Untitled Post-ep for "Milagro"
(Unfinished fic by bellefleur)
Disclaimer: Not mine.  They belong to FOX, 1013, etc.

* * * * *
* * * * *

It isn't every day that your worst nightmare comes true, but 
for one horrifying moment, Mulder thought that today was the 
day.  There on the floor of his apartment lay his partner, his 
best friend, with her life seeping out of her chest.  At any 
other time he might have immediately looked for a gunshot 
wound, but due to the circumstances of this case, he expected 
that her injury would be much more mysterious and fatal.  
Someone had ripped her heart out, and in the process, his own 
as well.

Rushing to her side, he held on to the small hope that she 
really wasn't dead, that somehow he had gotten there in time.  
And then the nightmare ended.  Scully came to life, and he 
gathered her warm body to his own, feeling her pulse and her 
sobs throbbing against his chest.

She clung tightly to him for a long time.  He wanted to check 
her out, to make sure she was okay.  There was blood all over 
her, and even some on the floor.  But she didn't seem to be in 
pain, so he could only guess that somehow she was alright.  
Finally, her grip began to loosen.  Mulder leaned back to let 
her sit up and then looked up at her tear-stained face.

"Are you okay, Scully?"

She thought about it for a moment.  "I--I think so."

"There's a lot of blood here.  We need to check for a wound, 
okay?"  Mulder waited for her to make eye contact with him 
before he started to unbutton her blouse.  It was soaked with 
blood, as was her bra and chest, but for what he could see, 
there was no evidence of a break in the skin.  

"I guess I shouldn't have expected to find anything.  There 
weren't any wounds on the other victims either."  Scully 
looked up at him as he spoke, coming back to reality.  "Can 
you tell me what happened?"

"He attacked me.  I was heading to the door, to follow you 
downstairs, and he just attacked me.  I saw his face, Mulder.  
I don't know how, but it was Dr. Naciamento.  He knocked me 
down and reached for my chest.  All I could feel was sharp 
pain.  I reached for my gun, and I shot him, but he didn't 
stop."  Scully looked up at the ceiling behind Mulder, where 
the bullets had entered the wall.  He turned and followed her 
gaze.  "But then, he was just gone.  I don't know where he 
went.  He just...vanished."

Mulder had only been concerned about Scully.  Now, he suddenly 
remembered their suspect.  "Padgett.  I left him in the 
basement.  He was burning the manuscript.  I need to go check 
on him.  Will you be okay here?"

Scully didn't answer, but the look in her eyes betrayed the 
same panic that he saw when she first opened them and grabbed 
hold of him.  He could hear approaching sirens in the 
distance-- one of the neighbors must have called 9-1-1 when 
Scully had fired shots at her attacker.  Mulder decided that 
he could wait until the police came before he would leave 
Scully's side and go after Philip Padgett.  

* * *

It was late by the time they got back to Scully's apartment.  
She hadn't been happy about a trip to the hospital, but with 
the amount of blood she lost, both Mulder and the paramedics 
insisted.  Now that his apartment was a crime scene, Mulder 
had asked to crash on her couch for the night.  Though 
unspoken, it was far from secretive that his real purpose in 
staying was to keep an eye on Scully.

Once they were inside her apartment, she went straight to the 
closet to retrieve a pillow and some blankets for Mulder.  
With a quiet "good-night," she disappeared into her bathroom.  
The pitter-patter of the shower water soon met his ears.  
Mulder wasn't really tired, but he knew she was exhausted and 
needed her rest.  He took off his shoes and spread out on the 
couch, still in his clothes.  He grabbed the remote and turned 
the TV on, muted the volume, and then flipped endlessly from 
one channel to the next.

After her shower, Scully put on her pajamas and climbed in 
bed.  She turned off the light and settled down under the 
covers, but she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep.  Her mind 
was still racing.

What was it about this strange man that had so attracted him 
to her?  How long had he been following her, watching her?  
Could this have ended in some other way?  And what was his 
motive?  If he really was somehow responsible for these 
crimes, then why?  Because of her?  Then why had she almost 
become a victim herself--and how had she been saved?

But of all the things Philip Padgett had said and written, 
there was one that stood out the most boldly to her, one that 
would not leave her alone.  "Agent Scully is already in love."

He had looked inside of her and described her in intimate 
detail, even those thoughts and feelings that she was 
unwilling to voice or admit to herself.  He had seen her 
insecurities, her loneliness.  He had preyed on her longing to 
find love and acceptance.  But had he been the first to 
recognize this one thing that she had fought against, that she 
had been unwilling to let herself feel?  That she indeed was 
already in love, with the one man who had become her entire 
world.

* * *

Mulder continued to flip through the channels.  But he wasn't 
really paying attention anyway.  The rhythm of the light 
flickering as one station gave way to the next was just a 
background to the thoughts roaming around in his head.

He was worried about Scully, but not because he thought that 
she might be attacked again or that she couldn't handle 
spending the night alone.  She had been victimized by other 
suspects before, and she continually responded with that 
incredible strength and independence that he so admired in 
her.  But never had the attack been so intimate.  He was 
worried that this guy had really gotten into her head, and 
Mulder didn't know how it had affected her.  The way she had 
clung to him after he found her lying there in his apartment, 
covered in blood--even when Scully had allowed herself to shed 
quiet tears of relief after being attacked by Donnie Pfaster, 
never had Mulder heard her sob so loudly or felt her grasp at 
him so desperately.  He knew it wasn't just because of her 
fear about the attack.  This guy had really affected her.

But he had affected Mulder too.  Mulder read every last page 
of Padgett's novel.  He was amazed by the intimate detail with 
which Pagdett described Scully's thoughts and actions.  What 
frightened Mulder the most was not just the detail and 
accuracy, but the thought that Padgett understood Scully 
better than he himself did.  There were doubts and 
vulnerabilities related there that Mulder had never even 
imagined.  Could Scully really feel such insecurity about her 
own abilities, or about the way he perceived her?  Didn't she 
know how much he depended on her and her insights?  She wasn't 
really afraid that she would be accepted by other agents--
especially him--for her looks rather than her brains, was she?

What especially bothered Mulder was the detailed love scene 
written by Padgett between Scully and "the stranger."  Mulder 
felt there that the writer had not read Scully's thoughts but 
his own.  This is the way that Mulder had imagined her--and he 
thought that he was the only one who had.  Mulder himself 
almost felt violated by how Padgett had fantasized about 
Scully in a way that Mulder felt he alone had the right to, 
almost like a jealous husband.  Of course, it didn't even 
occur to Mulder that Scully had never given him that right, 
but that he had only assumed it for himself.

* * *

Scully turned over again and looked at the clock.  It was two 
in the morning.  She hadn't even started to drift off to 
sleep.  Feeling restless, she wanted to get up.  Lying here in 
bed tossing and turning just seemed like a waste of time.  But 
even more, she wanted a distraction from her thoughts.  

She got out of bed and walked over to the door.  With her hand 
on the knob, she hesitated.  She was going to walk to the 
kitchen for a glass of water, but just then she remembered 
that Mulder was in the living room.  She paused and listened 
for a moment.  Everything was quiet.  Surely he was asleep by 
now.  If she was quiet enough, maybe she wouldn't wake him.

Scully opened the door and stepped toward the living room.  
The TV was on--some black and white movie that she didn't 
recognize.  All of the lights were off, and the flicker of the 
television spasmodically lit the room.  From where she stood, 
she could only see the back of the couch and Mulder's feet 
sticking out beyond the armrest.  Scully walked quietly toward 
the kitchen so as not to wake him.

As she opened the cupboard, Scully instinctively swung around 
at the familiar click of a gun behind her.

"What are you doing up?" Mulder asked.

"I couldn't sleep.  Why are you pointing a gun at me?"

"I heard a noise.  I thought someone was in the apartment."

"Yeah, me."  Scully was slightly annoyed, but only because he 
had scared her so badly.  Mulder had already put down the gun 
and swung his legs around to sit up on the couch.  Scully 
proceeded to get herself a glass of water and then decided to 
fill one for Mulder too.  She walked over and handed one to 
him and then sat down next to him on the couch.

"I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to wake you," she said.  "I was 
trying to be quiet."

"I wasn't asleep.  I was just lying here watching this movie."

"What is it?"

Mulder paused, then looked at her.  "I have no idea."

"Isn't it hard to tell what's going on with the sound off?"

"It gives me a chance to practice my lip reading."

Scully watched the TV, drinking her water, while Mulder 
watched her.  "I thought you'd be asleep hours ago," he said.  
"You looked exhausted when you got home."

"I was.  I am.  But my mind just won't rest."  Scully looked 
over at Mulder and saw the concern written on his face.

"Listen, Scully, I know you probably don't want to talk to me 
about this, but I really think you should talk to somebody.  
That guy really got to you."

Scully opened her mouth as though she was about to say 
something, but she didn't.  She looked down at the glass in 
her hands silently for a moment and then looked back at 
Mulder.  "Why wouldn't I talk to you?"

That wasn't the response he expected.  In fact, he thought she 
was going to argue with him about it, protest that she 
appreciated his concern but that she'd be fine--as she almost 
had.

"I don't know.  I guess I just thought it was too...personal."

"It is.  It's incredibly personal.  Mulder, how could someone 
I'd never met know me so intimately?"

"Maybe it's like you said.  It's the same as when we write 
behavioral profiles of killers.  We try to get inside their 
heads and understand why they do what they do.  We study the 
details and patterns of their lives to reconstruct what they 
do every day.  That's what he did with you.  He studied the 
details of your life to understand who you are."

"But why?  Why me, Mulder?  I'd never even met the man.  I 
don't even remember seeing him before, yet he'd apparently 
been watching me for a long time.  He must have just seen me 
on the street one day, or in the grocery store, and decided to 
follow me.  Why?"

"Why not you?  Do you really find it so hard to believe that a 
man would find you that intriguing?  You're a beautiful woman 
who carries herself with grace and dignity.  In fact, I don't 
know why you don't have more men stalking you."

Scully smiled at him, with her brow furrowed.  "Thank you, I 
think."  They were both quiet for a moment.  Scully's smile 
faded and gave way to a worried look.  "Mulder...tell me that 
it wasn't my fault, that those people didn't die because of 
me."

"Scully, it wasn't your fault."

"But it was.  I still don't know how he did it, but somehow 
Philip Padgett was responsible for those people's deaths, all 
as some sick ploy to get my attention.  He even knew me well 
enough that he knew what kind of crime would end up on my 
desk."

"Our desk.  You know, he had to know a thing or two about me 
as well to be able to pull this off.  He knew about the X-
Files.  He knew where I lived.  If you're going to place 
blame, you could just as easily say it's my fault for being 
interested in unexplainable crimes, or for living in a 
building with a vacant apartment next door."  Scully gave him 
a look, like "that's absurd, Mulder, and you know it."  

"Scully, we both know there's only one person here to blame, 
and that's Philip Padgett"--Scully opened her mouth to 
interject, but Mulder voiced it first--"and his accomplice, if 
he had one.  There's no way we could have known or prevented 
this, but we did stop it.  No one else is going to die."

Scully looked up at him questioningly.  She was still trying 
to find some comfort in all this.  She couldn't help but feel 
that she was to blame for it all, even if there was nothing 
she could have done to prevent it.  Mulder read her look and 
reached over to put his arm around her, offering what comfort 
he could.  Scully leaned into his hug and sighed.  She closed 
her eyes and tried to let her worries and thoughts melt away.  
They both settled back into the couch very comfortably.  
Between that and the warmth and safety of Mulder holding her, 
Scully began to drift off to sleep.

As Scully's breathing began to change, Mulder realized that 
she was asleep.  He thought for a moment about laying her down 
on the couch or even carrying her back to her bedroom, but he 
finally decided not to move her and risk waking her again now 
that she was finally sleeping.  Mulder carefully reached over 
and pulled a blanket over to cover both of them.  He couldn't 
reach the remote with his hand, but after a little careful 
maneuvering, he was finally able to hit the power button with 
his big toe.  The room went dark, and Mulder soon followed 
Scully into a deep, restful slumber.

* * *

Just an hour later, Scully awoke.  The room was dark, and it 
took a moment for her eyes to adjust.  All she knew was that 
she felt very warm and comfortable, but she wasn't in her own 
bed.  Then Scully remembered where she was--on the couch in 
her living room.  She turned her head to look at the face of 
Mulder, who was still holding her as they sat together under 
one blanket.  He was asleep.  Scully had no idea what time it 
was, but she didn't like the idea of spending the rest of the 
night sitting up.  No matter how comfortable she felt here, 
she knew that in the morning it wouldn't feel much better than 
having slept on a plane.

Scully slowly pulled away from Mulder and stood up.  He was 
still asleep and looked so peaceful.  She gently lifted his 
feet and placed them on the couch, his torso and head 
compliantly turning to rest on the opposite end of the couch.  
Scully pulled the blanket over Mulder, but it was only a lap 
quilt that she kept on the couch and didn't quite cover his 
long body.  She stood there regarding him for a moment.  He 
just didn't look comfortable.  The pillow wasn't quite under 
his head, and he was too tall for her couch.  

As if reading her thoughts, Mulder started to stir, trying to 
adjust to a more comfortable position.  After a couple of 
attempts, he seemed to become aware of her presence, and he 
slowly opened his eyes and looked up at Scully.  What he saw 
made him smile.  She was standing there with her hands on her 
hips and her head tilted to look more squarely at him.  It was 
a very matronly pose, like a mother waiting by her child for 
him to realize that she's standing there watching everything 
that he's doing.  She was giving him a "you just can't get 
away with sleeping on the couch like that, it's not going to 
work" look.

Scully reached out her hand toward Mulder.  "C'mon.  You don't 
look very comfortable here."  Mulder reached up and took her 
hand, and he dutifully followed her back toward the bedroom.  
Scully led him over to the far side of her bed.  Mulder said 
nothing and seemed almost to be sleep walking, his eyes barely 
open.  His shoes were already off, but he was otherwise fully 
dressed.  Mulder just stood there next to the bed, making no 
effort to either lie down or do anything else.  Scully reached 
toward him and unbuttoned his jeans and then started to slide 
down the zipper.  That seemed to wake him up a little.  "You 
do the rest."  She walked away as he obeyed.

Scully climbed in the opposite side of the bed while Mulder 
removed his jeans.  Then he climbed in next to her.  He was 
still very sleepy, and she said no more to him.  Scully turned 
her back toward Mulder and soon fell back asleep, which he had 
done shortly after his head hit the pillow.

* * *

Around 4 am, Mulder woke up to the sound of muffled cries.  As 
he came to awareness, he realized it was Scully next to him.  
She was yelling into her pillow, "No!  No, let go of me!  
Mulderrr!!"

Even in her sleep Scully cried out for his help.  Mulder 
immediately reached over to Scully and gently pulled her to 
him, wrapping his arms around her.  He spoke softly in her 
ear.  "Scully, wake up.  It's okay.  It's just a dream.  I'm 
right here.  You're okay."

Scully calmed down and opened her eyes.  She was clinging to 
Mulder, almost as desperately as she had clung to him earlier 
that day.  It was clear that she had just relived that 
experience in some way.

* * * * *
* * * * *

That's all she wrote!

Honestly, folks, I don't even remember where I was going with 
this, and I didn't make myself any notes.  But, they're in bed 
together, holding each other...you figure out where you want 
them to go from here.  :)

There are many, many Milagro post-eps that cover some of the 
same ground as this fic.  Here are a few that will give you a 
similar flavor--and a more satisfying conclusion:

"Six Inch Valley" by Michelle Kiefer

"Imagine That" by Circe Invidiosa

"Adagio" by Terma99

"Valse Lente" by Shoshana

"Inamorata" by KatyBlue


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