Under The Bed

"Scully?" Mulder calls out. He blinks the dust from his eyes and squints into the remains, the freshly made corpse, of his partner's motel room. Debris lays scattered in every direction, the majority of what he can see from the doorway in unrecognisable pieces.

Shards of glass from the smashed ceiling-to-floor mirror reflect distorted images from various spots on the floor.

"Scully!" he tries again.

Something makes a creaking sound. There's a soft moan.

"Scully, is that you?"

"Uhngh!"

"Where are you?" He begins to search in the direction the moan came from. He ducks to avoid a fallen beam, once from the roof, and captures a glimpse of something pale pinned under the bed. On closer inspection, he realises someone's down there.

"Scully?"

"I...I'm stuck," Scully calls out. "I was reaching for my hairbrush under the bed when whatever it was that happened, happened and the bed collapsed on top of me." There's a slight grimace to her voice.

"How're you feeling? Are you hurt?:

"Oh, I'm fine, Mulder. Never better, in fact," Scully replies. Her tone drips sarcasm. "My leg. I think it's broken," she adds.

Mulder cautiously drops to the floor and peers under the bed. It's made difficult by the weight of the bookshelf sitting on top, but he is able to make out Scully's form. As she had said, she is trapped and with no evident ways of escape.

"Hang on, I'll go get help," he tells her. He can see the faint smile on her face, half silhouetted in shadows. "We'll get you - and you're very special hairbrush - out of there."

"My very special hairbrush?"

He smiles. "That hairbrush may have just saved your life."

Her response is dry. "Wow. Must be an X file."

fin.