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48 hours after arriving in the hospital mid seizure and Mulder has graced her with his conscious mind barley 3 times.
4 grand mals and 9 complex partials and Scully considers him lucky they haven’t found signs of lasting damage.
She watches him, her expression carefully kept emotionless as he twists and moans in his sleep. His face screws up in pain and frustration and his hands stubbornly pull at the restrains but aside from that, he makes no effort to rouse himself.
52 hours, 4 grand mals and 10 complex partials and he turns a corner. It takes him nearly an hour to claw his way back into the world of the living. His eye flutter before slamming shut again the harsh light and a whine escapes his lips.
“Mulder,” Scully says, sitting up and peering at his face to determine whether or not he’s lucid this time around.
“Scully,” He moans, low and miserable. “Hurts.” So far it’s the most words he managed to mumble since he was admitted. It’s a good start.
“I’ll bet,” She says bluntly, raising an eyebrow at him. He blinks several more times before turning his head to find her.
She watches his hand snake out of the blanket, reach out for her but stop at the pull of the restrains.
“Scully,” He says again, wincing as he cranes his neck to see the obstacle. “Am I–? Why am I restrained? What happened?”
“You’ve been seizing. You pulled out your IV line so we had to put you in restraints so you wouldn’t hurt yourself.”
“I don’t remember that,” His voice pitches slightly and his face creases in concealed worry.
“That doesn’t surprise me. You were pretty far out of it,” Finally she sighs and reaches out to grab his hand. It’s cold and clammy and it doesn’t surprise her in the slightest. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
He bites his lower lip, worrying it between his teeth while the gears in his mind twist and turn, trying to make sense of the surely limited things he remembers from the past several days.
“My mom’s house. The last thing I remember is my mom’s house,” He says finally.
Scully hesitates before speaking, carefully planning and plotting her next words.
“I called your mom… after you were admitted.”
“Fox had petit mal seizures as a young boy. Until about age 12.”
Mulder stares at her, waiting for her continue.
“She, um… She told me about your epilepsy.”
Shock registers on Mulder’s face and now it’s Scully’s turn to bite her lip.
“She told me you suffered from seizures as a kid, Mulder.”
The silence is deafening.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why did I have to find out from your–”
“I don’t want to talk about this right now, Scully,” His voice is cold as he distances himself from the conversation at hand. “I’m tired.”
“We need to have this conversation. Do you have any idea what kind of hurdles I’ve had to jump through in the last several days to keep them from a slapping epileptic across your forehead? If the bureau finds out you already have epilepsy–”
“I don’t have epilepsy,” He says firmly, no longer looking in Scully’s direction, his eyes closed tightly. “It went away.” She never even noticed his hand slipping out of her own.
“Mulder, this diagnosis is career ending and the bureau doesn’t need anymore reasons to kick your ass to the curb,” She says, her voice painted with frustration.
Mulder’s lip wobbles and Scully feels a wave of guilt wash over her. She sighs and leans back in her chair, cocking her head to see him better.
“Mulder, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, I’m just… It’s just frustrated,” She says softly, reaching out to run her fingers through his hair. His skin blends in a little too well with the white sheets of his hospital bed, apart from the red flush across his cheeks and the dark bags that stand out like bruises under his eyes.
“I’m tired,” He whispers. “But I promise… I promise we’ll talk about this later.”
“You got yourself a deal,” She says, a hint of a smile as Mulder’s head lolls to the side. “Get some sleep.”
They never do talk about it later. Just another secret swept under the rug, just another ditch to add to the list and just another headache to file away.
The rooms falls into silence.