#Woman gets into a fucked up death machine car and drives it into the groom

[kingprinceleo]

Oh fuck me fuckme fuck me

[trainwreckweather]

8&24 (hospital+ soulmate AU) stella/scully

Prompt given by the lovely @viceversawrites (thank you! 💙)

******************

It's rare. They say it's like divine revelation. You feel everything, see everything. Taste, hear, know.

So many have chased the feeling to death. Scientists have tried to engineer the euphoria and intelligence in a pill for the richest of the rich.

But it's dangerous. And really, it doesn't compare.

In this day and age, it's a common folk tale. A myth. Taught in history classrooms, in literature too- oh, the sheer romance of it. Professors swoon at uninterested students snapping gum and looking bored.

They don't care about what doesn't concern them.The subject of soulmates is laughable to them.

Oh- oh it's real they say.

It's real, sure. No one will dispute that. It's happened before. Ordinary humans changed within an instant. No one knows why, or how. They don't know how a highschool dropout can communicate in every language known to man- dead and lost included, mere minutes after handing over a fast food receipt.

They're stronger, smarter, and more perceptive once they've met their soulmate. More compassionate too, it seems.

But the catch is, you have to touch the hand of your soulmate to see it all. To know.

Statistics are not in anyone's favor. You can say 'small world!’ all you want, but the population is up there, nearly 8 billion now. Take the seas into consideration, the miles separating city from rural lands, and the restless spirit of humans- it's harder than hitting the jackpot.

No one has time to go and touch the hand of every person they come across, though it's not uncommon to see small children, whimsical and hopeful glide along, giggling as they brush the hands of everyone they pass.

A children's schoolground game. There are nursery rhymes about it too, but Dana doesn't have her head in the clouds, doesn't pay any mind.

She isn't like the children and preteen girls singing and daydreaming of enlightenment and the truest, purest form of love.

She's a realist. She gets up, grooms, shoves half a bagel in her mouth, maybe burns herself with coffee on her commute to work.

People love, people marry, and she thinks she gets along just fine with the knowledge her brain holds now. She isn't interested in soulmates. It never even crosses her mind.

She thinks in numbers, hard facts, statistics. Diseases and treatments and dosages. Possible cures. The closest she's gotten to letting loose is whooping with the kids in her ward who've just gotten the best news of their lives yet. They can go home.

That's where she usually is, that's where she does her best work- The pediatric ward. She shakes all of her patients hands and (thankfully) not once did she feel any different than before.

Today is a changeup.  The ER is short staffed and her ward is quiet.

Dana reviews vitals, orders tests, transfers and medications to be administered. It's busier than she's used to but she adjusts to the fast paced rhythm like she does most things. She finds her groove and excels. Like a machine.

People feel bad for her. She doesn't date, she's buried in her work, too invested. She takes it home with her and reviews files, over and over. Tests theories, work things out in her head, this way and that. What is the best course of action for little Brian? If I proceed with this- he could have permanent nerve damage, if I risk it he may die.

Her nights are much like her days, blended and ordered and perfect. She's happy. She thinks she's happy at least. Who cares about what others see? Who cares about the ultimate human form? Who cares about love? She has everything she could ever want or need.

“Dr. Scully, ambulance is here in two. Car crash, 33 yr. old caucasian female, possible head injury.”

A nurse; his tag says Tommi. She thanks him.

Stella Gibson isn't happy about being here. Before she even pulls back the curtain, she can hear the complaints, a strained british lilt reaching her ears.

“It's barely a scratch! I'm fine. The ambulance was unnecessar-”

She enters and interrupts before things can escalate.

“Ms. Gibson! External injuries can oftentimes present in a manner that doesn't show us what's going on inside. I agree that you're probably alright. But I want to order an MRI and have you stay overnight for observation. Just to be on the safe side.”

“Stella,” she corrects with a steely gaze that leaves no room for argument. Dana nods once.

“Stella. Is that alright with you?”

Stella answers in the affirmative, but doesn't look to happy over her predicament.

She is fair haired, fair skinned and freckled, and has piercing baby blues. She's in need of stitches just above her left brow. Regardless, she's a strikingly beautiful woman, and something instinctual tells her to stay on Stella Gibson's good side.

And something primal, something she isn't used to, tells her to protect this woman at all costs.

She holds out her hand to this woman sitting upright and stiff on the hospital gurney. It's her standard practice. Doesn't think once about it, let alone twice.

Stella begins to say something in an almost sheepish tone, something about how she isn't used to driving in the U.S. - but it's cut off abruptly as soon as they make contact.

The textbooks- they don't prepare you for this. Dana is hit with a force so hard she nearly collapses- stumbles and gasps at the sensation. It's as if all of the earth's energy has funneled itself into this triage.

She feels it. Each and every atom. She can feel them feed off of each other, but it doesn't hurt. Why doesn't it hurt?

It's intense, so much so that she fears her bones will splinter, and that she'll fly apart, simply cease to exist as she was.

Dana doesn't realize what's happening, she can't make the connection. She can only feel. And see.

She sees a young towheaded toddler with unruly curls and crimson rain boots. Someone, her father, lifts her so she can pat the wet nose of a gelding. She feels the anticipation of the girl- part fear, part excitement. The same feeling is there when she views the girl on her back, no longer a girl and so sure that this is her ticket to womanhood. Only 17, but later she feels the sadness and regret. And the sting.

And the sting. Of the freezing rain pelting as her father's casket is lowered into the bitter dirt. Frozen. Frozen like her heart. Which she tries to melt with the burning of cigarette smoke and liquor and the flowing of warm blood and the heat of a quick fuck. It never quite works. Always something missing. Something to be filled.

Filled with University courses, with self confidence, with a uniform. There. Now there is purpose. Now there is wrong and right and she she stands firm on the right side of the line.

She leaves the country to get away from a Stalker, someone who she met once, fucked once, and that not even the law could get rid of. Like herpes.

She's trying to start over here in San Diego. It's different. It was her hope to permanently thaw the ice with this weather. She's working as a barista. She can barely afford her studio. Her car is wrecked. Still she's happier than she's been in a long while.

Happier now still.

As sudden as it starts, that's how it stops. The rushing in her ears is replaced with faint ringing. Dana is back now. To this room, to this body. She's shaking like a leave.

Adrenaline, her mind supplies.

Stella is wide eyed and opened mouth; their hands are clasped between them. This is when it hits her, what just happened.

“Dr. Scully?! Ms. Gibson?! Are you alright? Here, I have a chair.”  Someone is panicked and confused, but that someone is not her. It will never be her again.

She doesn't sit. She waves the nurse off as best she can. She still won't let go of Stella, can't take her eyes off of her.

That primal urge to protect is now reinforced and emphasized. She wouldn't have believed it before, if someone told her it was possible to fall in love in an instant. But really, how can can you call a lifetime an instant? She was there, she was there to see Stella's victories and her downfalls. She was right there with her, feeling what she felt, seeing all she's been through. It's incredible, the strength one person can possess. It's incredible what one can survive. She's never been so proud. She's never been so in love.

Too overwhelmed, they both start leaking tears, but they're smiling at each other, face splitting, opened mouth smiles. Dana can taste the salt on her tongue.

She laughs at the absurdity of today. If Stella had been more careful, if she was out sick, if the ward had needed her- all these ifs. Eight billion little ifs. She shakes it out of her head.

She knows things now. Not just Stella things. She could (and most likely will), cure cancer if given a quiet room and a day to herself.

But right here, right now, there are pressing matters to deal with. Such as making sure her soulmate (god, her soulmate) has nothing more than a gash and a mild concussion. After that- wow. What does one do after this?

Stella sniffs and squeezes her hand.

“I don't suppose you would mind if I asked you out to dinner...”