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The buzzing of her alarm dragged her awake promptly at 6am.
(It also dragged her out of a dream that involved, among other things, Mulder’s tongue in her mouth; she wasn't sure whether the interruption was a blessing or a curse.)
Scully stretched, yawned, then grimaced as the last remnants of sleep wore off and she remembered the reason she’d set her alarm so early that morning -- she and Mulder had a meeting in Skinner’s office scheduled for 7:45.
Talk about a buzzkill.
She sat upright with a sigh, rubbing her eyes before flipping back the covers and getting out of bed. Moving on autopilot, she let her mind wander while habit propelled her through her morning routine. The image that had been in her head just before waking came back to her -- she was with Mulder, in a car, surveillance duty abandoned in favor of investigating each other’s bodies instead. She felt her cheeks warm. It was hardly surprising that she would have a dream like that about him, and it was certainly not the first time it had happened, but she couldn’t help feeling a little bit abashed, anyway.
Mulder was her partner. And her best friend. Thinking about him that way was more than just professionally inappropriate; it felt almost like a violation. And she would sooner spend the rest of her life celibate than do something that might screw up the most important relationship she’d ever had.
Then again, the idea that she would ever find someone else she would rather be with -- in the long-term, romantic sense -- had become laughable long ago, so while she generally did her best to keep from voluntarily fantasizing about him, that didn’t stop her hormones and subconscious from occasionally ganging up on her.
She gave herself a hard stare in the bathroom mirror, making the conscious decision to put the dream out of her mind and turning her focus instead toward getting ready for the day.
***
She was surprised to find the office locked when she arrived. When Mulder still hadn’t shown up by 7:40, she tried calling, but his cell went straight to voicemail, and she got the answering machine at his apartment.
“You’d better not be off monster-hunting somewhere,” she grumbled as she hung up, then gathered her presentation materials and headed upstairs for the meeting.
Skinner turned to her with his eyebrows raised when she came in the office and sat down alone.
“Agent Mulder is just running a little late,” she said, looking down before he could read the lie in her eyes.
The lie, however, revealed itself in due course as the meeting dragged on and Mulder proved to be running rather significantly more than “just a little late.” At 9:00, Skinner called for a break and looked pointedly at Scully as she moved to stand up.
“Find him.”
“Yes, sir,” she murmured with a nod, pulling out her phone as she made her way back downstairs.
The cellular customer you are trying to reach is not responding…
“Damn it.” She put the phone back in her pocket and jabbed the elevator call button in irritation. Where in the hell was he?
This time, it was finding the office door unlocked and open that surprised her. Mulder sat at the desk, his overcoat still on, scribbling on a scrap of paper. She opened her mouth to ask if he’d forgotten about the meeting, but he looked up, and the words died on her tongue as her gaze was immediately drawn to the triangle of skin visible where his top button was undone behind his tie.
“I know, I missed the meeting,” he said, and she blinked.
“No, you’re just extraordinarily late for the meeting,” she told him, hoping he was distracted enough not to have noticed her staring at his throat. “Where have you been, Mulder? I tried calling--”
“I promise I will tell you all about my morning from hell, but I’ve gotta do one more thing first,” he interrupted, pushing back the chair and standing. He waved his paycheck at her. “Because if I don’t go deposit this right now, then I’ll have to add ‘bounced check’ to the list of things that have gone wrong today.”
“Well… hold on, wait,” she said before he could brush past her. “I’ve already given my report, but they’re still waiting on yours. Why don’t I go to the bank, and you can get upstairs? That way, you won’t have to add ‘pissed-off boss’ to your list, either.”
He handed over the paycheck with a rueful smile, then turned to grab his reports from the file cabinet. As he came back toward her with his hands full, she remembered the button.
“Wait a sec.” She put the check between her teeth and reached up toward his collar. He gave her a momentary bewildered look before realizing what she was doing and raising his chin to help.
“Thanks,” he said, and she felt the vibration of his Adam’s apple against her knuckle; she caught herself imagining the sensation against her lips instead.
Jesus, Dana, get ahold of yourself.
“All set,” she said through her teeth before taking his paycheck out from between them.
She backed away and looked down before the inevitable flush could make its way to her cheeks, and she stayed there for a moment after Mulder left, just breathing.
***
Her first thought after the bullet sliced through her abdomen was how familiar it felt. If that business on Christmas Eve, with the house and the ghosts or whatever they were, really had just been all in their heads, then her brain had somehow managed to manufacture exactly the sensation of being shot in the stomach.
Remarkable.
Her second thought, as her own weapon dropped to the floor with a thud and her knees started to give out, was that this had better not be the thing that ended her. To have survived cancer, escaped monsters, avoided death on multiple continents, only to be taken out by some poor schmuck trying to rob a bank two blocks from where she worked -- it would be patently unfair.
Distantly, she could hear shouting, Mulder’s voice and the gunman’s. Poor Mulder. He was already having a bad morning, he’d said, and now this.
She leaned back against the counter, trying to keep pressure on the wound. The shouting quieted, and she looked up to see Mulder’s worried face as he hurried toward her. He knelt down, his warm hand shaking slightly as it covered hers.
“You’re gonna be okay, Scully,” he said quietly. “Just hold on. I’m gonna get you out of here.”
“I misjudged him,” she said, then immediately winced as pain sliced through her.
“Don’t… don’t try to talk.” He gathered her closer to him, looping one arm behind her shoulders and the other under her knees. She hadn’t realized how cold she’d gotten until she found herself wrapped in his solid warmth and being lifted off the ground. His voice rumbled in his chest against her cheek when he spoke again. “Bernard? You need to let us walk out of here. Okay, you’ve shot a federal officer, but things are going to get a whole lot worse for you if she dies. Now, I’m not gonna let that happen, and neither are you, because you’re going to let us go.”
The man, Bernard -- and how in the world did Mulder know his name? -- laughed humorlessly. “The hell I am. Ain’t none of us walking away from this. It’s too late.”
“Bernard, no!”
In the last moments before everything went black, Scully’s entire world narrowed to the racing thump of Mulder’s heart against her ear and the feeling of his hands gripping her thigh and shoulder. Why did these moments between them, comprehensively wrapped up in one another, only ever seem to come under the most dire circumstances? It was just another thing that was completely unfair about this whole situation.
Powerless to do anything else, she breathed in the scent of him and let her eyes drift closed.
