Title: Struggling
Category: X-Files XRA
Author: Singing Violin (Pearl on Ephemeral/Gossamer)
Rating: K+
Disclaimer: The X-Files characters and universe are not mine.
Summary: What happens after the screen goes black in "My Struggle II"?
Archiving: Anywhere, just let me know.
The sight of him, once again, made her blood run cold. Yet she knew, if she were to get out of whatever scenario he had her trapped in, her only hope was to deal.
"Agent Scully," he addressed her amiably as he approached her bedside, where she lay propped up on several pillows, "you're not going to spit on me again, are you?"
Not for lack of desire, she thought, but she held her tongue. "I was told you wished to speak with me, so go ahead, talk, tell me what's going on. I'm listening."
His sinister smile elicited a shiver, which she attempted unsuccessfully to hide.
"Are you comfortable, Dana?" he asked with mock concern. "Would you like another blanket?"
"What I would like," she told him matter-of-factly, not even trying to hide her annoyance, "is an explanation."
The cigarette-smoking man sighed dejectedly. "Very well. What do you remember?" he asked.
She frowned at him, wondering how much she should reveal, but opted, in lieu of better options, for the truth, or at least an outline thereof. "I remember a plague affecting most of the people in the country. I was immune. Mulder wasn't. I devised a treatment, and was about to administer it to him when a craft appeared overhead and, I can only assume, abducted me. You abducted me. And brought me somewhere horrible, and then here. Why?"
Spender sneered at her. "There was no plague and no craft," he told her. "You've been ill, Dana, and you've only recently gotten better. I'm sure a psychologist would have much to say about your dreams, though. Saving the world! What a fantasy."
She looked him angrily in the face. "I want to go home."
"But you are home, Dana," Spender told her. "There's nowhere else for you to go."
She looked around her, but her surroundings, while comfortable, were unfamiliar.
"I want to go to Mulder's house," she tried.
"Didn't your mother tell you?" Spender asked her. "Mulder is dead. There is no house."
She eyed him suspiciously. "Just how many of my memories are you disputing?" she asked warily.
The cigarette-smoking man sighed. "Does it matter? You're safe here. You can have whatever you want. I'll make sure it's provided to you."
"What I want is to see Mulder," she insisted. "I don't believe a word you're saying about his death, about any of it. I believe everything I remember happened, and you're holding me here against my will."
"Well," he responded, "I'm not sure what I can do about that, except give you time to come to an understanding on your own. Let your mother know if you need anything; she knows how to find me."
And with that, he exited the room, leaving Scully frustrated and confused. Once more, she attempted to rise from the bed, but was halted by a severe bout of vertigo and her own aching muscles.
As the door closed, tears again began to fall down her cheeks, and even though she was alone and nobody was there to see, she instinctively covered her face with her hands.