Disclaimer: The X-Files was created and therefore is owned by Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. I am using these characters without permission. No copyright infringement is intended.
***
She was so tired. Exhausted even.
She couldn't remember the last time that she had slept through the entire night. Or the last time she hadn't awoken to the image of that hand piercing her chest; sensing the pain, the quite literal heart-wrench.
Nor could she forget the fear that she had felt, lying on Mulder's apartment floor, her blood-stained shirt sticking uncomfortably to her chest where she swore she could feel the gaping wound. She had thought that it was the end; part of her, if she was truthful with herself, had wished that it was. The pain that she knew she was feeling (even now when she understands that it was never real) had been so powerful.
And then she remembered what it was like to have Mulder's arms around her, supporting her and lifting her from the floor into his warm and comforting embrace. Every time she woke, drenched in sweat, with images of the story man's hand deep in her chest still terrifyingly clear, she longed for Mulder's arms to be close by, ready to hold her.
Sometimes, irrationally, she felt like they should be and when she realised they weren't, part of her couldn't understand why. She reasoned that she only felt that way because she was still half sleep in those moments of assumed irrationality.
***
Jolted out of sleep, thrown into a sitting position on her bed, initially she didn't know what had woken her. And then her overly visual mind provided the stimulus for her interrupted slumber.
She was back on Mulder's floor, feeling every groove of his hardwood floor; wondering how she could feel that when there was a hand so far in her chest that he should have been able to feel the floor through her skin.
Before she could compute her action, she had picked up the phone from her bedside table and dialled her partner's number.
"What's wrong?" She was too shocked to hear his voice to realise that he already knew, without introduction, that it was her.
"I...sorry, did I wake you?" she hesitated, she never knew how to react to speaking to Mulder at such a traditionally unsociable hour.
"What's wrong?" he repeated, slightly quieter, more comforting than worried now that he had heard her voice.
"Bad dream" she said simply, not giving too much away but knowing that it was all the explanation he needed; understanding without the need for words had never been a problem for them.
"Do you want me to come over?"
She started to decline his offer, as she always did but then she looked around her room, fore-seeing the hours that she would now spend awake in fear of a return to her nightmare.
"Please, if you don't mind"
"I'll be over in half an hour. Hang tight" No need to re-assure her that he wanted to come and be with her. He would always come to her if she needed him; if she ever admitted to that desire.
***
"Hey"
"Hey" She felt slightly sheepish now at asking him to come over, like she was some teenage girl with nightmares who called on her parents to check under the bed for monsters. Part of her regretted the request.
Then she felt a slight tightening, her heart thudding in her chest, and she let go of her regret.
"Padgett's guy?"
She nodded, not wanting to put words to her nightmares. She dropped her head, suddenly finding her floorboards the most interesting thing in the world; afraid that she might seem weak if she admitted to her mind's incessant re-living of what had happened only a couple of days before.
Suddenly she saw Mulder's shoes come into view so she lifted her head slightly, her eyes coming to rest on his chest. She moved forward, her head almost touching his upper torso.
Mulder's arms wrapped around her back, slowly pulling her forward into his tight embrace.
She let him take her; she was too tired, too exhausted, to resist his attempts at comfort.
It was all she needed. Slowly her strength faded, her determination after the initial incident not to cry suddenly seemed too difficult to maintain. The first tears fell from her eyes, the sobs that she had kept at bay swiftly overtook her small frame and she grabbed more of Mulder's shirt, pulling him even further into her body. She reached up on her toes and moved her arms from behind his back to his neck, burying her face in the crease between his shoulder and his head.
Slowly, she felt her feet leaving the ground and realised that he was lifting her into his arms, ever so gently moving her body to sit horizontally across his torso. She kept her face hidden in his shirt, not ready to let him see her tear stained face.
After what seemed like forever, she felt herself being lowered onto her bed, her Egyptian cotton bedspread rubbing smoothly over her cheek.
He began to let her go, to release his grip on her. Instinctively, unintentionally, she pulled him back towards her; desperately seeking to remain within his embrace.
"Okay, okay, I'm here" he whispered into her ear.
"Stay" She wasn't sure whether she had meant it to sound like a demand or a question. At this stage, she wasn't sure that she cared about the difference.
She didn't want to think too much about what it meant if he did stay.
"Okay"
"Thank-you" She moved over on the bed, simultaneously lifting the covers and moving under them. She felt the bed dip behind her, heard Mulder slip his shoes off and turn to lie down next to her.
She moved her body back towards him, leaving him to move the remaining distance, not wishing to make the final move; to be the one to cross the boundary.
Finally, his arm encircled her waist and she felt his chest slowly press against her back.
She had never felt more safe, or more protected. Part of her wished that he would never leave; the other part knew that this display of devoted comfort would forever change the significance of every further embrace.
In the silence of her room and with Mulder's arms securely around her, lulling her into a sleep that she knew would be nightmare free, she chose not to dwell on those implications. Instead, she sought the comfort of rest next to the man whose arms were never really ever that far way.
***