Chapter Text
Mulder shifts his legs in the uncomfortable hospital chair, his body screaming at him to get up and walk around. His heart, however, is determined to be the first thing that Scully sees when she wakes up. When she finally begins stirring, he leans in to greet her with a relieved smile.
“Mulder, you’re here,” she murmurs.
“No place I would rather be,” he tells her, although he mentally amends that he means by her side and not specifically here in the hospital. Her eyes widen and she tries to sit up, so he quickly puts his hand on her shoulder to stop her from hurting herself.
“Are you hurt, Mulder? I didn’t know what happened to you,” she frets, scanning him up and down.
“No, I’m fine, Scully,” he assures her, reaching out to gently smooth a piece of her hair back into place. “I’m not the one in the hospital.”
“I got stabbed,” she informs him with a serious face, as if he hasn’t been obsessing over this thought since last night.
“I know, but you’re going to be okay,” Mulder assures her quickly, having confirmed this fact with at least seven different hospital staff. “You’re going to be released later this morning.”
“It hurt really bad,” she recalls, her eyes glassy. “I did not like being stabbed, Mulder. You would hate it. Don’t get stabbed if you can help it.”
“Uh, I won’t,” Mulder agrees with growing concern. She’s not usually like this after getting hurt.
Last night, Mulder had advocated pretty strongly for the doctor to give her the good pain meds. Maybe they had followed his instructions a little too well.
“I’m not hurting now though, Mulder,” she continues. “I think they gave me something for the pain.”
“I’m glad,” he says, smiling at her very correct assertion. “I don’t ever want you to be in pain if I can help it.”
She frowns at that, which surprises him.
“Sometimes I’m in pain because you try to protect me from pain,” Scully explains, her words slightly slurred. “Sometimes you don’t tell me the truth.”
“I always tell you the truth,” Mulder automatically insists, not taking a moment to consider whether or not he’s being completely honest even now.
“You didn’t tell me about being married to Diana,” Scully counters sleepily. “That caused me pain, Mulder.”
“Scully, I—,” he stammers, completely caught off guard. He had thought the matter settled. What brought this up? Is this pain medication induced?
“And I don’t have daddy issues,” Scully says with a little yawn, her eyes closing. “That wasn’t a nice thing to say.”
Had he said something to her about father issues? He’s maybe thought it a time or two, but he can’t recall actually saying anything to her… except on their undercover date. Damn it.
“I didn’t mean you,” he says quickly. “I was just improvising, Scully. I was supposed to act like a jerk, remember?”
She doesn’t respond, and he’s about to apologize for anything he ever did or said that hurt her—until he realizes she’s asleep.
Mulder buries his face in his hands. He’s already stayed up all night worrying about her, and Scully harboring anger is another thing to obsess over.
He decides to go get coffee from the hospital cafeteria. Caffeine will help him sort this out. It only makes sense when one has been awake for twenty four hours straight, with one of those hours spent handcuffed to a filing cabinet.
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When Scully wakes up, the chair next to her hospital bed is empty. She assumes Mulder has been here. He’s almost always the first person she sees when she wakes up in an unfamiliar hospital room. The exceptions tend to be the rare occasions when they’re both injured.
Both injured. Her mind races to fill in the blanks. She had woken up in a storage closet. She tried to go back to the office to find Mulder, but she got stabbed before she could get to him.
Then things get a bit fuzzy. Did the killer ask her for relationship device or did she dream that? More importantly, what happened to Mulder?
She hits the call button on the remote next to her bed. She needs to speak to someone who knows what happened. The nurse should know. She briefly imagines a nurse entering the room with pity in her eyes. ”I’m so sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but your partner didn’t make it.”
Scully shakes off the thought. No use catastrophizing when Mulder probably fell asleep in the waiting room. The nurse responds to the call button, so Scully requests water. She doesn’t want to hear the answer to “Was my partner mortally wounded?” on the same device she uses to turn on the television.
A few agonizing minutes go by before a woman in scrubs shows up with a pitcher of water and a clear plastic cup.
“Did I come in with anyone? Have I had any visitors?” Scully asks as the nurse, who introduces herself as Kathy, pours a drink of water.
“Do you mean Agent Mulder?” Kathy asks. “Oh, he’s been here. He was pretty agitated when you came in, but he settled down after the first few hours.”
Scully has never been so grateful to learn that Mulder has been terrorizing the medical team.
“You do have another visitor in the waiting room,” Kathy continues. “She says she’s a very dear friend. Do you know an Ethel Frederickson?”
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“I still can’t believe you helped the FBI crack the case,” Hazel marvels. Her friend Ethel has a long history of sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong, but this time it actually saved lives.
“I can,” Ethel says with bravado. “I always knew my investigative skills would come in handy one day.”
“At least you’re as humble as ever,” Hazel muses, idly twirling the bouquet of blue carnations that they had picked up from the market on the way to the hospital.
“Ladies, Agent Scully is ready to see you,” a nurse interrupts. Hazel feels nervous all of a sudden. They had known their neighbor “Carol Brady,” not an FBI Agent.
When they enter the hospital room, Hazel relaxes. The small red haired woman in the hospital gown has not mutated into some kind of intimidating secret agent.
“There she is,” Ethel says brightly to Agent Scully, snatching the carnations from Hazel’s hands. “These are for you.”
“Thank you,” Agent Scully says, and Hazel can sense her confusion over Ethel’s enthusiasm. Ethel sits on the empty chair next to the hospital bed and scoots closer to Agent Scully.
“We’re just so glad you’re all right,” Ethel says with exaggerated gratitude. “Why, when I found out that you and your handsome husband were actually FBI Agents, I thought her? That tiny little thing is an FBI Agent? Is she even strong enough to hold a gun? Do they make lightweight guns for people who only weigh 100 pounds soaking wet?”
Hazel coughs loudly into her fist, a signal that she has had to implement with Ethel many, many times in their thirty years of friendship. Hazel shoots Agent Scully an apologetic look.
“I have no problems doing my job, Mrs. Frederickson,” Agent Scully says with a hint of irritation. “How, um, how did you find out that we’re FBI Agents?”
Here she goes, Hazel thinks. She has heard her friend’s tale of heroism quite a few times this morning.
“Two days ago, I was in the lobby when a strange woman entered the building,” Ethel narrates. “She was skinny and nervous, so right away I thought she was on drugs. We have a teenage drug dealer in the building, did I ever tell you that?”
“We don’t,” Hazel interjects.
“Anyway, she says she’s looking for you,” Ethel continues. “I couldn’t believe it. I said to myself, ‘That Carol Brady is a lovely girl and clearly an upstanding citizen. What could this druggie possibly want with her?’ That’s when she gave me a mysterious envelope.”
Ethel pauses for dramatic effect.
“I tried to give it to you right away, but I couldn’t find you,” Ethel laments.
“Did you try knocking on our apartment door?” Agent Scully asks wryly.
“It’s all such a blur,” Ethel replies, shaking her head. “Then the next afternoon the building was swarming with FBI agents. Not everyone would have known what they were, but I always have a sixth sense about these things. Anyhow, I heard one of them talking about someone possibly being in trouble. I knew I had to help in any way that I could.”
“So she showed them the envelope from the strange woman and they used that to figure out you and your partner needed help,” Hazel finishes succinctly.
Ethel whirls around to shoot a death stare at Hazel, who shrugs innocently.
“Well, thank you,” Agent Scully says sincerely. “Help arrived just on time.”
“I was just doing my civic duty,” Ethel assures her. “You don’t need to call me a hero.”
“She didn’t,” Hazel replies dryly.
“You having a party without me?” Agent Mulder enters the room, and Hazel steps out of his way. He looks rumpled and exhausted, but his eyes are soft when he looks at his partner.
“Agent Mulder!” Ethel exclaims, pushing herself off the chair and past Hazel to embrace her undercover neighbor. “I’m so happy that it wasn’t you who got hurt.”
“Hello Mrs. Frederickson,” he says, awkwardly patting her back, “I’m just grateful that Agent Scully is going to be fine.”
He smiles at the woman in the hospital bed, and Hazel suddenly understands the phrase “devastatingly handsome” a little better. What she wouldn’t give to have a man look at her like that!
“Now that I know you’re single, I have a lovely niece to set you up with,” Ethel offers. “She’s a great girl, very tall.”
“I think he’s got that covered,” Hazel tells her in a stage whisper, nodding her head towards Agent Scully.
“Yeah,” Mulder agrees. “That I do.”