Impossible
Disclaimer: I do not own the show, nor do I own the characters. I stake claim to the idea of the story, however.
Major Spoilers for Milagro
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She clung to him desperately, her breath coming with the short, painful heaves of her blood stained chest. Sobs escaped her throat, with no effort to be hidden, and he clung back silently, holding her closely to him. He had come so close, too close, to losing her, and it frightened him. In that moment, the thought of losing her had been more terrifying than losing his sister, his father, and the numerous near-death experiences he had been through put together. Which, somehow, scared him further.
He hadn't called an ambulance, but one showed up shortly after he found her, lying still on the floor of her apartment. She was still gasping for air, choking back sobs, and clinging to him when the EMT's rushed into the apartment, shouting at him that he would have to move away from her. They had work to do. He let go, reluctantly, but hoovered just behind the men and women, watching their every move.
Later that night, after she had been loaded into the ambulance, and he had argued with the same EMT to ride along, her hand firmly grasped in his, he found himself in her hospital room. The blood was absent from her now, but still stained his clothes, as he continued to declare to anyone who tried to make him leave that he was not going anywhere. Not even for five minutes to change into the clothes that Byers had brought him when the Lone Gunmen had dropped by two hours prior. She had been asleep then.
Skinner had also come by to check on her. That was a little more than an hour before, and she had been sleeping then, as well. Taking her unconsciousness as an advantage, the man took the time to inform Mulder that Padgett had been found a few hours before, dead and holding his heart in his hand, the furnace he had destroyed his book in burning hot beside him. For a brief moment, he was glad, this man had caused pain to his closest friend, he wasn't worthy of living. But then, numbness set in. How many people had he come in contact with wound up dead?
The assistant director left not long after that, with orders to call him as soon as she finally woke up. The doctors said that wouldn't happen for hours, due to the drugs she had been given. Still sobbing and clinging to him when she had been brought in, they had been forced to do something to calm her down, for her own safety. She was a doctor, she would understand, and she would be thankful.
His chair was as close to the hospital bed as possible, and he was reminded of the many times before, when he had been so close to losing her. He found it hard to believe that there had ever been a time where he had felt a stronger fear than he had been introduced to only four hours prior, but if it were possible, he was sure her cancer had been it. Reaching out instinctively, his hand rested atop hers. He knew she needed her rest, but he vainly hoped that she would wake at the touch and relinquish his fears. Or, at the very least, open her eyes and acknowledge his presence.
When neither happened, he moved his hand from hers, and leaned forward to rest his forehead on a bare spot on the bed, next to her side. He was so tired, emotionally and physically exhausted, but he wouldn't allow himself any rest until he was certain that she would be alright. Which meant, waiting up until she woke. It was a small sacrifice, and he was more than willing to make it. Sleep would come later. Right now, she was the only thing that he was worried about.
He let out a long, ragged sigh, blinking hard to hold back the tears that had been stinging at his eyelids for the past four hours, going on five. Trying to think of anything to get the situation at hand off of his mind, he went back over the events of the case, more focused on the deceased's obsession with his partner than anything else. That, too, had scared him, to a point. Mostly, he had been furious with the man for putting her in the awkward situations he had, and perhaps even a little jealous at the strange effect he had on her. The uncanny ability to frighten her and draw her in at the same time.
But, obviously, she hadn't been as fascinated with him as he had been with her. Padgett himself had said so. Which was yet another thing that had Mulder confused. What had he meant?
"I made a mistake myself," Padgett confessed, glancing back in forth between the two partners.
"What's that, Mr. Padgett?" Mulder had asked of him, as Padgett's gaze settled on Scully.
"In my book I'd written that Agent Scully falls in love," he explained, "but that's obviously impossible." Looking back at Mulder, what appeared to be envy in his eyes, "Agent Scully is already in love."
Mulder had already come to the conclusion that there was no way Padgett had been indicating that Scully was in love with him, and the statement had been nagging at him ever since he had said it. But, with the recent events, it had been pushed from his mind, his concern for the person in question more important than the musings of a struggling author. But now, the question lingered in his mind. Could Padgett have been talking about him?
He hadn't even realized that his hands were on the hospital bed, until he felt smooth skin against his rough knuckles, and then a hand tighten around his. He looked up, his eyes meeting hers, sleepy and barely open. She smiled, albeit tiredly, and all at once his fears vanished. She was here, she was awake, and even though at the moment she was probably a little worse for the wear, she was going to be alright. And it didn't matter what Padgett might have thought, she was alive and that was all that mattered to him.
"Hey," he greeted, his voice less than a whisper.
"Hey," she replied, holding onto his hand firmly. Her eyes fell on his blood stained shirt and she frowned, pain flashing across her eyes at the memory of what had happened. "Are you...?"
"I'm fine," he assured her. "It's not my blood."
She looked a little sheepish, no doubt coming to the conclusion that if the liquid dried onto his clothing wasn't his, it must have been hers. "How long have you–"
"I never left," he told her, knowing what she was going to ask before she even finished her sentence. "Byers, Frohike, and Langley, plus Skinner send their best."
"Am I ok?" she wanted to know, her voice cracking at the possibility that something could be wrong with her.
"Yeah," he promised her, "a few bumps and bruises, but you're gonna be just fine."
A sigh escaped, her breath quaking from her fears, "When can I leave?"
"Around lunch time," he said, "it's just around two in the morning now."
Looking around the room, she found a clock on the wall, and frowned. "You won't leave, will you?"
"Of course not," he told her, a bit shocked that she had even entertained the idea that he would. "I'll stay as long as I'm welcomed."
"Good," she replied, the grip she had on his hand still not giving up. She allowed her eyelids to drift closed again, and with a sigh settled into sleep, her own exhaustion taking over. It had been an extremely rough day on her, and nobody would deny that, and although she was in dire need of human comfort, her need for rest was primordial, and she couldn't ignore it. Besides, he had promised that he would be there in the morning, and more than anything, she trusted that.
In her sleep, her hold on his hand relaxed, to where it was merely laying atop his own. He didn't move it, for fear of waking her again, and instead leaned forward once more to rest his head on the bed. She was okay, and now that he knew it, he too could allow sleep to take over. As he drifted off, the words Padgett had spoken lingered in his mind, playing over and over like a broken record.
"In my book, I'd written that Agent Scully falls in love. But that's obviously impossible... Agent Scully is already in love."
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A/N: Well... I'm sorry if that sucked. I wrote it at like 6 in the morning, after watching Milagro, so... I was a bit sleep deprived, but sometimes that turns out as a good thing. Anyway, let me know what you thought of it. It's kind of pointless, but I always hated the way that episode ended.
Btw, I used to write storys for X-files under the username 'daydr3am3r' but there were complications with the name, and the 3's were eliminated, so I had to change names. Just thought I'd throw that in here.