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Surprisingly, it took him very little time to process and to admit it to himself. But getting him to admit the same to her was a totally different matter.
Soon, Mulder told himself. Soon, he would do it, soon.
After winning the battle with cancer and losing Emily, after the forest lullaby and the slow dance, he didn’t think he could wait any longer.
Even his subconscious knew now.
It was amusing what his mind came up with while he was drugged. A real crispy critter. To scramble the surgical team. Frank charring at contact site? Man, how did his mind come up with these?
His subconscious surprised the hell out of him.
While he was in the car, as Scully drove, away, away from the craziness, away from the hacker chick and towards the Gunmen, Mulder tried to recall his crazy dream and, mostly, his subconscious.
It was typical to dream of the likes of Nurse Nancy. Nurse Nancys, actually, are all blonde with double D’s. Granted, the setting of the hospital was probably what his mind was trying to warn him about; that and the senile doctor were both red flags. He knew the Nancy-types well, they came a dime a dozen from his video collection before 1994... Being comforted in Nurse Nancy’s boobs... there’s the remnant of Fox Mulder circa 1977.
Mulder chewed over the little details. His frantic need to have them call Scully for him. His pleas and his panics. Despite the bad setup, like a video game from the 1980s, he wanted Scully so, so badly.
It’s funny how his mind tricked him like that. The nurses were calling him Fox. Him letting them call him Fox. They were massaging him and calming him down, and he knew he was in a dream within a dream. Everything seemed absurd, too absurd, but he couldn’t control his dream. Could he?
Mulder, these women are spies!
What a line, he thought. The computer had hacked into his knowledge and memories, however jumbled up they were, and was trying its best to make a believable narrative.
Scully coming to rescue him, Scully kicking ass, Scully showing off her Kung Fu.
She doesn’t know karate...
He knew it wasn’t real when she didn’t reach for his hand. When she didn’t check his head or smooth his hair, with those concerned baby blues he’d known for 5 years. This Scully, the computer-generated Scully... the AI must have tapped into his memories of her taking charge and taking care of business... but it was all wrong.
In his dream, he kicked her; Scully-imposter, go to hell.
Then, Mulder remembered clearly: he wailed for Scully, the real Scully, to come save him.
And finally, she did. Tender, sweet, loving, gentle Scully. Her words of comfort and reassurance, how she sounded panicky, how she cooed. It could have been the Platter’s love song that made him want to swoon and hold onto her and never let go, but he knew better; it wasn’t.
His subconscious helped him see the way imposter-Scully looked at him and the way his real Scully looked at him; it was night and day. It was something the computer couldn’t know, but his subconscious mind did, and he certainly did, too.
Nothing can be softer than her eyes when she looked at him.
Mulder glanced over at her, his Scully, the real Scully, driving in the morning sun. God, what a night, Mulder thought. He reached over, wanting to hold her hand.
“Scully...”
His voice sounded dry and pathetic. She immediately pulled over and put her hand to his head, smoothing his hair back and doing what he called the making sure Mulder’s okay routine.
“Where does it hurt, Mulder?”
“Arms. Hands. Head.” He said pitifully.
“Oh Mulder...”
Wait, why did she sound like she was about to cry? Mulder dipped his head a little to look at her; tears had welled up in her eyes. His Scully hated to let her tears fall...
“Scully...” he said softly, “don’t cry.”
She was so sullen. A night without sleep, frantically searching for him, babysitting Esther... Knowing Esther had strapped herself in the trailer that had been blown up into a million pieces... His Scully with a heart made of gold, her compassion overflowing.
“Come here,” he requested. Please please please please come here...
She leaned over; he shifted closer to the middle as well, and reached his weakened arms to embrace her. This was what was missing in his hospital-bed sequence: TLC from Dana Scully; his subconscious should really know better.
What are we but impulses, he thought. He will choose to tell her, soon.