Chapter Text
In all her years working with Mulder, she had never dreaded going into the office. There had of course been days filled with the monotony of filing reports or attending meetings detailing policies and procedures that had no bearing on their unique line of work, but it wasn’t until recently that Scully had found herself dragging through her morning routine, delaying the inevitable of driving to the FBI building just to spend the day in the bullpen.
With the X-Files taken away from them, she and Mulder were lost in a sea of background checks and expense reports that failed to hold her interest or ignite the passion she typically had for her work. Mulder was restless, bordering on angry, so while she was full of a swell of her own confused and conflicted emotions, a large part of her days was spent placating her partner, making sure he didn’t do anything to make their situation any worse.
When she began at the FBI, Scully had never imagined herself in a desk job, nor had she wanted one. Initially she had spent some time in the office doing the grunt work of a new agent, but she had always known it would be temporary. Everything changed when she was partnered with Mulder and their days revolved around cases, investigation, and travel. Until this point, she had kept a go bag in her car, selected her shoes based on her ability to run in them, and never presumed to know how any given day would pan out.
But now, she could wear stilettos and a mini skirt to work, should she choose (which she wouldn’t) and she could still accomplish her job without any hindrance. She would just be spending day after day stationary at a desk, in a conference room, or an interview space, phone pressed to her ear, while Mulder whined and complained.
It was no secret to anyone that he wanted to get the X-Files back. Depending on the day, he could be angry that they had been reassigned, indignant at having his talents wasted, or unwaveringly sure that it was only a matter of time before they were back where they should be. She had been as dedicated to their work as much as he was, but lately there had been times when she felt beaten down by their current assignment. She would lose her belief that they would ever be able to get them back as she fell further and further into the mundane work that they needed to accomplish.
Scully stood from the kitchen table in her apartment, having few minutes left to waste if she wanted to make it to work on time, and carried her breakfast plates to the sink. She placed her coffee mug on the counter and turned on the tap to rinse a few stray bagel crumbs from her dish. Once clean, she placed it in the drying rack on the counter and reached for the mug.
Maybe her mind was elsewhere, or maybe she simply misjudged the distance from her hand to the counter. But as she grasped for the mug, her thumb managed to catch the end of the handle, tipping it forward, causing the last few sips to slosh out and splash the front of her white blouse.
“Shit.”
She closed her eyes, realizing now there was no way she was going to make it to work on time, and walked to the bedroom to change her shirt.
~~~
Scully was five minutes behind. She had fallen into the habit of looking at the dashboard clock as she drove to work, marking the time as she reached certain landmarks. The bodega at 7:40. The large tree that hung over the road at 7:45. The traffic light near the Presbyterian church at 7:50. It was 7:55, and she was stuck at the world’s longest red light, looking back and forth from the church, to the intersection, praying for the light to change.
She didn’t like using her government job to her own benefit, but if she could get through this light, where there were no cars in front of her, she could let out some frustration, step on the gas, and make up some time. Mulder wouldn’t notice or care if she was a few minutes late, but Kersh seemed to have eyes everywhere, always aware of every step his least favorite agents made. Plus, and maybe most importantly, she just didn’t like being late. Ever.
The light turned green, and without another thought, Scully took her foot off the brake, and slammed it onto the gas pedal, causing the car to lurch forward across the line and into the intersection.
She didn’t see the pick up truck running the red until a second before she felt the impact against the driver’s side door. She only had a brief moment to react before everything went black.
~~~
The first thing she noticed was a faint ringing in her ears, pushing through the fuzziness of her thoughts. Her eyelids felt heavy, her body paralyzed, as if she were stuck somewhere halfway between sleep and consciousness.
A sudden searing pain in her left arm made her jolt upright, awake and aware all at once. She grimaced, squeezing her eyes shut as her head and chest screamed in protest at the change in position.
“Hey, hey,” she heard as she tried to catch her breath. “Scully, it’s me. You’re okay. You’re in the hospital. Take it easy.”
“Mulder?” she asked, surprised by the scratchy sound of her own voice. She opened one eye slightly, just enough to make out her partner, standing with a concerned look on his face as he hovered by the side of her bed. “What… where?”
“You’re in the hospital, Scully,” he said softly, reaching out and placing a hand on her knee. “You were in an accident. They found your badge and contacted the FBI. Skinner called me.”
She took a deep breath, or tried to, before yelping at the sharp stab in her side.
“You got T-boned by some asshole who ran a red light,” Mulder told her as he pulled up a chair and sat next to her bed. “You must have hit your head on the window. You have a concussion, a broken radius in your left arm, and two broken ribs. But nothing too serious.”
There was a growing pounding in her head as she tried to focus on the last thing she remembered. She knew she had gotten ready for work. She had been driving. Had she been running late? Everything was fuzzy and jumbled in her mind.
“Do you remember anything?” Mulder asked, always adept at reading her thoughts.
Scully shook her head, not yet confident enough to try her voice again.
Mulder was watching her and she could see the pain in his eyes. “You were lucky, Scully,” he said. “Your car is totaled. It’s amazing you got off as easily as you did.”
She inhaled slowly, stopping when her lungs expanded too far for her fragile ribs, and assessed the damage. Her left arm was in a sling. She had an IV in her right hand. She stretched her uninjured arm, running her fingers up along her face.
“You look like you went a few rounds,” Mulder told her as she felt her skin, noting a laceration with some swelling above her eye. “Nice shiner, and you may end up with a little scar above your brow, but no stitches.”
She lowered her hand, and turned to look at him. Really look at him. She knew that he was keeping things light for her benefit, but she was well versed in his panic face, and could tell it was hiding just below the surface.
She reached across her body in an attempt to touch him, and he met her halfway, taking her hand gently in his own.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she told him, her words strangled and weak.
“You scared me, Scully,” he said. “I wasn’t sure what I was going to walk into, here.”
She gave him a smile and squeezed his hand the best she could. Every part of her felt sore, simultaneously raw and prickled with pain.
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back as she felt a pressing sense of déjà vu filling her. They had spent so many moments of their partnership in variations of this exact situation. One or both of them in a hospital fighting for their lives, or recovering from injuries that could have led to their deaths.
“Not exactly how I imagined my day going,” she said, opening her eyes and turning to look at Mulder.
“And I thought the highlight was going to be our meeting with Kersh,” he said. “But this is far better. I’ll be able to grab some hospital food on my way out.”
“I’m sorry I scared you,” she said, seriously.
Mulder nodded his head and looked briefly out the window before his eyes linked back to hers. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”
Scully cleared her throat and licked her bottom lip. “Mulder, I shouldn’t have even been there,” she said as her memories started to become more clear. “I was running late. I spilled my coffee this morning and had to change my shirt. If it hadn’t been for that, I would have been at that intersection five minutes earlier. The truck wouldn’t have even been there.”
Mulder reached out and placed his hand on her leg, just above her knee. “Everything in life is about moments, Scully,” he said. “If you had left the light a fraction of a second later, the truck may have hit your car and sent it into a spin, or pushed you up onto the sidewalk where a child was walking with his mother. One extra snooze on your alarm and maybe you get a promotion. When you choose between a tuna sandwich or egg salad, one of them could be past its prime and leave you in the bathroom for the rest of the day.”
“This is why I try not to let you choose what we eat for lunch,” she said with a chuckle that made her hiss in pain.
Mulder made a sympathetic face. “Every choice we make, every moment we live, sets us on a path. It’s the butterfly effect. Even the tiniest shift, spilling your coffee for example, can change the outcome of the day.”
“So it’s my fault I got in an accident?” she asked through gritted teeth.
She was feeling tired and angry, and in far more pain than she should have been. She made a note to page a nurse as soon as Mulder left. She wanted to go back to sleep and she was going to need more medical intervention to do it comfortably.
“I’m not saying that, exactly,” he said. “It was just how the cards fell. One thing leading to another.”
“I wasn’t supposed to have been there,” she repeated, thinking of her morning. Waiting until the last minute to leave, spilling her coffee, driving to work.
Scully noticed a plastic pitcher of water on the tray next to her, and reached out, suddenly feeling very thirsty. Even though she was using her uninjured arm, her ribs screamed in protest, sending blinding pain from the tips of her fingers all the way down to her toes.
She squeezed her eyes shut tight as she heard Mulder’s voice telling her he would get the water. Her ears were ringing, and she could focus on not much more than the sound of her own breathing.
She could feel her finger touch the handle on the pitcher. The pain was beginning to fade, and she took a deeper breath. She reached a little further, and wrapped her hand around the handle.
It felt like ceramic.
When she was finally able to open her eyes, she found herself back in her apartment, standing in her kitchen, mug in hand. A few sips of coffee sat at the bottom.