Chapter Text
Too close.
The words repeated over and over again in her head as she tossed her now decimated suit to the motel room floor. Once naked, she stood in the middle of the dark room and tried to school her thoughts. It was no use. It wasn’t just the lack of clothes that left her bare, her emotional armor was also gone. For all that she had gone through, the times she had felt like this were far and few between, all things considered. She couldn’t actually remember feeling this vulnerable since a dark night in Minnesota when she had been taken by a man with a murderous perversion, locked in a closet, and felt more helpless than she had ever felt before.
Shaking off the pull of the past, recent and distant, she padded lethargically to the bathroom. Her whole body ached from the tension of holding to her dignity during the drive back to the motel. She rummaged and found the packet of scented bath foam that for years she had kept hidden in her overnight bag. Tonight was definitely a night to use it. As the lavender scent filled the air the past dragged her back again.
Donnie Pfaster had been preparing the bath for her at his mother’s house.
She took a deep breath, but not even years of pretend impassivity helped. She felt the first of what she expected to be many tears slide down her cheek. She didn't bother to wipe them away.
She grabbed the extra towels she had requested at check-in and put them near the tub and turned to grab her small travel radio. She flipped it to a rock station that suited her inner turmoil. She didn't think Mozart could calm her tonight. Then she slipped under the hot bubbles and let the sobs come.
Tonight, it hadn't been her who had been taken or overpowered, it had been her partner. She remembered all too clearly when she found their suspect with a gun to her partner's head. Mulder had been barely cognizant and she had been truly fearful that he'd sustained a serious head injury. Of course, that fear was secondary to the thought that with just one twitch his life might be ended right there in front of her. It had taken all of her willpower and training not to charge them and murder the bastard right then, but she knew she had to keep her wits about her and talk him down. It was what her profiler partner would have been doing had he been in a fit state.
Finding an angle, for a shot and a negotiation, was a challenge. The killer had nothing to lose. He knew he would face the death penalty or death by cop if he was caught. Why the hell shouldn’t take the profiler who had identified him with him to the great beyond? She realized in a split second that she had to do more than distract the monster holding the gun. Her partner was in no shape to take advantage. So, Mulder's life lay in her hands and if she failed at least two of them were going to die on that abandoned pier. And she would die in spirit.
Even now she wasn't sure how she did it, but somehow she managed to trick him. To get him to pull the gun away just enough that she could be sure that he wouldn't shoot Mulder in reflex when she shot him. It was a good thing she was a crack shot because that's just what she did. Right between the eyes. Luckily Mulder had passed out and slid to the floor just as she shot and missed watching and getting the more gory stuff on his hair.
Obviously, she hadn’t been so lucky.
She picked up a washcloth and began to scrub her hands. The cursory wash she had given them in the police station hadn't been complete and there was still dried blood and brains under her nails from when she had moved the body to get to Mulder.
With the help of the locals who showed up on scene just when she took the shot, she got Mulder to the ambulance. He was out of it, but conscious again by then. It was with an uncharacteristic docility he consented to go to the hospital for a real check up. He had refused, though, to stay in the hospital after he found out he only had a mild concussion and a doctor for a partner to watch over him. So a cop had driven him to the motel while she went to the police station to make a statement.
She lay back in the tub as the images washed over her. Killing a man. Almost watching her injured partner die. She let out a shaky death. Mulder gone was unthinkable. She had lived through it once, but somehow then she’d been given hope. This time there would be no hope, she would have watched it happen. She would have been responsible. It would be down to her failure. The fact that she hadn't failed was of little consolation right now.
The bath water began to cool and goose pimples began to spread across her body signaling that it was time to get out and face the world again. Or at least check on her partner and then lapse into a fitful sleep after he kicked her out and wouldn’t let her watch over him. She washed her hair under the faucet and got out of the tub. Wrapped under the armor of towels she walked back into the dark room to dress.
She gave her hair a last swipe with the towel, not bothering at this late hour to blow dry it, and headed for the connecting door to her partner's room.
With the headache he already had and the pain killers the hospital gave him he should have been long asleep, but being Mulder he fought against them, refusing to sleep before he saw her again that night. When she entered he was laying on the bed flipping the television channels. He was obviously in no shape to watch the glowing box, but was obviously comforted by the familiar sounds.
"Scully," he said quietly as she stood by his bedside.
"Do I need to ask how your head is?" she smiled softly at his predictability.
"There's no Spice on this cable," he whined.
"As if you could see it right now." She rolled her eyes.
"Sit." He patted the bed next to him.
Scully was startled, this was not standard. Normally she would stand by his bed and tell him he should sleep. He would whine and before the last syllable was out of his mouth he would be asleep. She would cover him, turn off the television, and return to her own room. But tonight her armor was gone and so, apparently, was his. Tonight they had both faced a surprising possible end to their partnership. It wasn't a conspiracy or some paranormal-like cult. It was a simple maniac with a gun.
She pushed those thoughts away and climbed onto the bed with him. Mulder placed an extra pillow against the headboard next to him, a silent invitation. One which she implicitly accepted as she propped herself up next to him.
They sat there silently for a few minutes as he continued to flip through the channels. Even though it usually annoyed her she couldn’t bring herself to care. Somehow she found comfort in the senseless action just as he always did.
"How is your head?" she finally dares to break the silence.
Mulder chuckled then winced in response to the question. It was just too easy to take advantage of the opening. Them in bed together in a no-tell motel and her asking him if he had a headache. Too easy and not quite weird enough. It reminded him of their first case together.
"How about yours?" he asked instead of following the other line of thought.
"Not so good.”
His breath caught at the honesty. In six and a half years of partnership and friendship he could count on one hand the number of times she hadn’t simply said “I’m fine, Mulder” even when it was a blatant lie. Even through the haze of pain killers the psychologist in him didn’t fail to recognize what it meant.
He put his hand on her leg, wanting to ground her and encourage her to stay open. "Thank you for saving my ass once again,” he said quietly.
"I'm just glad I could," is all she said. They have both saved each other so many times that more words weren't necessary.
"Yeah, me too. When I saw you, all three of you, I knew you would save me."
Scully looked down at the strong, large hand lying on her leg and tears once again blinded her vision. No matter the situation those hands provided her with strength and showed her tenderness. That almost disappeared tonight. She can’t fight back the overwhelm of even contemplating that loss.
"I wasn't so sure, Mulder," she admits brokenly.
The remote is dropped to the bed and forgotten as Mulder rolls over puts his other hand under her chin. He tilts her head up to look at him. "I knew. I had no doubts. "
"I." She stopped. She was about to say she almost lost him, but she isn’t sure that won’t open a can of worms. Doubts about whether she’s really had him, even after all this time.
So much distance has always lain between them, the moments of closeness few and far between. She has never been certain why. "I killed someone. I took a life," she said instead.
Mulder understood. She's an FBI agent, but above that she's a doctor. Even the fact that she's a pathologist doesn't change her dedication to save human life, or find justice against those who have taken it. Right then he wasn’t sure if she had ever taken a life before in the line of duty, all he could think about is tonight. A night where she had admitted she needed and would welcome the comfort that he always needs to give, but always ended up getting.
He reached over and pulled her unresisting body against his. "I know and I'm sorry and grateful." He rubbed her back as the sobs she endured earlier returned. "Oh, Scully," he said mournfully, feeling the pain his partner is going through, but glad for once to be able to carry some of it for her.
After a while her sobs slowed and stopped, but she didn’t leave his arms. Before she could even attempt it his arms tightened around her.
"Just a little longer," he asked, still caressing her back. "Share this with me for just a little longer."
She didn’t have it in her to say no. To slink away in embarrassment and false bravado. For the first time in hours she felt safe and she was beyond caring that it’s someone else giving that to her. That it’s him. That they were no longer propped up by the headboard, but melded together on the bed.
She let herself lay there in the dark, in his arms.
And they fall asleep safe in each other's embrace.