Chapter Text
London, September 2012 — Tuesday Evening
Stella Gibson was pissed and in a lot of pain. If she were being honest with herself, she was feeling a lot of things at the moment, but she had decided to unceremoniously push everything else away in favor of anger. She was sitting in a hospital bed waiting to be examined by a doctor and memories of other hospital visits were threatening to encroach from the edges of her mind. She was having a hard time keeping them out, feeling the beginnings of panic, and the only thing providing a distraction was her growing frustration.
Stella felt like she’d been waiting forever. If she’d had it her way, she would have been at home in her bathtub with a glass of wine, but new rules at work required any officer injured on the job to receive medical attention when there was a head injury. Just my luck, she thought. She was considering leaving, but then remembered she didn’t have her car. She’d convinced someone at the scene to drive her to the hospital so that she didn’t have to take the humiliating ride in the ambulance. She was thinking about how she wasn’t too keen on the idea of a taxi when the curtain around her bed finally opened.
“Stella Gibson?” the doctor asked as she walked toward the bed, focusing on a clipboard in front of her that Stella reasoned was probably her medical chart.
“Yes,” Stella responded, trying and failing to hide the annoyance she was feeling.
The doctor looked up and smiled tightly. “Doctor Dana Scully,” she said, offering a hand to shake.
Stella shook the hand and smiled back with a hint of an apology, all of her feelings quickly doused by the arrival of the stunning woman before her. Dana Scully had long red hair that fell in waves down her back, intensely blue eyes, and Stella calculated they were about the same height. She wore a doctor’s coat over a pencil skirt and cotton blouse, and had on heels that gave her an extra seven centimeters. Suddenly, Stella’s frustration was no longer the distraction.
“So, what happened to your head Stella?” Scully asked, looking back down at the clipboard.
“I hit it. On the ground,” she supplied, the question pulling her back to reality. Stella didn’t really want to get into the details of the incident that forced this visit, still a little embarrassed by it.
Scully looked up at her and raised her eyebrow, indicating she expected at least a few additional pieces of information.
“I’m a detective. I was participating in the arrest of a suspect. When I landed on the ground, my head hit pavement,” Stella provided. She looked down and started fidgeting with the melted ice pack in her hands as the anxiety returned.
“Okay,” Scully said. She put the clipboard down on the end of the bed and slipped her hands into the pockets of her white coat. “What is your level of pain?”
Stella shook her head and immediately regretted the action, the throb in her head becoming more pronounced. “I’m fine really, I’m only here because I’m required to get an all-clear for work.”
“Mmhmmm,” mumbled the doctor.
She sat down on the stool next to the bed and rolled closer as she leaned in to catch Stella’s eyes. “Listen Stella, one truism in life is that doctors and cops make horrible patients. I am a shining example of that, you can ask anyone. Sadly for you, that means that I’m incredibly good at spotting someone who is not going to be a very good patient. So, let me make it clear that any questions I ask you are necessary to me clearing you for duty.”
Scully paused to allow Stella to absorb her words.
Surprisingly, Scully’s assertiveness wasn’t off-putting. It came across as a soft reckoning, as if Scully was telling Stella that they are equals here and offering a certainty of mutual respect and control. She searched Scully’s face and found only honesty, her eyes revealing that she did know all too well what the mind of a law enforcement officer was like. Stella thought she saw memories there, too, like Scully was thinking about all-too-frustrating times that she had faced such resistance in the past.
A hint of a smile twitched at the corner of Stella’s lips.
Appeased, Scully continued, “Let’s try again: how’s the pain?”
“Seven, worse if I move my head.”
“Can you describe it?”
“Throbbing.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
Scully stood, stepping to close the distance between them. She lifted her hands to examine Stella’s head and Stella flinched and looked away, her anxiety flaring along with an instinct to protect herself from another’s touch. In an instant, Scully put her hands back in her pockets and stepped away.
Scully paused and waited for Stella to look at her. When she had her attention, she explained, “I’m going to feel around the back of your head to examine your skull for any damage. We’ll need to do scans as well, but a physical examination should give me a pretty definitive idea right now of your condition.”
Stella held eye contact with Scully and considered her options. She didn’t want to be touched; this incident with the suspect had brought up still-fresh memories from Belfast that had her on edge. But again, something in Scully’s eyes told Stella she could be trusted, that she would be gentle and Stella could tell her to stop at any time.
“Okay,” Stella said softly.
Scully stepped back toward Stella and again raised her hands to Stella’s head, slower this time. She softly felt around Stella’s skull until she located a bump. She pressed softly, pausing her hands when she heard Stella hiss in pain and felt Stella’s hand come up to grab her wrist. Scully let a few seconds pass but did not remove her hands. After a breath, Stella dropped her hand from Scully’s wrist and allowed her to continue.
When Scully finished, she pulled a penlight out of her jacket pocket. “Can you look forward for me?” Scully then directed Stella through a series of neurological and cognitive questions, testing her sensory responses, balance, coordination, reflexes, and memory. When those were done, the doctor sat back down on the stool.
“Okay, I’m not seeing any signs of a concussion. Like I said, we’ll need to do a scan to be sure of that before I can sign off on anything. My examination of your skull doesn’t indicate to me that you have any bone damage,” Scully told her, picking up the clipboard off of the bed. “I’ll put in for a scan immediately, but they’re backed up in radiology. Unfortunately, it’s going to be a bit of a wait.”
Stella sighed at what she had already expected—more waiting. “Can I ask you a question then, Dr. Scully?”
Scully nodded, her attention on Stella’s chart as she made some notations.
“You mentioned you know how us law enforcement types are. Do you encounter a lot of cops in the emergency room?”
“A fair amount, yes,” Scully confirmed.
“But that’s not the only reason why you know?” Stella ventured. The way Scully had brought up the subject made Stella think she has family in law enforcement, possibly a father or brother, maybe even a husband.
Scully froze and looked up, seeming to consider whether to offer this piece of herself.
“I used to work for the FBI. I quit about eight years ago,” Scully said, turning her attention back to Stella’s chart and closing herself off from further conversation.
Stella’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. She certainly hadn’t expected that.
Nor had she expected the deluge of emotions that crossed Scully’s face with it. They were subtle, a testament to the doctor’s lifetime of experience controlling her emotions in the presence of others, but there was pain there. Stella knew that there was a story behind that admission, probably many, but she also knew better than to push.
Relief settled on Scully’s face when Stella didn’t ask another question, and the doctor placed a hand softly on Stella’s arm as a silent thank you. “I’ll be around to check on you, make sure you’re managing the pain alright.”
With that, Stella was alone again.
***
Scully sat at the nurses’ station notating a recently discharged patient’s chart. Her mind had been on Stella Gibson since she left her, or rather, on the memories that Stella had brought to the front of Scully’s mind. Scully hadn’t repressed memories of her time with the FBI, but she had had little cause to reminisce about that time in her life since moving to London eight years ago. She felt herself looking back at that part of her past with an odd detachment now; it seemed like another life.
“Dr. Scully?” A voice pulled her from her thoughts. “Stella Gibson’s medical history.”
“Thank you,” Scully replied, taking the files from a nurse named Kate.
Scully moved the chart aside and opened the file. She’d pulled the records because she wanted to be sure that Stella hadn’t experienced any other recent head injuries. She scanned a few pages before she came upon some scanned documents that appeared to be from a hospital in Ireland.
She read slowly through the emergency room intake report, feelings of disbelief and sadness washing over her. There was a detailed account of the attack Stella had survived in Belfast, one by a dangerously volatile suspect of a case she had been working. Also in the file were photographs of Stella’s injuries to her left eyebrow and cheek, a scan of her chest that showed a few broken ribs, and photos of the significant bruising along her abdomen.
As Scully learned more about Stella, she had seen herself—the remnants of trauma, a demanding job that all too often ended at the hospital, a woman trying to overcome the pitfalls of working in a man’s world. She had felt a kinship between them, one woven of mutual experience and understanding. It was the only reason she had told Stella about the FBI, although she’d immediately felt anxious about revealing the information after she said it. This report validated what she’d felt.
Scully closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. Already at the forefront of her mind, echoes of her own experience rose to haunt her, flashes of Donnie Pfaster coming at her in his childhood home and then again in her apartment. The earlier sense of detachment was gone, and Scully felt herself fighting to control the fear that had suddenly engulfed her. She forced herself to open her eyes and look around, grounding herself by identifying objects near her.
Her thoughts moved back to Stella. She skimmed the remainder of her file, noticing a few other hospital visits from on-the-job injuries, but none to Stella’s head. According to the records, she hadn’t been to the hospital or to any doctor since the incident in Belfast. She has got to be nervous right now, Scully thought. She knew she would be.
She turned to Kate. “Has anyone administered the medication I ordered for Stella Gibson?” Scully asked.
“That was my next stop,” Kate replied.
“Let me,” Scully said.
Kate threw her a questioning look in response. Doctors didn’t normally deliver medications to the patients. Nonetheless, she handed Scully a tray with the medication and a water pitcher with cups.
Scully paused for a moment to be sure her own memories were locked away. Never bring your own trauma into a room with a patient. She reminded herself that Stella also didn’t want her pity, already knowing Stella was the type of woman who would shun such an emotion. Not unlike me.
As an afterthought, she grabbed another ice pack and added a second medication to the tray before heading to Stella’s bed.
***
Stella jumped slightly when the curtain opened, pulling herself out of a spiral of anxious thoughts. She looked up and smiled lightly, surprised to see Dr. Scully back so soon.
Scully smiled back at her. “Hey.”
“Dr. Scully,” Stella said.
“You can call me Scully.”
Confusion crossed Stella’s face.
“Or…Dana,” Scully amended. She wasn’t really sure why she said Scully. Maybe it was because Stella was law enforcement. Everybody at the FBI had known her by her last name, which caused an unintentional but sometimes welcome separation between her personal and professional worlds. At least until Mulder, she thought.
Stella’s mouth quirked with amusement. “Dana, then,” she said.
Scully set the the tray on the table next to the bed and picked up one of the medicine cups. She handed Stella the pills and poured her a cup of water.
“Ibuprofen,” Scully said, sensing the question from Stella. After Stella swallowed the pills, Scully handed her the ice pack and watched her for a moment. She had seen signs of anxiety earlier, but they seemed to ebb and flow.
Stella looked to the tray, noticing a second medication cup. “And that?” she asked, pointing at it.
“A sedative,” replied Scully. She sat down on the stool next to the bed.
Stella’s body language became guarded and she looked away. “I don’t want that.”
“You don’t have to take it. I brought it just in case,” Scully replied.
Stella sat silently for a moment. She felt the anxiety creep back in, but the thought of losing control to a sedative was worse; it was out of the question. She didn’t like the idea of feeling more vulnerable in this environment. Her breathing started to quicken, and she closed her eyes to fight a swell of tears.
Scully placed a hand on Stella’s wrist, squeezing it to pull her attention back to reality. She didn’t know where Stella’s mind was going, but she knew it would be unproductive for her to spiral toward any memories that would cause her to panic.
“Stella, you don’t have to take the sedative. I’m not going to make you. I just wanted you to know it was an option. I’ll take it away.” Scully lifted her hand from Stella’s and rose to leave with the tray.
“Please don’t go, yet,” Stella said softly. She opened her eyes again and looked down at her wrist where Scully’s hand had been a moment before. The gesture had been calming, and in an instant she missed it.
Scully sat back down and a few tense moments passed. She didn’t move to touch Stella again. “I had my fair share of hospital visits when I was with the FBI. More than my fair share, really,” she told Stella with a smile, attempting to distract her from her thoughts.
Stella looked up, her eyes grateful for the change in subject, although she couldn’t bring herself to return the smile. “Any worth sharing?”
“Ha, well…I was shot once,” Scully supplied, thinking it was probably best to avoid some of the weirder stories that had ended in injury. “Another FBI agent. He shot a suspect, and the bullet went through the suspect and into my abdomen.”
Stella winced. She paused for a moment before she pointed out the obvious. “You survived.”
“It was a close call, but I did. The suspect wasn’t as lucky,” Scully said quietly. Stella watched as the memory crossed Scully’s face, and noticed as she immediately tried to bury it.
Scully looked to Stella and produced a sigh. “I haven’t thought about my time at the FBI in a while,” she admitted.
“Too many bad memories?” Stella asked in a noncommittal tone.
“Mmm, there’s probably an equal number of good, bad, and unbelievable memories. But I think when I moved to London, I put that life behind me. A fresh start of sorts. It gave me a reason to tuck that part of my past away in a corner of my mind that I don’t visit.”
Stella just nodded and stared at her lap again. She had places in her mind that she didn’t visit too.
“I should let you rest,” Scully stated, moving again to leave.
Stella didn’t stop her this time, but said, “Not likely while I’m here. You weren’t wrong about the anxiety.”
Scully couldn’t tell if Stella wanted her to stay, but she didn’t want to leave her alone. “I’ll come back to chat with you then. Keep you company.”
“You don’t have to—“ Stella started, but Scully cut her off.
“It’ll keep me awake. Night shifts,” Scully stated with finality.
Stella didn’t fight her, pleased with the prospect of spending more time with the doctor. With no response from Stella, Scully left again.