Author's notes: Why, you ask, would I write a 7 chapter X-files fanfiction set in 1999? This fall I've been re-watching the X-files from beginning to end and realized that now with 15 years of life experience, there is so much I missed the first time. So, I hope you'll indulge me this one for the sake of my 15 year old self who couldn't have done it. It's by no means perfect, but I think it's better… Feedback (even critical feedback) is cherished.

Although these are by no means "post-eps" if you have nothing better to do with your time, you may enjoy reading in parallel to watching season 6. The first chapter takes place just after Terms of Endearment (6.07), and each session thereafter is set to occur between episodes throughout season 6. Each chapter notes which episode the session should follow.

Session 1

January 5, 1999

J. Edgar Hoover Building

"Welcome, Agent Scully. Please, take a seat."

Slowly, I lowered myself down in an overstuffed chair and stared coldly at the woman in the seat across from me. My glare didn't seem to phase her and she smiled pleasantly back at me. I took a deep breath and released it audibly.

"I'm glad to see you, Agent Scully. I'm looking forward to getting to know you," the woman across from me offered.

I set my jaw and kept my gaze steely. "Thank you, Dr. Lewis, but I'm sure you realize that I'm here because I've been asked to be," I kept my tone formal and terse. I had no intention of making this easy on her.

"Please, call me Meg."

I considered telling her that I'd rather not, but I held my tongue to avoid giving her anything to scratch down on the notepad balanced on her lap. Instead, she rested her hands gently folded on top of it, pen still in hand.

"So, where do we begin?" she asked sweetly.

"Frankly," I began, "I don't have anything to say. I disagree with the fact that I'm here at all." It occurred me that there were plenty of things to talk about with a therapist, these days, but that didn't make me feel any more talkative. My eyes dared her to ask about my work, about the days I'd just spend exhuming the corpses of babies whose murderer would never be brought to justice.

She paused, as if weighing her words. "Agent Scully, I see in your records that you've spoken with Bureau therapists before. I see that you'd built a relationship with Dr. Mead a few years ago. She's working in a different capacity now, but she spoke very highly of you. Clearly, you know the value of the therapeutic process."

"And I do, when under other circumstances, but feeling coerced into therapy doesn't give me much respect for the process," my exterior remained cool, having many years of practice with my partner testing my nerves.

"Coerced?" Meg repeated.

"I've seen the documentation. I'm here because various superiors have expressed concern about my recent tendency for 'hysteria,' which as a psychologist I surely don't need to remind you suggests that my womb has made me overly emotional," I could hear my tone change and my breath quicken despite my effort be calm. The last thing I wanted to do was prove them right. "My partner has on multiple occasions had outbursts far more 'hysterical' than anything I've demonstrated. I am here because I've upset my superiors and in part because I am a woman working in a male dominated organization. I think that's pretty clear. If I have to sit through six therapy sessions as a result then so be it, but don't expect me to value the therapeutic process."

I knew precisely the moments of so-called-hysteria that had wound me up here. I'd rushed Skinner's office one too many times even before we were taken off the X-files, and someone had taken notice. Then, when Mulder ran off to find a damn ghost ship in the Bermuda Triangle I had to use every ounce of my power and prowess to save him, again. This time I showed up in Kersh's office; I offered to tear Spender a new one. They couldn't suspend me for it, and now without the X-files to shut down, they couldn't even threaten that. I was already doing gopher work. They had nothing left to do to me but force me into mandated therapy. Alas, here I was.

She frowned. "I'm sorry that you feel that way, Agent Scully, and I can imagine that it's very difficult to feel marginalized and discriminated against because of your gender. We do set very different display rules in our society for men and women, and that can be upsetting." She spoke slowly and deliberately. "You don't have to agree with why you're here, and neither do I." She paused. "But what if I propose that out of respect for your time and for mine, we try to make the best use of this time we can."

I remained stubbornly silent, but she was testing my resolve.

"Is there anything you would like to talk about? Since we're here?" She capped her pen and set it down with her notepad on the small table beside her, out of arms reach. It was a peace offering.

I wanted to dig my heels in. I wanted to fight her. But, she made a decent case. I had no choice but to be here and neither did she. Sitting in silence hardly seemed like the best use of my afternoon.

"Just by looking over your file I know you've had some difficult years," she said, her voice softening. "Illness, loss, changes at work, these are challenging for anyone. I'm certainly not saying that your behavior is at all out of line, even for someone who hasn't been through so much, but maybe a chance to talk about how some of these things make you feel would be good?"

I took a breath to calm myself and sought the response that would please a psychologist. I thought back to my psychiatric rotation in medical school and composed an answer. My anger had quelled a bit and I found it easier to be professional. "Yes, there have been some challenging moments, but I have a lot of social support for dealing with them and talking about them. I have a strong relationship with my family and my partner, and they've been supportive through it all. I do not need a therapist right now."

"I'm glad to hear that you have people to turn to, Agent Scully. Strong relationships are a real asset. But, sometimes a neutral party doesn't hurt. I won't have to think about anyone's interests but yours. I can just listen."

I didn't even give her a facial expression. I could be professional, but she was going to have to work for every inch.

"It doesn't have to be groundbreaking, Agent Scully," she said, her pleasant expression becoming just a bit more playful. "Did you do anything nice for the holidays?"

I thought back on my Christmas spent with Mulder, about the strange night we'd shared in what could only be described as a haunted house. I told myself when I went out there that night that I was doing it because he needed me. He didn't have anywhere to spend the holiday and would have been alone without me. That was how we'd gotten trapped. Somehow our delusions had capitalized on his loneliness and my care for him. But, then I thought about how his smile had beamed when he presented me with my Christmas gift that night, when I showed up at his apartment to find him still up, dressed, and alone on Christmas Eve. That wasn't really about his loneliness at all. I thought about how I'd curled into him and on the couch and fallen asleep, feeling like a little girl who woke up early to find Santa had come. "Yes, it was nice. More low key than most years, but nice."

"Did you spend time with your family?"

"Actually," I said cautiously, "I spent Christmas with my partner this year."

"Your partner?" she echoed.

"I know it may sound a little strange, but he doesn't have a lot of family." It was an understatement, but somehow I felt I needed to protect him. "I did go to my Mom's house for dinner," I backtracked, now seeing how much she was reading into this, "I saw my brothers and my nephews."

I'd woken up on Mulder's couch when the sky began to fill with light. I was still in my suit from the night before, his warm body next to mine and a layer of snow on the ground outside. I realized I'd missed Christmas morning. Seven o'clock under the Christmas tree for Matthew's first Christmas had come and gone. Eventually I went home, showered, and put on a sweater before driving out to my mom's house. But, I'd spend Christmas morning in his arms.

"And your family was okay with you spending a holiday with colleagues. You mentioned you were close."

"Well, it did cause a bit of tension," I said tentatively. Another understatement, to say the least. Bill had been livid. My mom broke down in tears over the dinner table. I was the skunk of the day without a doubt. It was as if no one remembered what I'd gone through the year before on Christmas. It was as if no one understood why I might not want to be around for the Scully family holiday cheer. No one realized that I would just be watching Tara play with baby Matthew longingly, thinking about my daughter and how she'd found me just a year before while I was putting on this same charade of Christmas spirit. "But, it was important to me to be there with Mulder this year."

"It sounds like you're very close. How long have you and your partner worked together?" she probed.

I knew what she was doing. I gave her two openings, my family and my work. She, incorrectly, assumed that a work relationship would be more simple than a family relationship. She couldn't bring herself to lead with "tell me about your relationship with your mother." Although I didn't like it, seeing her efforts made me let down my guard a bit. I extended an olive branch. Work seemed a safe enough topic to discuss for the time being.

"Nearly 6 years now. We worked for many years in a small sub-division called the X-files. Often we worked on cases involving unexplained and somewhat unorthodox phenomena, unsolved cases."

She tried to hide her delight that I'd offered up a piece of information she hadn't explicitly asked for, even if she did likely already have it written down in my file. "And now?" she asked.

"Our most recent assignments have been somewhat less meaningful. We work on background checks, mostly." I tried to remain calm impartial.

"That would be a disappointing transition. Your work on the X-files sounds fascinating. What did you like best about it?"

"It was challenging, and ever changing. I liked to know that we'd get to face something new and interesting every day. And, of course, I liked to feel like I was making a difference, like I was making people's lives a little safer. I felt fortunate to have work that kept me learning and let me serve people."

"That is nice. I often feel the same way about my work. It's a wonderful feeling," she said. "Sometimes the challenging cases are the most rewarding." I wondered if that was an intentional jab at my demeanor, but decided to let it go. "I can imagine that you miss the challenging work?"

"We find ways to keep busy," I said, trying not to admit to the level to which Mulder and I took insubordination. "But, yes. A challenging case can feel like a puzzle. It's like we're given these strange little details and have to piece them back together to bring someone to justice. From our very first case I found it frustratingly thrilling."

"Could you tell me a little bit about the types of cases you worked on? I'm always fascinated to hear about the work that's being done here."

"There really isn't a good example of an X-file. Often we'd investigate missing persons and deaths, but the perpetrators were seldom easy individuals to bring to justice." I paused. "Sometimes we'd investigate cases that were thought to have a link to the paranormal or supernatural. Perhaps you've heard of my partner, 'Spooky Mulder?'"

She flashed a genuine smile for a moment before pulling her face back to something more professional. "I recognize the name. You work well together?"

Of course she did. "He sees the world in a unique way, but sometimes that's exactly what we need to put the pieces together," I said clinically. "We've grown very close over the years."

"Do you think that these challenging cases helped strengthen your bond with your partner?" she asked.

"I suppose so, yes. Often, I play the role of trying to keep him in check, counterbalancing his over eagerness to believe with a more objective scientific stance. But, we've experienced enough things that simply can't be easily explained that I try to keep an open mind within the scope of science." I spoke deliberately, as I would before a jury. I couldn't help but feel that my relationship was on trial.

She nodded. "And does that cause tension?"

"It can." I admitted. "We certainly debate and question one another, but it's based in mutual respect. I think we both understand where the other is coming from, and we try to hear one another out, for the most part."

"That's terrific, and such an asset in a partnership. Sometimes, our colleagues become some of our closest allies."

I was a little surprised by the accuracy of her phrasing. Ally was an apt description. "Yes," I allowed my tone to warm, "Agent Mulder is certainly that."

"I'm sure that's wonderful for your work, and for your friendship," she began, but then paused in hesitation, "but is it every challenging personally? Sometimes close-knit cross-gendered partnerships cause tensions with romantic partners. Has that ever been an issue?"

It felt like a sneak attack, I had barely let my guard down for a second and suddenly, here we were. "No," I said. "I'm not in a romantic relationship."

"Oh," I saw her fight the urge to grab her pad to write something down, but she continued without moving for it, "and are you comfortable with that? Are you looking for a romantic partner?"

I paused to choose my words, suddenly feeling even more weary about what I said to her. She was reading me. It almost felt like she knew. "Not currently. I've dated in the past, but my professional life doesn't leave a lot of time to look for a romantic partner, much less maintain a relationship."

"That must be really difficult. It can be hard to strike a balance between the personal and the professional in our lives. But, it's really important do so. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Of course. I worry about it. But, my work is too sporadic and too dangerous to bring anyone else into the situation. I can still have meaningful relationships with people, but a romantic partner just wouldn't fit."

"Have you tried?"

"I've been on a handful of dates since leaving the academy, but never more than a first." This was heading in a dangerous direction. I began looking for a way out. I had to regain control of the conversation. "My work just doesn't leave time for people to depend on me so completely."

"Do you have any evidence of that?"

I thought about all of the evidence, about my sister, about Jack. I weighed the options. "Of course," I said. "I had a dog for about six months and even he was killed because of my work." It certainly wasn't the most salient example, but it was all I could do to redirect this discussion to something I could manage.

Her gaze shot up to me, "Killed?"

"I brought him with me on a case and he was eaten by an alligator," I said, now trying to downplay how hard it had been on me. "But, it was a reminder that what I do is dangerous, and people close to me can get hurt."

"Hmm," she nodded, her eyes again darting to her notepad and pen longingly, then back to me. "That's an interesting way of putting that. Do you think that letting people in is too dangerous for them?"

I took a sharp breath in, she wasn't going to accept the Queequeg incident alone. "Unfortunately, yes. My sister was murdered about 4 years ago because she was mistaken for me by a man who wanted me killed. A number of my good friends from over the years have been put in harm's way because of my work. I really couldn't in good conscience have a romantic partner, knowing the likelihood that he'd be hurt." Saying the words out loud was more difficult than I'd expected. I'd known it all along. This was part of the reason I'd never dated. Frankly, it was likely part of the reason that Mulder and I kept our relationship as collegial as we did.

She let a silence sit between us to be sure that I was finished. "Even with your new assignment? Wouldn't background checks be less dangerous, less time consuming, easier to balance?"

"Yes, of course," I admitted. "But I do hope that this assignment is temporary and that with time we'll be back out in the field." I realized it was a half-truth, but I couldn't dive into the whole reason for my solitude without coming across as paranoid as Mulder. I managed to pull my guard back up, "It's something I've dealt with. I'm okay with my life as it is. I have rewarding work, a terrific partner, my family. I'm okay." The words sounded hollow, even to me, like I was trying to convince myself of something rather than her. It had just been weeks ago I'd found myself worried about this, about the complete lack of a normal life, about a life I'd never have.

"And 'okay' is what you want out of life?"

I stared past her, scared to meet her eyes. "Okay is the best I can hope for right now. With all due respect, Meg, when you've been through what I have, okay is more than I really expected to have."

She seemed to sense that it was all that I could take for the moment. She knew I was a flight risk and didn't want to push it. So, she let the topic slip away. "Have you considered another pet, since the passing of your dog?"

"No, a dog would be great, but it's just not practical right now. Work pulls me out of town at the last minute and I can't be there for a pet. I loved the companionship, but it was difficult logistically."

"What kind of dog did you have? You know, some breeds are easier to care for."

"He was a little Pomeranian, not at all the kind of dog I would have picked out for myself. But, I sort of inherited him."

"Oh? From whom?"

"Actually a man we met on a case who passed away suddenly," saying it out loud made me realize how absurd it was that I brought home this strangers dog. But, he didn't feel like a stranger at the time.

When I looked up, her mouth was downturned. "It was kind of you to take him in."

"I was young," I said, as if it were an excuse for my behavior.

"So what kind of dog would you have picked out if you hadn't inherited little…" she waited for my input.

"Queequeg," I finished.

"Queequeg," she smiled. "Like from Moby Dick?"

I nodded, unable to keep the corners of my mouth from upturning slightly. Just the words reminded me of better times, of my dad reading me Moby Dick before bed, of reading it to myself in my college dorm room when I was homesick, of sitting on a rock on the shore of a Georgia lake with Mulder and hearing him quote Moby Dick to me. His voice was warm and raspy. It was one of those moments that I knew my life was turning in a direction I'd never expected, like I'd lost control of the ship. I took a minute to savor the memory before responding, "Yes, my father used to read it to me when I was a little girl."

"I can see how highly you think of him by that look on your face," she said.

"We were very close. He um," I wondered why I was saying the words as the came out of my mouth, "he passed away not long after I started work on the X-files."

"I'm so sorry to hear that. Losing a parent is so difficult."

I nodded in agreement. "It is, but I know now that it's just a part of the process. Just like anything else difficult in life. Parents die and pets die. I face death every day in my work. I'm learning to be more comfortable with it." Again, the words that I didn't speak said much more than those that I did. I thought about how many moments I'd been faced with my own death, about the number of times I'd thought that I'd reached my end both at work and laying in a hospital bed. I thought of Emily, and the pain of watching your child be taken from this world, but knowing that everything is put on this Earth marching towards some end.

"That's very brave, Agent Scully, and wise."

"It's the nature of the work," I said, trying to keep my tone professional.

She smiled gently in a way that made this feel more and more like a genuine conversation and less like a mandated therapy session. Again, she knew it was time to leave a topic, rather than risk upsetting me again. "Have you thought about a cat? I hear from a lot of agents that cats are easier to balance with a busy work schedule. They are more independent. They can be left alone more."

"I'm not really a cat person," I said.

She let out a chuckle. "Of course not. Let me guess, you want a big dog, a Collie or Shepard?"

"A Great Dane if I had my druthers."

"Oh, Agent Scully, think what you will, but I think we're going to have a good time together, whether you're forced to be here or not." Her eyes flicked to the clock on the wall, and back, causing me to do the same. I hadn't noticed that 45 minutes had passed since I'd arrived. The therapeutic hour was over. "So, should we schedule your next session?"