Take My Heart
Mulder lay in the sterilised hospital bed, his eyes closed lightly, but sleep as far away as it could possibly be. Several plastic tubes ran from his arm to the IV machine off to the side and a single "Get Well" card sat on the table next to him. It was from Scully, his only visitor.
She had been determined to stay with him in case anything happened (such as the gunman coming after him again) but he'd told her to go home and get some sleep. After pleading with her for several minutes, she'd been as close to convinced as she was going to get and had reluctantly left him.
That had been hours ago, and Mulder was beginning to wish that she'd ignored his request and stayed. He was going mad, couped up in the room with nothing to do.
Sighing wearily, Mulder licked at his dry, cracked lips, before glancing up at the latest nurse as she came in the door. She moved over to the IV machine and checked that everything was working properly, then turned and exited without a word.
Mulder groaned softly to himself as she disappeared from sight. He should've tried talking to her. A conversation would've been a great way to get his mind off things. At the moment, pretty much anything could help with that.
The constant bustle of nurses to and from his room, and out in the hallway had refused to let his mind relax for all the time that he'd been there, and it didn't seem likely to change any time soon. Painful images kept going through his mind and he couldn't for the life of him shut them off.
Mulder tiredly repositioned himself in the bed and grimaced as a shot of pain stabbed through his chest. He continued to move into a more comfortable pose, slowly falling into a trance-like state and absently replaying the moments when he had been wounded over and over in his mind…
He hated that he had let it happen. It had been stupid and he'd never forget how recklessly he'd acted.
He'd been chasing after a gunman who had interfered with their latest case for some unknown reason. There had been several theories put forward by other officers, but nothing was solid so far and no connections had been made that joined the case to the gunman.
Anyhow, he had been careless, more so than he cared to admit. He hadn't seen the gun hooked into the back of the offender's pants and when the man had stopped and turned the weapon on him, he'd been caught off guard.
He wasn't going to let that happen again. Ever.
He was stuck in hospital now, with a bullet wound to the chest and the numbing sensation of boredom drilling painfully at his brain. It was not something he really enjoyed doing, and it definitely wasn't on his list of things to do for a second time around, either.
Mulder sighed again for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. He was so bored! He needed to do something, anything! The room he was currently in was becoming more and more like a prison cell by the minute – except a lot cleaner and with a strong aroma of antiseptics.