TITLE: Hold My Heart AUTHOR: Jenndola E-MAIL: jenndola@uswestmail.net RATING: PG SPOILER: Milagro, small one for Triangle DISCLAIMER: Not mine. None of 'em. Please don't sue me. My trailer ain't much, but it's home. NOTES: Many thanks to Leslie and Equinox for beta reading, with an extra special thank you to Equinox for telling me that my college creative writing professor was full of hooey and I actually can write. Feedback would be very, very appreciated since it's my maiden voyage into fanfic. ------------------------------------------------ Hold My Heart by Jenndola (jenndola@uswestmail.net) The local cops tell me that when they arrived at the apartment my prized agent was covered in blood and weeping like a child in Agent Mulder's arms. I try not to let that hurt. And I try not to think back to all of the times he has been there to hold her while I sit at my desk, pushing papers and answering to those "above" me in the neverending chain of command. And more than anything else, I try to forget the feel of her lips on mine in that empty elevator. My head is full of all the things I need to forget. Regret is my constant companion. I realized recently that I have not been, as I told Agent Scully, the kind of ally I could have been. The kind of man I could have been. "What manner of man ought ye to be?" The line of scripture springs to mind unbidden, the reminder of a conservative upbringing left far, far behind. What manner indeed. I imagine running into her hospital room, kneeling beside her hospital bed and begging her to tell me what manner of man she would consider worthy to win her heart. The thought almost makes me smile. Mulder steps into the hallway and, seeing me pacing, walks toward me. "How is she?" Sometimes even I am impressed with how well I can mask my emotions. "She's sleeping right now. She's had some blood loss, but they can't seem to find anything else wrong with her. Not even a wound to explain the blood. They want to keep her overnight for observation, but she should be going home tomorrow." Mulder looks exhausted, a fact that I mention casually, adding, "You should go home and get some rest. I can stay with her." "I'm fine, sir. When she wakes up, I'll let her know you stopped by." He reaches for the flowers clutched in my right hand and I stifle a primal, territorial growl in the back of my throat, tightening my grip on the bouquet. "I'm not in a hurry." Mulder's eyes narrow. For a moment I worry that his Oxford- educated mind has divined my completely inappropriate feelings for his partner, but then he shrugs and steps back. "I'm going to grab a cup of coffee. You want one?" "No thank you, Agent Mulder." As he walks away, I recall what Officer Millard told me. "They had to pry her away from Agent Mulder so they could determine the nature of her blood loss. I guess she was in pretty severe shock." In shock. She didn't know what she was doing. Remembering that comforts me minutely, but then the rest of the conversation plays out in bits and pieces. "...sick bastard... obsessed with her... stalking her..." And then the one statement that I believe will haunt me until the day I die: "Apparently he tried to rip her heart out with his bare hands." I can't get the image out of my mind. I stop pacing and brace myself against the wall. Just think of a white sheet of paper, Walter. A blank page. Big, fluffy clouds. Anything but Scully on the floor of Mulder's apartment, covered with blood. Anything. Oh, God. They said there was so much blood. "Sir?" My head snaps up. A pretty brunette nurse is standing beside me. "You can see Miss Scully now if you'd like." I take a deep breath. "Thank you." Big, fluffy clouds. Blank sheet of paper. Her eyes are closed when I enter the room and she's so pale it takes a conscious effort to not place my hand against her cheek to check for warmth. She very nearly blends into the sterile white sheets, probably would if it weren't for the shock of fiery red hair spread out against the pillow. That hair. I wonder how many fantasies it's fueled at the FBI. God knows I've had enough of my own. As I set the flowers on the table next to the bed, she shifts restlessly and murmers. I freeze. Maybe I should leave. I don't want to disturb her. Besides, Mulder will be back soon and the last thing I want is to be caught mooning over his partner like a lovesick teenager. Even if that is exactly how I feel at the moment. Determined to let her rest, I turn and begin to walk away. Three steps from the door, I make my fatal error. I turn back for one last look. She's crying in her sleep. In a flash I'm back at her bedside and before I stop to think about what the hell I'm doing I've taken her hand in mine and my other hand is stroking her hair gently. Oh, God. I bite my lip to keep from groaning out loud. It's like silk, just like in my dreams. I really am a sick bastard. Her hand clutches mine convulsively as I whisper soft, comforting words in a voice that is barely my own. Then while I wipe away her tears with my fingertips her voice, no more than a sigh, floats up and punches me in the gut. "Mulder." Is this what it felt like when her heart was being ripped from her body? I resist the urge to jump up and put my fist through the wall. Instead, I lean down and brush my lips across her forehead, pulling my hand from her grasp. "Sweet dreams, Agent Scully." I allow myself one last loving caress of those silken copper locks. Big, fluffy clouds, Walter. This time as I walk through the door, I don't look back. THE END