TW: panic attack (in the past)
It was still dark when she awoke. She came to consciousness slowly, rising from the thick waters of sleep as if she'd been slumbering for the winter. The edges of her mind were fuzzy, and an ache had settled behind her eyes. Then she remembered, and wished she hadn't.
Never in her life had she been so frightened. Even when confronted by the reality of the life her brothers wanted, the vicious cruelty of her intended husband, or the men who wanted to rape her on her lonesome journey. Despite the terror of those situations, she'd only thought about what she should do, not how she should feel about it. Fear was not practical when she needed to survive.
Somehow, all of the fear she was supposed to feel back then came back a hundredfold. After the fear imprisoned her, her thoughts shifted, and all she could think about was how she was surely going to die: her racing heart, her struggle to breathe, and the waves of nausea.
Her eyes adjusted to the darkness in her room, and the memories brought her mind into sharp focus. She realized she was not alone.
Mulder.
He sat in a chair by the door, tipped back precariously, his long legs splayed out in front of him. His head hung back, throat exposed, and soft snores resonated from his open mouth.
Warmth spread outward from the center of her chest as she remembered something else. He'd been there the whole time. Even when she felt the worst, that she would choke on the air she gasped into her lungs, he was there, distant but tethering her to the ground.
"Mulder?"
He awoke instantly, nearly falling as the chair tipped back. "Dana?"
Rising up on an elbow, she smiled and dipped her head. "You stayed."
"Didn't feel right to leave you after..." he paused. "How are you?"
"I'm fine," she said. "I don't know what happened. I've… never had that happen to me before."
He leaned towards her, elbows on his knees.
"I might have some idea." He sagged forwards in the chair, his head hung low, shoulders slumped. "My mother used to have… attacks like you had. And I saw it in some of the girls, when I brought them here."
Her heart thumped. "It will happen again?"
"I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "With my mother it was different. With the girls, I think it was that they could finally live, they'd escaped their hells, they didn't have to just focus on living day to day. Perhaps it is more like that for you?"
She sighed. The idea of having another one of those attacks terrified her, but she could not add one more worry to the shadows of uncertainty that surrounded her future. So, she locked the idea away, in the place where so much now resided.
Mulder stood up and took the chair he'd been sitting on back to her table. When he made for the door, placing his hat over his head, she called for him.
"Don't leave."
He turned, removing his hand from the lock.
"Can you get me some water?" she asked. "And sit beside me?"
He paused. It wasn't too long ago that he'd been in her bedroom, late at night, telling her stories. Back then, what seemed forever ago, he hadn't been shy or awkward, as she sensed he was now. They weren't on the cusp of making love, back then. At least she hoped they were on the edge of it. She raised the quilt to her chin, hoping he'd see it as a compromise.
"Please," she said. It was up to him to decide when things would move forward, with his rules and self-doubt. Tonight, though, she just wanted him close, to feel his warmth next to her, and to talk. "I want to tell you some things. About why I was afraid. And… I don't want you to leave."
Moving to her vanity, he got her a glass of water and brought it to her. He sat on the very edge of the bed, looking anywhere except at her face, her bare shoulders.
"Dana, I… I did not look," he said. "Last night I mean. In, uh... in case you weren't sure."
She placed her hand on his, grasping his fingers and squeezing. "I know."
He looked at her then, and he was close enough that she could see the heat in his eyes. "But I wanted to."
She smiled, grasping his arm and pulling him near. "Closer."
Kicking off his boots, he obliged, sitting atop the bedclothes next to her. She leaned against him, laying her arm across his chest. Sighing contentedly, she closed her eyes and breathed in his scent.
He was tense beside her, unmoving.
"Dana-"
"I am getting to it," she interrupted. "I am just getting comfortable."
He chucked, his chest rumbling against her cheek. Maneuvering his hand around her back, he started combing his fingers through her hair, gently untangling the knots that had formed over night. She hummed at his touch and nearly fell asleep again.
"Dana," he said, tapping her shoulder. His hands were warm, he was warm. She snuggled closer.
"Hmm… yeah," she said, her voice muffled as she pressed her mouth into his side.
"As much as I don't mind being your pillow, you were going to tell me a story," he said.
"Mmm, okay." She smiled, sitting up slightly so she could clear her head. "The first time I'd met my… intended fiancé… it was meant to scare me. He'd just murdered someone, as I sat in the next room, hearing the screams, seeing the blood coating his arms as he wiped them off."
"Jesus." Mulder rubbed his hand over her arm as she travelled back to her final days in New York. She recalled, with perfect clarity, the strange contrast between his violent brutality and his projected civility and wealth - the sharp knife laid on the large expensive desk, blood stains and brocaded curtains, red and gold.
"He's a very powerful man, used to getting what he wants. I left immediately, carrying only what I could manage," she said. "And you know how my travel here went."
He kissed the top of her head and wrapped his other arm around her.
"This notice. It is not the first. I thought I'd travelled far enough… but I fear that nowhere would escape his reach."
"Why is he so persistent?"
"His pride, the insult I gave him by not lying down and accepting my fate. And my brothers, I am sure. They wish to be in his good graces, and offered to look for me, to escape his wrath themselves," she said. Her heart beat steadily, her breathing even. Was it the man enfolding her in his arms, or the release from her attack that afforded her the calm she now felt?
Leaning up to look at him, she pressed her hand to the middle of his chest. "I do not fear for myself. Only for those that I have unwittingly endangered just because of their generosity. You, Monica, the people here. Even the doc doesn't deserve his fate, if he somehow makes the connection, and tries to do the right thing by letting my family know where I am."
She closed her eyes and laid back down on him. His arms surrounded her as she spoke.
"You told me just the other day that my name would be written on every page of your story until the last," she said, her throat suddenly thick with emotion at the memory of his earnest face when he'd said those words to her.
"I meant it."
"I know you did," she said, grasping his hand and kissing his palm. "But as for myself, it is not so easy. I feel stuck, unable to turn the page and live the rest of my life. It is so easy for me to imagine that everything will go wrong, that our futures will be torn from us."
"Dana," he sighed, smoothing down her hair.
"I don't want to believe it. I try not to. But everything I have seen has shown me otherwise. This place has been my refuge, my last hope. And now it is gone," she said, feeling the pressure of tears behind her eyes. She bit her lip, willed the tears away, and continued. "I am sorry for bringing this upon you."
Mulder grasped her face, making her look at him. He was anguished, but determined.
"Don't you ever apologize for that," he said, clenching his jaw. "Even if the world ended tomorrow it would be worth it."
"You have always been one for drama," she teased, but deep down she knew it to be the truth.
"It won't end, though. There must be something we can do." His eyes flashed with resolve as his mind worked through all of the possibilities. She knew if there was something she hadn't thought of, he would think of it. Of all the ways they seemed to not fit together, she saw more and more that it was the opposite. Her practicality to his eccentricity. Her reality to his dreams. He brought her forward, and she brought him to the ground.
The moment he thought of something a grin spreading across his face. "Marry me."
She stared at him, thinking she hadn't heard him clearly.
"Not just because he can't have you if you're married, but because I want to," he said, speaking quickly. "Not that you have to marry me, if you don't want to. Or-"
"Mulder," she interrupted, placing a finger on his lips, and struggling to hide her dismay at his idea. She felt chains wrapping around her, constricting her, and she had to force herself to lean her forehead against him, to breathe deeply, and calm herself. She didn't know until now, but loving him was not enough. Knowing he was different than all those other men was not enough. She knew he would not understand her hesitation.
"I wasn't making sense," he continued, his voice thick, his eyes no longer shining with excitement. He clutched onto her tightly. "Forget my question."
"Mr. Boyle would have no issue marrying a widow. Nor would my brothers have any hesitation at making me one," she said, choosing her words carefully. "And because of the notice, I cannot leave this place, or let anyone else know my face."
He nodded, his mouth pressed to the top of her head. "It was a foolish idea."
"You are trying to help," she said. "But I don't think there is a choice, except to wait to see what happens. Tomorrow I will tell Monica; I should have told her many months ago."
He sighed and buried his face into her neck, kissing her in that place underneath her ear that made her heart flutter. She became conscious of the thin material of her chemise, knowing that if he pulled away and looked down, there would be nothing to preserve her modesty. A fleeting thought of lying next to him, nothing between them but their skin, caused a flush to crawl across her cheeks. The remnants of her emotional release the previous night still clung to her like cobwebs, muddling her mind, so the idea vanished as quickly as it appeared. She simply clung to him, thankful for this moment, of having known him, even if their future was destined to be cut short.
"We'll think of something, or deal with anything that comes at us," Mulder whispered. "I can't believe God or fate would bring us together for no reason. And, Dana?"
"Hmm?" she said, her eyelids heavy.
"You're always my first choice to watch my back."
"Wash?" she giggled.
"That too."
She smiled softly, and squeezed his hand. The pounding in her head had receded slightly, but she was still exhausted. Lying snugly against him, she was lulled into a dreamless sleep by the even rise and fall of his chest, his warm solidity pressed close against her, and the gentle caress of his hand along her back.