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swinging-stars-from-satellites · 2 years

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Whumpay Day 3: bruised

post/slightly canon divergent Young At Heart | tagging @today-in-fic, @whumpay2022

Scully has been injured before, of course, but she's never been shot. The chilling awareness of how close it had been — if Barnett had been standing any closer when he'd taken that shot, even the bulletproof vest might not have saved her — follows her around the entire night, as paramedics tend to her and Mulder hovers at the corner of the ambulance. She doesn't hear much of what the medics are saying to her through the shock she's fighting off, but between the tones of their voices and her own medical knowledge, she gets the gist. Take it easy, take painkillers, she's going to be inutterably stiff for a week or so. Bruised ribs, even with no breaks, are no joke.

Mostly she just watches Mulder, watches the way he can't seem to keep still, keeps pacing back and forth but never very far away, the way his hands tap at his leg or stay hidden in his pockets as he talks to other officers and agents. He's making them come over here, outside the main cluster of the crime scene, just to get his statement or offer added information. Scully blinks away a bit more of the glazed feeling in her eyes that she knows is finally subsiding shock and suddenly feels a little bit touched by his hovering.

She knows this case has been difficult on him, even before Reggie was killed; the pain in his eyes when he talked about the family of the agent who died on the original task force was clear enough. Mulder always places too much blame on himself, and by the way he keeps briefly glancing over at her, then looking away before she can catch his eye, she thinks he's probably blaming himself for her being hurt.

"Mulder," she calls, once the paramedics have backed off a bit, and he turns to finally really look at her. She just gestures to beckon him closer.

"How you feeling?" He asks, cast in the whitish glow of the ambulance's interior lights. He lifts one hand, like he wants to touch her but isn't sure.

Scully grimaces. "It hurts," she says simply. "I can only imagine how stiff I'll feel in the morning."

Mulder frowns, glances down at the neckline of her shirt, where she's certain a nasty bruise is already visible, and grits his teeth. "I'm sorry." His voice is quiet, almost hesitant.

"It's not your fault," Scully replies, equally as quiet. Talking hurts, with bruised, maybe fractured ribs — she'll likely go in later for an x-ray, just to be sure, but she's too tired tonight; it's not like treatment is different, either way. Breathing itself hurts, but she'd like not to show that right now.

"But-"

"Mulder," she cuts him off. "Please don't."

He stares at her for a few seconds, then nods. "Do they want to take you to the hospital?"

She shakes her head, suddenly wishing that he would touch her. It's probably lingering shock, combined with cool night air, but she's chilly. "They gave me some painkillers and told me to stay off my feet. I was wondering, would you mind," she hesitates only for a split second, "Driving me home?"

They'd come in separate cars, but it's not hard to get one of the other task force agents to take the Bureau car Scully had driven back to the garage. Scully doesn't think it's a good idea for her to be behind the wheel tonight. She also thinks it is a good idea to give Mulder something to do; she's not much inclined to ask anyone to take care of her, but she thinks they both need this one thing.

Mulder nods again. "Yeah, of course," he replies, then turns to the paramedic standing a few feet away with a clipboard. "Is she alright to go home?" He asks.

A brief exchange — ending with Scully quietly reminding the medic that she's a medical doctor and knows how to take care of herself — later, and she's tentatively on her feet again with Mulder standing at her shoulder. He carefully rests a hand on her back as they walk to his car, and maybe she steps a little bit closer to his side; he's warmer than she is, after all. She turns the heat up once she's in the passenger seat and stares, slipping into the fog of her thoughts — herself, the case and implications thereof, Mulder, mortality and eternal youth — as she looks out the window.

"Scully," Mulder says, his voice snapping her out of her stupor. She looks up, then, realizing that they're sitting in front of her building, and blinks a few times to try and clear the adrenaline-crash tiredness from her head.

"Thanks for driving me," she says, trying to use as few muscles in her torso as she can as she unbuckles her seat belt, opens her door, and prepares to stand. Before she can, though, Mulder slips out from behind the wheel and darts around the front of the car to reach her side. She's immediately grateful, because standing up is a treacherous thing, as sore as she is, and she leans into his gentle grip at her elbow to brace herself. "Thanks," she murmurs again, not looking up at him and not moving away.

"Can I walk you up?" He ducks his head, trying to see her face better.

Scully shakes her head and now she does take a step out of his grip, only missing the warmth of his hands on her for a heartbeat. "Goodnight, Mulder. And thank you," she adds once more, meaning for driving, meaning something more that she can't put into words. Pausing before she heads inside, she meets his eyes one more time. "Will you be okay?" She knows he isn't right now, so she doesn't even ask that.

"Yeah." He gives a forced half-smile, as if to reassure her. "Will you?"

Scully smiles in return, pretending like it isn't half a grimace at the throbbing of her bruised ribs. "I'm fine," she assures him before they part ways, and it's the truth; or at least, in time it will be.

#VERY proud of this one actually #i love writing baby msr... they're so soft #Lu writes #txf #the x files #txf s1 #msr #dana scully #fox mulder #mulder and scully #whumpay2022 #soz for not adding readmores i can't do it on mobile :(

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