"...and I'm afraid you're going to have to take some time off," a young nurse informs Mulder. "Two weeks at the very least." She holds the medications out to him: a bottle of pills.
Mulder glances up when the movement catches his attention and blinks several times. "I...uh...what?" he replies, cringing. "Sorry. I must have zoned out."
"Don't worry," he hears Scully say from beside him. "I'll make sure he's okay. Thank you."
Footsteps, loud and then soft, tell him the nurse has left.
He scrunches up his face, his forehead furrows. Everything seems so distant, so far away. "Scully? What's going on?"
Her hand is suddenly on his forehead and it's cool and soothing and he never wants to move again. He presses into her touch.
"Mulder, you're sick," Scully explains. "There's been an outbreak of a virus and unfortunately you caught it. You've been in and out of consciousness for the past three hours."
He vaguely recalls snatches of images, faces, the back of an ambulance, a hospital bed.
"I"m going to take you home," she continues, "because the hospital is full and I can look after you better away from here. Okay?"
The edge of his vision is blurring, growing dark. He tries to nod, but can't tell whether he succeeds or not. He must have because Scully smiles grimly at him. She seems to shimmer in contrast to the approaching darkness and he wonders if she's...
"You rest now, okay? I'll take care of you."
...his guardian angel.