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Time frame: Early "Never Again", right after Scully asks Mulder about why she doesn't have a desk. (Roughly 10 minutes into the episode)
Don't get me wrong, (I love Mulder) but he uses Scully a lot, and always seems to save all the action for himself. Scully has never really had a full-out breakdown in the show, and "Never Again" is a pretty big step in her life as a character. Here is my idea of what she was feeling during that time:
That self-ritchous, thoughtless, egomaniac! Scully slammed the door of her apartment shut and tossed her coat on to the table. Another wild goose chase to god knows where, and somehow, even though this was a tale told far too often, Mulder had dragged her into playing secretary for him. Every fucking week, the same old story. Mulder would get some hopelessly stupid "tip" from a crack job in some tiny, god-forsaken town where they would stay. They would interview the source (the one part they actually did as partners) and then Mulder would run off to do something secret, leaving her with a few notes and a smart-ass command to do an autopsy. She would do everything he asked, review all the evidence, collect all the data for their report, just in time to be proven wrong and look like a narrow-minded, uppity bitch, before reporting to Skinner that "Agent Mulder's work is excellent".
Scully angrily wiped away a tear and sat down on the edge of her bed. The room was dark, despite the blinds all being open. She stared at her reflection in the black glass, only a few stars in the sky for light. Was this the woman she wanted to be? Was this really what she had thrown away her career as a doctor for? The woman in the glass looked exhausted, she looked run down, scarred with horrible memories that haunted her every step. Her black suit was plain and shapeless, her face pale enough to belong to a corpse.
A gasp escaped Scully's mouth, causing her hand to fly up to smother the sob that was threatening to spill out. Her eyes fell back onto the woman in the glass, and this time it was not the pale features or tear-stained face that she saw. It was the emptiness. The complete lack of memories, of pictures around her, of anything that hinted at a relationship, of a connection with another human. The apartment was immaculate, the bookshelves stuffed with medical journals and autopsy reports instead of wedding photos or yearbooks. The closet filled with black suits and white button downs, lined up in perfect rows, mocking her, mocking her loneliness.
The sudden, heart-breaking reality came down on her like a ton of bricks: she was alone. She was aging, every day, every minute closer to an unavoidable fate that she was drawn towards alone. Could Betts have been telling the truth? Could she really have cancer? Despite trying to tell herself differently, she knew deep down it was true. The blinding headaches, the constant nosebleeds- she was afraid to go to a doctor, afraid to confront the unavoidable pain it would cause she and her family. And yet what was she doing with her waning hours? She had thrown away her life to chase little green men. And with nothing to show for herself. No children, no husband, not even a dog. Nothing to come home to but emptiness. No one to call on but her partner, who would never love anyone as much as he loved himself.
Scully cried, each gasp bigger than the last. She cried and cried until the tears seemed to chafe her cheeks as they rolled down, cried until she couldn't breathe, cried until the pain receded enough to be pulled back in, back into the tight little ball that she held onto. That tiny ball of fear that she hid from the world, away from the pain that she knew one day would come.