on his tongue. They wouldn’t give any more details because the details would make him erratic, they would make him take risks to get there quicker. Yes, that was the reason, and he could hear Scully’s calm, practical words in his own head now clearly, drowning out his own useless thoughts. 

He pictured her whiter than the gown they’d put her in, blood pouring from some deep, fresh wound he hadn’t been able to protect her from. He pictured things that made his stomach lurch, twisted things that made his palms sweat and threaten to lose his grip on the wheel. He felt dizzy, frantic and terrified. 

Yeah, that’s exactly what Scully needs right now, her emergency contact dying en-route to the hospital because he couldn’t get it together. 

The tip of his bonnet bounced noisily as he swung into the parking lot, skidding past the concrete columns as his wheels screeched and echoed. He slammed his car into the nearest empty bay and couldn’t find himself cognisant or concerned enough to take the little ticket. Let them tow me, he thought bitterly. 

The whole car shook with the force of the door when he closed it, and he nearly tripped as he turned to sprint into the building.

‘Dana Scully! I need to know which room Dana Scully is in. I’m, I-I’m her partner, Fox Mulder, I was called..’ He rushed out the words and hoped they were the right ones, fingers tapping anxiously against the desk. His heartbeat was fast and thunderous, poisoning everything he said or heard.   

As soon as he had a place to aim for, he was sprinting again on hollow legs, cramming himself into the elevator and pressing the button for the fifth floor five times, even though it was already lit up and waiting. The air was stiff as the carriage lifted with a jolt and the seconds stretched taut, as though time was worrying with him. Floor five. Dana Scully. Are you family? 

Family, what the fuck does family have to do with it? I’m… I’m Mulder!  

When the doors finally pinged open, he pulled forward into another sprint, blood pounding in his ears. As he sped around the final corner, the sight of her body through the glass pane of her room stopped him in his tracks, and all the blood finally rushed to his head. He felt like he would faint as the familiar slope of her nose and flame of her hair assured him. Alive. Scully. Her profile through a little window was like a breeze of cooling air, something good that he could fill his lungs with. 

How many times would he rush to a hospital and then feel his knees buckle in tortured relief to find that she had made it? How many more times would her path traverse danger like this?

‘Mr Mulder?’ A tense voice called from behind a cubicle to his right. 

He nodded in the nurse’s blurry direction as she stood carefully, pushing her chair back and starting to approach him. He walked right past her, letting her know that he didn’t intend to stop. 

‘Sir!’ she called after him and he still didn’t slow. She grabbed at his arm and tugged back sharply just before he could reach Scully’s door. 

He was startled, spinning to look at the woman in dismay. 

‘You can’t go in there just yet, sir. A doctor needs to speak with you first,’ the nurse said evenly, watching him like a dangerous animal. 

Outrage flared in his chest. Like hell I’m not going in there.

‘Would you like to take a seat right here and wait for the rest of Dana’s family to arrive? The doctor shouldn’t be much longer.’ 

‘No,’ Mulder said sharply, pulling his arm free from her grasp. ‘I’m her emergency contact, I, I was called,’ he insisted. 

‘You need to wait for the doctor before you go in. If you can’t remain calm, I’m obligated to call for security. And I don’t want to do that,’ she warned, eyes wide with sympathy.  

‘Ca-Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on, then?’ He choked out an incredulous laugh, nerves swirling as his limbs ached to sprint. Adrenaline, fear and now a hefty dose of frustration were pushing him higher. ‘What happened? How did she get here?’ 

‘Please, Mr Mulder, the doctor won’t be long,’ she said with an apologetic touch to his shoulder, and suddenly dread filled him, washing away all of the previous, selfish feelings. 

Why couldn’t he go in? Why was her whole family coming? 

His eyes shot back to the little glimpse of Scully he could see, and now that he was standing still he could take more of the sight in. 

Machines and wires and… strips of cloudy tape on her eyes. A tube in her throat, pushing to fill and empty her chest in a horrifying rhythm.

He froze, ice creeping down his spine as the world began to spin. 

*

‘A.. a coma?’ Maggie Scully’s voice broke in the quiet room, a familiar pain now radiating through everything. Her son, Bill Jr kept his arm around her shoulders, staring down at his sister’s motionless body in the bed, the tension in his frame held them both up like he was made of cement.  

Mulder studied the ground, listening to every sound pulse from the machines as a numb pain settled over him. The edge of the floor tile by his left foot was chipped, and he wanted to cry. He wanted Scully to tell him what to do. 

‘Your daughter lost a tremendous amount of blood. By the time she made it to us, she was already slipping away. The induced coma was an extreme solution to stabilise her condition.’ 

The doctor’s voice was low, a rumbling secret between them all in the room, and Mulder wanted to yell just to cut through the tension. 

‘So, so she’ll come out of the coma when, wh-when..’ Maggie dropped the end of her sentence, feeling the emotions welling up. 

‘Unfortunately, we won’t know how her body is recovering for a few more days. Presently, she’s not responding as we’d hope. We’ll need to see how her body reacts, and how quickly normal brain function will return.’ 

Brain function. The words were sharp, callous, cold. Mulder wanted to vomit, and he let his eyes shut slowly as the manufactured sounds faded in and out like they were moving away. 

‘In the meantime, she has these machines doing the heavy lifting for her, and she’s not in any pain. So, as difficult as this will be for you all, there’s little we can do but wait for Dana for come back to us.’ 

Mulder reached out and let his fingers touch her hand, shocked at the cool feeling of her skin. 

Not cold, like the blood had stopped pumping, but cool, like the life was somehow forced. Blankets and machines and filters decided her temperature now, and the thought made him irrationally, desperately angry.  

He slid his fingers through hers, begging her silently to squeeze him back, to twitch, to react. 

He waited with her cool, still hand in his, waiting, waiting for the moment when she registered his touch and pulled her thumb back to press against his. He waited for her to let him know that she was ok, that even though she was sleeping now, she knew that he was there. He waited. 

His fingers prodded the skin on the back of her hand gently, feeling it glide over her delicate, beautiful bones, and something shattered in his chest. 

He wished it was him, he opened up a pit of desperate bargaining in his soul that had never been there before, and he let himself beg whatever she believed in, to trade places with her. 

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur, a murky, messy tangle of conversations that no one wanted to have. Bill barked demands, Maggie cried softly, Mulder pleaded for information and then straightened up with anger when Skinner arrived. 

‘Where is he?’ Mulder asked with a precise detachment that sent a chill through their former boss. 

‘Agent Mulder, I don’t expect any animosity between yourself and a fellow employee of the bureau. You’ve been involved in more than enough accidents and close calls of your own to point any fingers.’ Skinner’s argument was quiet, weak and pointless, but he was legally obligated to make it. ‘Mistakes happen, and-’ 

‘-Is he here?’ Mulder asked again. 

‘Stay with your partner, Mulder. You won’t help her by losing your badge.’ 

Mulder nodded, not because he agreed, but because he realised Skinner wasn’t going to tell him anything. 

‘If Scully dies, he dies,’ Mulder said flatly, his eyes glazing over as he stared down at her lifeless body, weighed down by blankets, white as a ghost. 

Skinner sighed heavily and skimmed his hand over his head, but didn’t argue. 

#42, 2630 Hegal Place - 11:30PM

Mulder pressed the door shut behind himself, suddenly afraid to be alone with the silence. He was afraid to be in a room that didn’t faithfully beep with signs of her life or the sounds of the machines doing their jobs. He was alone in a room that creaked and sighed with his isolation. 

His breath came quickly as he looked around, refusing to even turn on the lights. He stumbled forward a few paces before leaning against the doorframe with a furious grip and taking stock once again. 

Shallow, even breaths, he tried to force himself to take, tensing his jaw and flaring his nostrils. 

His legs trembled and he let himself slide to the ground where he belonged, feeling a sudden wave of grief crash over him, stealing the air from his lungs. 

‘Mulder?!’ Scully gasped from somewhere in the room. He felt her presence moving, reacting to him as though she were real. ‘What’s wrong?’ 

It stung, it more than stung, it was sharp and dull and heavy and wrong. He wanted to curl deeper into himself and finally give up. He’d spent more than two decades chasing after his sister, but he wasn’t strong enough to take another step without Scully. 

Her fingers set to work, diligent and skilled and nearly comforting as they searched his head for wounds, like the real, living partner he relied on would have. His face screwed up tighter in agony, the delusion too cruel.

Why would his mind do this to him? He pushed her away, groaning with despair, tears wet and heavy on his cheeks and between his fingers and on his shirt and-

‘Mulder, talk to me!’ she demanded, grasping at him again. 

Her skin felt temporary, distant, like her touch was already a memory that held no weight or truth. He couldn’t stand it, the feel of her transparent fingers working on him, reminding him of where she lay.

He choked out a louder, wet sob, covering his face with both of his hands, willing the apparition away. 

‘Mulder, you’re scaring me,’ she said firmly, her voice as strong and real as ever, her impossible hands trying to peel his away from his face but her touch was weak and tingling, ‘talk to me!’ 

A sick swirling panic began to set in then as he wondered if this is what life would be like from now on - haunted by the both of them? Would they come to him at night and demand that he look at them? Would they take it in turns? One night Samantha begs him to help her, screaming out his given name, and the next, Scully kneels by his side and forces him to look into bright blue eyes that no longer open.  

No.

If Scully dies in that bed, he won’t do it. He isn’t strong enough to keep on searching, to keep on trying. He knows it, he’s not blind enough to ignore that he’s nothing without her. 

If Scully dies in that bed, he’ll have no choice but to follow her.

He heard the clatter of her footsteps as she made her way around the apartment with hurried breath. Little taps from her heeled boots, he knew the sound. When she wore her pumps, the sound was sharper. This was the sound of those little brown leather ankle boots she wore when the days were long because the heel was wider and more comfortable. 

His heart seized as he wondered why he let himself know her so well, to study her for years until her shoes became familiar background noise. Why had he learnt her from afar when she had been right there, within reach? 

He could not forgive himself, and the fingers on his face became claws, digging into his temples and eyebrows until there would be marks. 

‘Mulder, if you’re not going to-’

A sudden gasp from her across the room made him finally still and look up at her through trembling hands. 

She was standing above his desk, staring at her own skin, turning her hand over slowly, curiously. Her cheeks were red with stress, but the rest of her was still pale as porcelain, her eyes wide. 

He was allowed a momentary reprieve from the guilt and fear and horror. 

‘Sc-scully?’ He sniffed, watching her carefully.

With a nervous glance at him, she lowered her hand to his phone in its cradle and slowly slid through it. Through it, her skin disappearing into the plastic with a tremble before reappearing on the other side. 

She was rendered silent, and suddenly the air in the room shifted. Somehow, he knew he was looking at something completely wrong. 

He stood slowly, still watching her, watch her own hand and wiggling her delicate fingers in the air in disbelief. 

His pulse thundered in his ears, threatening to send him crashing to the ground. He stared at her, the familiar but impossible body of his partner, here to taunt him.

He wanted to wrap his arms around her, to hold her and thank her and beg her and smell her. But she wasn’t real. The real Scully was across town wrapped in wires and hopelessness.

He swallowed, wondering why the hell he was even entertaining this delusion. 

He screwed his eyes shut and counted three breaths. 

Open. She was still there, staring at him with impatient frustration.

Shut. Three breaths and a swimming mind. Had he finally lost it? 

Open. She was closer now, and she looked so real he almost lunged for her.

‘Scully..’

‘Mulder, what the hell is going on?’ Her voice cracked around the question, and her bottom lip trembled.

She looked so frightened and the room seemed to fall off its axis, the floor feeling spongy and unstable. 

He chewed the inside of his cheek in lieu of answering her. 

She ran her hands across her face quickly and turned to pace the room, her fingers pulsing into fists nervously. She reached his bedroom door and then her hand hovered above the handle.

He was frozen, watching the strange scene and feeling numbness creeping into his body.

After a deep breath, she reached forward and her fingers closed around themselves, unable to grasp the metal she seemed to slip through. Nothing was solid or tangible and she felt all of the blood drain from her body. 

A shuddering, panicked breath forced its way from her chest. She turned to face him and the look they shared was heavy with fear. 

He was watching the woman he knew to be in a coma, storm around his room and fail to hold onto anything. There was frustration boiling in her expression, like when his theories rattled on too long in any of their dingy motel rooms, or when he took off sprinting into the darkness and she was forced to follow. 

‘W-wait a second,’ she stuttered, stepping suddenly towards him. Her hand darted out to his wrist and turned his palm up. ‘I can touch you.’ She gasped, her fingers finally brushing against something solid, feeling it tug her towards reality.