Spoilers: Milagro, basically.
A/N: Okay... I am not a part of the "Scully didn't have any wounds after her encounter with the Ken dude" club. Because if you punch a hole in a wall and die as you're punching the hole, it still leaves some damage. Right? Anyway, there are about 10 episodes that it seems everyone has to write a post-ep of, and this is my second or third attempt at Milagro. We'll see how it goes.
She clung to him tightly until the paramedics came, but even then she wouldn't let his hand go. The medics took her pulse and checked her other vitals, but the moment they moved to tend to her injuries, she pulled away.
"Scully," Mulder began, in his quiet, just-for-her tone. "They just need to make sure you're okay."
"No, I'm fine," she argued, trying to sit up. "I'm fine."
Mulder gently pushed her shoulders back down on the couch.
"Just a quick look, Scully. I'll be right here," he said trying to read her expression. "Or I can go in the other room if you'd rather."
She was about to respond when there was a knock on the door.
"Go ahead," she whispered. He nodded and went to the door while the EMT's took care of his partner.
After finding Padgett dead in the basement, taking a few pictures of the crime scene for posterity, and getting Mulder's promise that he and Scully would give their statements later, the police officers left. Mulder returned to the other room where Scully was arguing with the EMT's.
"I'm a doctor. I know the risks, and I'll be fine."
"But Miss Scully-"
"I don't need to go to the hospital."
"She'll be fine," Mulder interjected, sensing that Scully was about to go into one of her famous emotional shut downs.
"Sir, she's got wounds-"
"And unless she's still losing blood, which she's not because she's knows better than that when she's on my couch, she can take care of herself. I will take her to the hospital if there are any complications."
Knowing that they weren't going to win an argument with the pair, the EMT's gave them the necessary paperwork, and left the building.
Scully sat with her shirt unbuttoned, but tucked around her thin frame.
"Are you really going to be okay, Scully?"
"It hurts," she admitted quietly.
"What can I do for you?"
"I need to get cleaned up. And I need to go home. Can... you help me?"
He nodded and sat down next to her, brushing her matted hair back from her face.
"I'll find you some more clothes, and you can shower, okay? And then I'll take you home."
He stood from the couch and went into his bedroom, finding an old, shrunken pair of sweats in the bottom drawer of his dresser. It would probably swallow her, even in its smaller state. He had been noticing lately how small she really was. Short, sure, he'd always known that, but during that case in Arcadia, he's seen her out of the bulky suits and in slightly less bulky cardigans and semi-casual slacks. And a few weeks after that he had witnessed a rarity- Scully in jeans and a t-shirt. He could have put his hands around her waist and had about an inch of finger overlap. Maybe she was losing weight or maybe he'd just never paid close enough attention. Or maybe she was losing weight because he'd never paid close enough attention. He sighed at the thought and knocked on the bathroom door.
"Scully? I got some clothes for you. I'll leave them by the sink."
"Okay," she called back, her voice strained.
"I can run down to your car and get your overnight bag if there's anything you need in there-"
"No! I have everything."
He shut the door and went into the living room, surveying the mess. He knew he should clean it up before she saw it, but he just didn't think he could deal with it right now. He placed a large dishrag over the stain on the floor and made a mental note to call in a favor to the Lone Gunmen. They were still sore at him for the way he had treated Scully months ago, but he was sure that since this involved her, they would be inclined to help him out. He smirked as he thought of the three odd-balls, and how their loyalty had flip-flopped almost 180 degrees from him to Scully in the last few years. She could ask them for anything and they would do it for her, while he had to scrounge up tickets to a game, or a couple hundred dollars.
He heard the shower go off and a few minutes later she joined him on the couch, dressed in his old sweats. He looked over at her and she met his eyes.
"I want to go home," she said after a moment of quiet communication.
"Okay. I think your tennis shoes are still in the bottom of my closet from that time..." He trailed off and they both let their minds wander to that Saturday afternoon almost a year ago. A warm spring day had turned into a rainstorm right in the middle of their 5 mile run. They had made it back to his apartment, soaking wet and laughing. She smiled a little as she thought about it, then went into his bedroom to retrieve the shoes.