She was lying prone on a table, a bright light suspended above her eyes. No, no, no. Not the train car. Please, not the train car.

She was aware. Awake. Immobile. The smell of chemical antiseptic was both familiar and frightening.

No.

Her arms wouldn't move, but they didn't feel restrained. Simply dead weight. Her legs, too. Everything was cold, her skin a greyish blue hue, and she was completely naked. Exposed to the chill of the room, she should have been prickled with goosebumps, the fine hairs on her arms rising in a futile attempt to keep her body temperature from dropping, but her skin was as unresponsive as the rest of her. She couldn't even shiver.

She was propped ever so slightly upright by something that had been wedged underneath her chest. The only thing she seemed to be in control of was her eyes, but there was nothing to see that brought any comfort. Concrete walls, shelves. A counter top with a large stainless steel sink in the center. A door with a small rectangular window at eye height.

Not the train then.

An autopsy bay.

A muffled groaning noise erupted from her throat and pushed past her slightly parted lips.

Why was she here? She couldn't remember. Where was Mulder? She was hyperventilating, her nostrils flaring with panic and a need to draw as much air as possible into her lungs. Was he hurt? Was she? How was she going to get out of here? If she could just force her limbs to move, to do anything…

Tears of frustration seeped from the corners of her eyes. Who was doing this to her? Why wasn't Mulder here to help? Had something happened to him? She was going to pass out if she didn't get her breathing under control, but did it even matter at this point?

There was a click from the door, and the sound echoed in the stillness of the room, silent except for her panicked breathing. Someone was coming. Friend or foe? The door swung open and two gowned figures entered the room. Blue scrubs. Face masks. Hair nets. Gloves. Her fear crept up her throat like bile, burning in its wake.

They didn't speak, didn't even seem to notice she was there. The shorter of the two began organizing the instruments on a small wheeled cart. The other just stood and watched. She moaned in fear. Worse than the train car. This was going to be worse.

The one by the cart finished their inventory and nodded in seeming satisfaction that everything was in order before wheeling it over towards where Scully lay on the table. A woman. Brown eyes that were cool with more than strictly clinical detachment. Scully knew her, but couldn't seem to place her, her thoughts too panicked to allow her to think clearly. She reached toward the cart and picked something up. A scalpel. It glinted under the glare of the circular light that hung above her.

No. She wasn't dead. Couldn't the woman tell that she wasn't dead? Scully's gaze flicked to the other person at the back of the room, who was in the process of lighting a cigarette although they hadn't moved from their position. The figure drew their face mask down and took a draw from the cigarette as the smoke from the tip spiralled lazily into the air.

"We begin with a Y-shaped incision extending from the front of each shoulder here," the woman gestured with a gloved fingertip, "to the xiphoid process located at the inferior end of the sternum. The incisions go around the breasts in this case, giving the arms of the "Y" a curved appearance." She traced the lines around each side of Scully's chest with the gentleness of a lover before she went on. "The incision is then carried down to the pubic bone, making a slight deviation to the side to avoid the umbilicus." Her finger continued its downward path as she spoke. "The incision must be deep enough to reach the rib cage in the chest as well as the abdominal cavity in the abdomen."

The figure in the back nodded in understanding and then the woman leaned forward over Scully's body as if she were considering whether to begin on the right or the left but, instead, she carefully tugged her mask down to expose her mouth with the non-scalpel holding hand.

Diana.

Oh, God. No. This couldn't be happening. Where was Mulder? What had she done with him?

"Don't worry, darling," Diana whispered. "It's only pain. And there will be so much of it."

"Mmmmuuu…" Scully managed to get out but Diana placed a finger tenderly over her lips.

"Shhhh… You don't need to worry about him. He's got me. He doesn't need you. Don't you see? He's never needed you. You were just in the way, holding him back."

Diana stood up, sliding her mask back into place.

"Ready or not, Dr. Scully."

And then there was a blinding shock of pain on her upper left side. She was screaming, a tortured sound from deep within that was expelled with as much force as her body could muster, trying to protect itself, over and over again. She couldn't even close her eyes to try and escape into her head. There was only the light and the pain and the carefully controlled strokes of the scalpel in Diana's hand.

She knew she should be bleeding — she was alive! — but there was no spray of crimson, no pressure in her veins. Maybe she was dead, but then why did it hurt?

The pain was unrelenting but the hope that the shock would eventually render her unconscious didn't come to pass. Through it all, she felt and wept and screamed.

Diana put the scalpel down and took a single step backwards when she'd finished to admire her handiwork. "There. That wasn't so bad, was it?" She looked at Scully with a thin smile. "Actually, I'm sure it was. I hope it was."

"Now," she spoke more clearly so that her voice would carry better towards the back of the room, towards where the smoking man stood, "after the Y-incision is made, the skin is then pulled back to expose the rib cage and the muscles of the neck. Like so." She bared her teeth as she dug her fingers into the top of the incision she had just made and tore the muscle fibres apart as she pulled.

More pain. It was just more pain. She wasn't going to die. She was already dead and this was Hell and she would suffer for her sins. Diana undressed her inner core, folding back the slabs of skin and flesh to make her more than naked. She was fully exposed now. Nowhere left to hide.

Diana was panting with the exertion of it by the time she'd finished, sweat gathering on her brow.

"As you can see, the chest cavity is now fully exposed. An electric saw is used to cut through the ribs on the lateral sides of the chest cavity, which then allows the sternum and the attached ribs to be lifted out together."

There was a grinding hum as the saw whirred to life, the small circular blade spinning so quickly that the toothed edges looked perfectly smooth. How many times in her life had she wielded these same tools? Her gaze drifted to the ghostly trails of smoke, to the tiny lit tip on the end of the cigarette just beyond the bright lights and the pain and the smell of her own bones burning as Diana continued on in her singular task of destruction. There was no fight left in her. It was pointless to try and struggle. There was no scrap of hope left to be found.

The low buzz of the saw ceased, and Scully watched with detachment as her chest plate was removed and set aside. "There. That wasn't so bad, was it?" Diana smirked at her. "No, wait. I hope it was. Almost done now." Her mouth stretched into a mock pout. "And here we were having so much fun."

She picked up the scalpel once more. "All that remains is to remove the soft tissue that is still attached to the posterior side of the chest plate, so that the heart, within the pericardial sac, of course, is exposed."

There was the smooth slide of the blade within her chest.

The man at the back of the room dropped what was left of his cigarette, crushing it beneath his shoe.

"And here we have it: the heart. Not much to look at, is it?" Diana held the gelatinous reddish mass in her gloved hands as the man walked towards her, towards the gutted remains of Scully, not dead/not alive, sprawled out on the table.

The heart gave a feeble beat, clutching and releasing, as Diana looked back at the approaching figure. "I've gone to all this trouble. Do you want it?"

But it was Mulder who stepped into the light, his hazel eyes curious as he took Scully's heart from Diana's outstretched hand.

No. No. It wasn't him. It couldn't be him. This was some sort of trick.

"Mmmuuh…"

She could smell smoke and blood and the hint of his cologne. A tear rolled down the frozen snowdrift of her cheek.

He wasn't even looking at her. He was turning his hand left and right, studying the tissue with a clinical sort of precision. Diana was standing close beside him, her hand resting on the top of his shoulder as she tilted her head to watch him. There were streaks of blood on his shoulder from her fingers.

It hurt. Oh God, it hurt. The pain of his indifference was so much worse than the physical agony. She wanted to die. Why wouldn't they just let her die?

"No," he finally said, giving the heart a tight squeeze between his fingers. "Why would I want this?"

Diana shrugged. "Do what you want with it then."

No. She couldn't even close her eyes. She didn't want this. She didn't want this!

Mulder took a step back and dropped her heart. It fell to the floor with a wet, squelching thud.

Diana looked at Scully and gave her a triumphant smile. "What'd I tell you? Why would he want you when he has me?"

Scully's eyes darted from Diana to Mulder, but he was staring at the floor.

"Do it." Diana's voice was a low hiss. "You've already done it."

Mulder didn't move for a long moment until, at last, he nodded. "You're right. You're always right."

Then he lifted his foot and crushed her heart beneath his perfectly polished matte black leather shoe.

And Scully screamed.

Scully bolted upright in bed, wrapping her hands as tightly as she could around her chest, like she was trying press the flaps of her butterflied rib cage back together as she struggled to draw in a breath. She was whole. She was okay. But the words felt false. She wasn't okay. It was all a lie. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe because she'd been hollowed out like a jack o'lantern, her guts spilling out across the silver table.

She didn't even register the adjoining door between her room and Stella's being thrown open as the ragged scream she hadn't even been aware she was making gave way to the sound of harsh, aching sobs.

"Dana." Stella crawled onto the bed and gathered her into her embrace, gently pulling her head to her chest; Scully went willingly, weak and pliant in her arms. Enfolding her as closely as she could, Stella began to stroke the soft skin at the edge of Dana's hairline where it was damp from the combination of tears and perspiration. "It's all right. It was just a dream. Stay with me. You're safe. Everything is all right." She kept her cadence even, her voice low and steady.

Gradually, her sobs lessened as she came back to herself, and her fingers moved to cling tightly to Stella's. Stella gave her hand a brief squeeze and Scully returned the gesture weakly. "Welcome back," Stella said gently.

Scully sat up, still within the confines of Stella's arms, wiping at her eyes and nose inelegantly as best she could. "Sorry I woke you."

"Don't be ridiculous."

Scully's clenching grip on Stella's hand had lessened, but she made no attempt to free herself from the circle of Stella's embrace, relaxing into it as the tension ebbed from her muscles, her pulse still bolting about like a rabbit across a field.

"They should include the nightmares in the job description," Stella said quietly, and Scully huffed out a sound that was half laugh, half sob. "I find it helps me to write them down when I wake up. Putting them to paper makes them feel less nebulous; robs them of some of their power."

Stella's legs were awkwardly folded beneath her, so she leaned back and lay down, pulling Scully down alongside her. She felt reluctant to let go of Stella even though she rationally knew she should as they repositioned themselves into a more comfortable embrace, ignoring that the covers were a tangled mess beneath them.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. Not particularly."

"All right."

They lay together in the darkness until Scully relaxed fully, her body dropping from the panic of a flight or fight response to the dull shock of exhaustion as her hormone levels crashed back to normal. It should have felt awkward, being wrapped up in Stella's arms — they hardly knew each other, really — but there was a connection there she couldn't name, that she couldn't identify. The touch of Stella's fingers in her hair was soothing. She felt like a bow string that had snapped, the sudden lack of tension making her feel almost weightless in its absence.

"Do you want me to stay?" Stella asked.

"Yes." There was no hesitation.

"Let's get under the blankets, then. I'm freezing."

They separated and sat up, maneuvering the covers around until they could both slide beneath them. Scully wasn't sure what to do next. She had liked the sensation of being in Stella's arms, but wasn't sure what she should do now that they were lying side by side underneath the blankets. But then Stella's hand found hers and she was tugging Scully towards her.

Scully rolled over and Stella lifted her other arm to allow Scully to nestle in next to her as close as she wanted, their heads facing each other on opposite ends of the same pillow.

"Stella?" Scully said after they had settled and were still.

"Yes?"

"What are we doing?"

"Whatever feels right." She leaned in and kissed Scully on the lips. It was gentle and undemanding but lasted too long to be merely a kiss between friends. "But, for now, let's try to get some sleep."

A huge thank you to my beta, the always lovely Josie Lange!