You're sitting in a cold, white room
You're pacing in a cold, white room. There are a few other people there, but they all have the same expressions of fear and worry as you, and clearly aren't in the mood for friend-making. Besides, you couldn't anyway. You shiver and pull your black coat tighter around your body. Thank god you wore the long one today; it reaches down to your knees and keeps more of you warm. Does this place ever turn off the air-conditioning? It's winter, for crying out loud.
"Are you absolutely sure you don't want me to drive?"
"You may be male, but that does NOT make you more adept at coping with sleep depravation. I am not tired, because I slept while you were driving. I would suggest you do the same."
"What, sleep while I'm driving?"
You slap him gently.
"I'm not even going to grace that comment with a response."
He smiles knowingly, then leans his seat back, settles in to it, and closes his eyes. A few minutes pass, and he starts to snore, so you stop paying attention to him and focus on the road. But it's too late.
As you reach an intersection, a car roars around the corner, the headlights blinding and confusing you. There is the sudden screech of tearing metal, a loud crash, and all fades away into blackness.
It's your fault; it's your entire fault. If you'd been paying attention to the road, nothing would have happened, you wouldn't have crashed. You wouldn't be here now. The other driver had been drunk, but he survived with nothing but a few scratches. Lucky him. Your car is a complete disaster, and the right-hand side doesn't even exist anymore. You can't believe your thinking about that right now.
You open your eyes slowly. You lay there on the ground, outside your car, feeling nothing. You frown slightly. Isn't this supposed to hurt a hell of a lot more? Isn't it supposed to hurt at all?
You sit up as though in a trance. You seem to float to your feet, and turn to look at the car. Or what's left of it.
Sitting forlornly in front of you is a large pile of shredded metal mixed with small strips of rubber, with little shards of glass embedded in every soft surface.
Including him.
Two hours pass, and you can't take it anymore, you have to know. You race down the corridor, your pale skin glowing almost transparent in the bright white hospital lights, trying to reach him. You glance through every clear plastic window on every blindingly white door on the way, and then suddenly halt your reckless rampage. Lying there, unconscious, covered in scars and bandages, separated from you merely by a smudged piece of plastic and a simple wooden door, is him. He is wearing one of the hospital's flimsy nightgowns, and is surrounded by doctors. They have finished operating. One of the doctors looks up and speaks quietly.
"He'll be fine. But his poor friend…"
He looks straight at you. A look of heartbreak and anguish fills his eyes as he understands. Tears start to fall gently and gracefully down your flickering cheeks as you start to fade away. You smile sadly before slowly backing away, towards the light.
"I love you, Mulder."
"I love you too, Scully."