Chapter Text
Consciousness slowly seeped back into his battered brain, his senses were thrust into a disorienting haze. With uncertainty, he gradually opened his eyes, only to be met with a world of foggy oblivion. Colors bled into one another, glimmers of shapes struggling to form coherence in his blurred vision. Every attempt at focusing was met with a frustrating resistance.
Dazed, he tried to make sense of his surroundings, straining to discern any sound amidst the strange silence. It was as though his ears were trapped in a vacuum—an impenetrable fortress of silence. Panic began to claw at his chest.
Where am I?
And then, in a flicker of hope, his vision started to clear, dispersing the misty veil that had obscured his view. Gradually, the world sharpened into recognizable shapes and hues. Yet, while the mysterious fog relinquished its grip on his sight, it began to coil around his hearing instead.
A faint ringing pierced through the silence, initially distant and bearable. As seconds passed, the noise intensified mercilessly, growing louder, until it became the sole occupier of his senses. The ringing engulfed him, squeezing his thoughts, devouring his sanity. It became a cacophony of chaos and his head throbbed in excruciating pain.
In a disorienting flash, realization surged through his mind like a lightning bolt, illuminating the horror around him. He wasn't lying in a hospital room or in the comfort of his home; instead, he was confined to the passenger seat of a speeding truck hurtling down the unyielding highway.
His temples pounding with a fierce intensity, pulsating in unison with his now racing heartbeat. Every bump on the unforgiving road sent shockwaves of agony throughout his aching skull, making it difficult to distinguish between the pain coursing through his veins and the chaos of the outside world.
He looked around, his gaze settling on the driver, a woman he didn't recognize. His eyes widened as he took in her appearance – she seemed injured, blood trickling down from her bottom lip, a bruise forming under her right eye. Red marks marred her delicate neck. Her clothes were disheveled and bloodstained. Despite her injuries, what struck him the most was the intense fear he saw in her piercing blue eyes. Her trembling hand was covered in drying blood, and it clung tightly to the gearshift as she raced down the highway.
She glanced over at him, and she seemed relieved and desperate simultaneously. "Oh, thank God. Mulder, can you hear me?" she pleaded, her voice filled with urgency. He tried to respond, but only a guttural groan escaped his lips. “It’s okay, stay calm and try to stay with me. We’re almost there,” she assured him, though he had no idea where "there" was.
The sudden searing pain in his head caused his vision to blur, and once again, unconsciousness seized him. Waves of darkness washed over him as he succumbed to his wounds, leaving behind the woman who held his fate in her trembling hands.
XxX
Mulder's eyelids fluttered open again, squinting against the jarring brightness of the fluorescent lights overhead. As his surroundings came into focus, he found himself in a wheelchair, being pushed hurriedly down a brightly lit corridor. Panic swelled within him as he struggled to piece together the fragments of his fractured memory. The sounds of hushed voices reached his ears, accompanied by the unmistakable scratching of a pen against paper.
Glancing to his right, he saw two figures in scrubs, engrossed in their conversation as they scribbled notes on a clipboard. Then he turned to the left, and there she was—the mysterious woman from the truck, striding quickly alongside him. Her eyes met his briefly, concern etched upon her bruised face. It was then that he realized where he was.
I’m in a hospital.
The combination of the glaring lights and the throbbing pain in his head overwhelmed him once more, dragging him back into the dark grip of unconsciousness.
XxX
As Mulder lay motionless in the hospital bed, a haze of sedation swirled around his conscious mind. The distant sounds of beeping monitors and muffled voices danced in his ears, barely perceptible against the fog in his brain. One voice, however, pierced through his disorientation, causing his drowsy senses to tingle with recognition. It was her, the woman from the truck, speaking softly but urgently. Mulder strained to listen, his eyelids heavy and uncooperative, desperately wanting to make sense of their conversation.
“Good God, why are you still in here? The nurses are saying you refuse to go with them for a full exam,” an unfamiliar voice said. It was a man’s voice.
“I’m not leaving him,” he heard her say.
"I'm telling you; you need to get checked out," the unfamiliar male voice implored with concern.
The woman’s voice, tinged with worry, wafted back in response. "I’m not leaving him.”
"I’m here now, I'll stay with him. The doctor needs to check you out.” There was pause, “We caught the two men who were responsible for this. Please, go with the nurses, get checked out. You know it needs to be done.”
There was another pause as their whispers mingled in the air. Mulder's grip on consciousness loosened as the woman left the room, her footsteps fading into the distance, and he sunk deeper into the lulling abyss of sleep.
XxX
As he slowly regained consciousness, he found himself surrounded by unfamiliar sights and sounds. Everything seemed hazy and disorienting. He scanned the room, trying to make sense of his surroundings, when a flicker of recognition sparked in his mind–
I’m in a hospital.
Muted beeps and sterile smells filled the air, reminding him of his current situation. As he tentatively surveyed the room, his eyes landed on a woman standing on the other side of the room, engrossed in studying a file and a few MRI slices. It was the woman from the truck.
Remarkably, he noticed she looked different - cleaned up, her short red hair was neatly combed, she was dressed in dark jeans and a soft purple, long-sleeve cotton shirt. Time seemed to have passed since he last saw her, as her once vividly purple bruise had now transitioned to a fading shade of yellow, and her split lip was healing too. Even the marks around her neck seemed to be gradually disappearing.
The realization of his own prolonged unconsciousness dawned on him; his mind raced as he wondered how long he had been out for. He winced as pain shot through his head, and he reached up to touch his head to find that it had been bandaged. Suddenly, the woman’s gaze met his, and she immediately set aside her materials and she rushed to his side, her concerned eyes meeting his.
“Mulder, can you hear me?” she inquired softly. He struggled to find his voice, so she quickly poured him a glass of water, and supported him as he drank.
“Why am I here?” His voice was husky and broken.
“You sustained a serious head injury. You have a third-grade concussion, but you’re in good hands. What is the last thing you remember?”
He swallowed pensively and wet his lips, “You…and the truck…How long have I been here?”
She helped him take another sip of water, “You’ve been here for five days. You have been in and out of consciousness. Mulder, do you remember anything before the truck?”
He looked at her with worry in his eyes. Delving into his fractured mind, he desperately sought to retrieve any semblance of a recent memory, but nothing seemed to surface. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, “I don’t know what the last thing I remember is.” There was a brief pause, “Who are you?” He asked.
He saw panic flash through her eyes. “Mulder, it’s me…Dana Scully, your partner.”
He glanced at his left hand and then shifted his gaze to her left hand, “As in…my girlfriend? My wife?”
The concern on her face was evident, “No, we work together. We work for the FBI. We have been colleagues for the past five years.”
A lump formed in his throat, and she could see the panic in his eyes.
“Hey, it’s okay,” she reassured him, pulling a chair closer and settling beside him. She gently clasped his hand, “You suffered a severe concussion, your brain is still in the healing process. This is going to take time.”
In that moment, an intense jolt of pain pierced his head, causing him to wince in agony.
“I’ll be right back,” she said. She swiftly stood up and hurried out of the room. Within moments, she reappeared, accompanied by both a nurse and a doctor.
The doctor briskly walked towards Mulder's bed, clutching a clipboard in his hand. Scully stepped back, allowing the doctor to take charge of the situation.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Mulder," the doctor greeted him, his voice soothing yet authoritative. "I'm Dr. Stevens, your attending physician. How are you feeling today?"
Mulder blinked. "I'm... I'm not sure. My head hurts, and I feel disoriented."
The doctor nodded as he flipped through the papers on the clipboard. "That's completely normal, considering the severity of your head injury. You've sustained a third-grade concussion, Mr. Mulder.” The doctor set the clipboard down and began to examine him, lifting one lid and peering into his eye with an ophthalmoscope, “Do you know your full name?”
“Mulder. Fox William Mulder.”
“Good, good.” He moved to his other eye, “When is your birthday?”
“October 13th, 1961.”
“That’s good, very good. Do you know what year it is?” The doctor lifted the bandaging on his head and examined his wound.
Mulder found himself unsure and unable to provide even a hint of an answer. He couldn’t come up with a response.
Taking a step back, the doctor observed Mulder's perplexity and noted his inability to answer the question. His gaze shifted from Mulder to Scully, then back to Mulder. "Do you know who she is?"
Mulder's eyes darted between the doctor and Scully, a touch of regret evident in his expression. "She mentioned her name, but...I'm sorry, I can't recall her first name...something Scully?" He turned to her again, seeing her growing unease. It was clear on her face, impossible for her to conceal. Mulder frowned, his brows furrowing. "How serious is it?"
Dr. Stevens sighed, choosing his words carefully. "It is quite serious, Mr. Mulder. You took a blow to the right posterior temporal portion of your head, right behind your ear. You underwent a couple surgeries to repair the skull fracture.”
Mulder interrupted, “A blow? How?” His eyes looked at Scully desperately, trying to piece together why they were both injured, “Were we attacked? Was it a car accident? What happened?”
Dr. Stevens lifted his hands, “Take it easy, Dr. Scully will fill you in on all those details when she feels you’re ready.”
“Doctor” Scully? I thought she was an FBI agent…
“But there is some good news.” Dr. Stevens interrupted his thoughts, “While you may have lost some memories, the fact that you are able to retain some of your previous memories and form some new ones is an encouraging sign."
Mulder's face relaxed slightly, hope stirring within him. "So, this memory loss isn't permanent?"
"Not necessarily," the doctor replied. "We will have to closely monitor your progress. With assistance, there is a possibility that you can gain more of your memory back as your brain heals. Don’t panic, and don’t try to take on too much too quickly. You have a long road of recovery ahead of you, be patient with yourself.”
Scully quietly approached the doctor, she spoke softly, her voice tinged with urgency. "Doctor, I'd like to request that Mulder be released into my care. I'm a medical doctor…I’m his doctor, and I believe I can provide him with the necessary care and support."
Dr. Stevens considered her request for a moment, then nodded. "I understand your relationship, Dr. Scully, and your expertise as a doctor. However, given the seriousness of Mr. Mulder's condition, I'd like to keep him under observation for another 24 hours. After that period, if all seems stable, we can discuss the possibility of releasing him into your care."
Scully sighed, accepting the doctor's decision, and nodded.
Mulder couldn’t ignore the confusion that washed over him. She’s my doctor? She’s my partner? She’s an FBI agent, we’re FBI agents, but she’s also a practicing medical doctor…my doctor? What is her first name?
The doctor and Scully conversed quietly for another moment before he left the room. Scully approached Mulder’s bedside again, lightly brushing his hand with her fingers. He felt a surge of warmth and comfort from her simple gesture. “Mulder, I’m going to go to your apartment to grab some things that you’ll need and then prepare my apartment for your stay. I will be back this evening to see how you’re doing.”
“Your apartment? I’m going to stay at your apartment?”
She nodded, “That’s right. I have more space, and I have everything I need to look after you there. I’ll be back later this evening, in the meantime, rest.”
Mulder wanted to protest; she was becoming his only sense of comfort in this new confusing reality of his, but he trusted her. He nodded.
She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, holding his gaze for another moment, then she was gone.
XxX
Mulder lay restlessly in the sterile hospital bed, his mind a jumble of fragmented memories and confusion. The soft knock on the door broke through his fog, and his heart skipped a beat as Scully walked into the dimly lit room. In her hands, she carried a paper bag that filled the room with a delicious aroma, and a duffel bag. For the first time, Mulder felt his appetite growing.
His eyes lit up with recognition, "Scully," he breathed, relief washing over him as she approached. A small smile graced her lips and she set down the duffel bag first, “I brought some clothes for you to change into for when they release you.” Then she pulled out several small cartons of Chinese food. “I also decided to pick up dinner, since hospital food is–”
“Garbage,” he interrupted.
She smiled and shook her head, “I picked out your ‘go-to’ entrees from your favorite Chinese food restaurant.” She placed his meal on the tray and moved it in front of him, then she grabbed her own meal and sat down in the chair beside him.
Mulder let out a groan of approval when he took his first bite, “Damn, this is good.”
Her smile grew slightly before taking a bite of her own meal. “How are you feeling?” she questioned.
He took another bite before speaking, “My head has been killing me. The pain meds take the edge off for only a short period of time. I feel like my mind is racing out of control and I can’t make sense of it or slow it down.”
Scully nodded empathetically, “Those symptoms are normal. You look more alert, and you sound more alert. Those are good signs.” She paused, deciding whether or not she wanted to ask, “Do you remember anything new?”
He shook his head, “I get brief flashes of what I think are memories, but I can’t make sense of them.”
She nodded again, “Like Dr. Stevens said, your recovery is going to require time and patience.”
As they continued to eat, Mulder's gaze drifted momentarily to the faded bruises on her face. Concern creased his brow as he asked, "What happened to you, Scully?"
A flash of pain flitted across her features, her voice tinged with sorrow as she replied, "We’re not going down that path tonight." Though he sensed her distress, he chose not to press further, understanding that some things were best left unsaid for the time being.
Dr. Stevens entered the room, breaking their silence. Mulder nervously glanced in his direction, his attention shifting from Scully to the white-coated figure beside him. The doctor examined Mulder, his probing eyes reflecting both caution and hope. After a thorough evaluation, the doctor finally nodded, “He has been alert the whole day. If the night goes well, we will release him into your care.”
The relief that washed over Mulder was palpable. Though he had no recollection of their shared history, a sense of safety and tranquility enveloped him whenever he was near Scully.
He watched the doctor leave the room, then turned his attention back to Scully, who was eating her dinner. He cleared his throat and asked, “Okay, so let me get this straight. You said we work for the FBI, and we’re partners, right?”
Scully nodded as she swallowed another mouthful of her food. “That’s right.”
“…But you’re also my doctor?”
She put down her half empty food container, “I have a background in science and medicine. I was a medical doctor before I joined the FBI, before I met you. After we became partners, I also became your personal physician.”
Mulder nodded slowly as he listened to her explanation. He grew more optimistic knowing that she would be the one to guide him through his recovery process.
As the evening wore on, Mulder relished the comforting flavors and textures of the Chinese feast, buoyed by Scully's presence. He marveled at her unwavering support, her unwritten promise to stand by him as he found his way back.
What was our partnership like? Why is she so dedicated to my recovery?
The presence of sadness in her demeanor was undeniable to him, causing a pang in his chest. Though she was practically a stranger to him, he felt a strong urge to help her. He knew, however, that it would be wiser if he left it alone.
Nightfall approached, and a feeling of unease settled within Mulder as he watched her clean up their dinner and grab her belongings. He was reluctant to see Scully leave. Sensing his apprehension, she placed her hand on his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I'll be back in the morning, Mulder." she reassured him, “It’s important that you get some rest.”
With a lingering touch, Scully left, and the room felt empty. There was a void where her presence had brought warmth and reassurance.
The night dragged on endlessly, as Mulder drifted in and out of sleep. He was haunted by flashes of old memories that he could not piece together. His head pounded, and he felt a dull ache in his chest. Every hour, nurses would enter his room to monitor his vital signs, clean his surgery site, change the bandaging, and administer various drugs. He longed for Scully’s arrival; she was the only person who could bring some comfort to his confused mind.
XxX
The warm morning sunlight spilled through the windows of the hospital room as Scully swept into the space. Her eyes lit up as she saw Mulder was fully dressed in the clothing she brought the night before and standing near the bed, with a doctor on one side of him and a nurse on the other side. This was a testament to his progress overnight. Mulder’s eyes brightened as well as she entered the room.
“You’re on your feet,” she said with a soft smile, “that’s wonderful to see.”
“We’ve gone for a few walks today,” the nurse said with a smile, “he’s pretty steady, but we would like to wheel him out to the car.”
Scully nodded in agreement and then turned to Dr. Stevens. They spoke about Mulder’s treatment, medication regimen, and the weekly appointments he needed to make.
Soon enough, another nurse arrived with a wheelchair, a silent reminder of the fragility that still lingered. With Scully at his side, Mulder settled into the seat.
The nurse pushed the wheelchair out of the room. They made their way through the halls, and Mulder felt relief settle into his chest with each step toward the car waiting to transport them away from the sterile confines of the hospital.
XxX