That was the heart monitor. That was hers.
Some nurse walks by.
For a moment, she hears a machine breathing for someone. She should be grateful it hasn't come to that yet.
Hers again, the loudest sound she will make for this. It hurts. It hurts everywhere, deep inside her bones. She's so tired and she feels nauseous, and *god* how her head hurts.
The sweep of her mother's hand across her hair, down her arm, across the sheet. She is sorry to admit that she is indifferent to it, but it helps her mother, somehow.
The noise her brother makes as he exits. Every time.
The doctor's shoes as he comes in, smiles, and tries not to look too sorry for her.
The silent skip of her heart every time Mulder presses his mouth, soft and dry and large, against her cheek, forehead, hand.
Please don't leave.