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.

Scully couldn't remember ever having been in such excruciating pain. This was far worse than childbirth, worse than cancer, worse than chemotherapy...every molecule in her body seemed to be alternately on fire and ice-cold, and she wanted to scream, but she was completely paralyzed.

The coolness of her skin as the hot tears evaporated from her cheeks was the only relief she got as she became aware, by touch, of the multiple metal and plastic instruments currently attached to various parts of her body. She managed to point her eyes forward enough to note that even her breasts had been attacked: they were currently covered by what seemed to be a hideous version of pumps...sucking milk out of her?! Whatever they were doing, it hurt, and she wanted it to stop, but there was nothing she could do.

A face swam into her vision...she thought, perhaps, it would be the Cancer Man, but instead, it was someone else, someone she'd longed to see.

Hope rose in her chest, momentarily overwhelming the agony.

She tried to say his name, but her lips would not move.

Please help me, she thought, as hard as she could, hoping he could somehow hear her inside his own head.

She saw him reach down towards her and she was ready to let go, to surrender into his arms, to be one with him in a way she hadn't in quite some time.

Then she realized he held a syringe in his hand.

No, please, don't, she thought desperately.

He paid her no mind...this was not the man it appeared to be. Was it? It couldn't possibly...

The man who looked like her partner injected her with something, though she could barely feel the prick of the needle above the underlying all-consuming pain.

And then she lost consciousness.

She awoke, choking and gasping, the pain receding slowly, but concentrated now in her bosom.

An apparition appeared near the window: translucent, smiling faintly—the same face that had provided comfort turned quickly to horror just a few minutes ago, at least as she'd experienced it. He was mouthing words...she held her eyes wide open in an attempt to make them out...he seemed to be saying "Don't give up," but she wasn't quite sure.

Finally, she was able to scream, and she screamed his name.

Her mother came dashing into the room, and she turned her head towards the doorway reflexively as she heard Margaret utter her own name in panic, then looked back at the window, dismayed to find that the apparent ghost had disappeared entirely.

"Mom," she sobbed defeatedly as her mother sat on the bed and took her into her arms, then rocked her as she had when Dana was just a small child.

"It's okay, Sweetheart," she muttered. "It was just a dream."

"Hurts," Dana managed to choke out. "So much pain."

Now the older Scully pulled away worriedly, then placed a hand on her daughter's brow. "You're warm," she observed. "What hurts?"

Dana squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, assessing her own condition, attempting to summon the calm doctor within her, with little success. "Mostly just my breasts," she admitted, taking deep breaths between sobs. "It hurt everywhere before, but it's a little better now."

Margaret frowned. "I think you've got mastitis," she surmised. "Let me get you some medicine and a warm compress, and I'll see if I can wake William to nurse, if you can stand it."

It was then Scully realized she was sitting on wet sheets. She couldn't possibly have sweated that much from the nightmare, could she? Or worse?

"Mom, I have to get up," she admitted. "The bed's wet...I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened."

To her dismay, her mother chuckled. "Looks like your breasts leaked a bit, Dana. It's perfectly natural, and it means you're starting to produce more...you're getting better, from before at least. I'll get you some fresh sheets too, okay? But first, let's get that fever down."

A little while later, lying on fresh linens and holding a warm compress to one breast while William nursed from the other, Dana looked over at her mom, who was eying her suspiciously.

"Thank you," she told her honestly. "I'm so sorry I woke you. And hopefully I didn't wake Emily."

"Nonsense, Sweetheart," Margaret argued. "I'm your mother. I'll never stop taking care of you."

Even in death, Scully thought to herself, but she bit her tongue.

"And Emily's sleeping like a log. Now," Margaret continued, "will you tell me what's really bothering you? Nightmares aren't normal for you...at least they haven't been for years."

Scully chewed on her lip for a while before answering, wondering if her mother was referring to her time on the X-Files, during which her frequently nightmarish life often bled into her dreams.

"I saw Mulder," Scully admitted. "Or I thought I did. And I thought I wanted to go back with him...but he turned on me, betrayed me." She began to cry again. "I don't know who to believe, what to believe anymore."

Margaret's eyes grew wide. "You're home, Dana, with the children and me. You're not looking for 'the elusive Truth' anymore. You gave that up years ago...you said something about not wanting that darkness in your life."

Scully nodded, remembering having said something along those lines to Mulder, but never to her mother, and wondering briefly how her mother knew as she absent-mindedly dropped the compress into her lap, leaving her arm free to gesticulate. "I know, Mom, but I'm having trouble accepting this...reality. It's not right. I'm not supposed to be here."

"Oh Dana," Margaret sighed. "You're exactly where you're supposed to be. It's your doubts that don't belong. Ever since you were a little girl in Sunday school, you had no trouble with your faith. Have faith now, Dana. Don't you want to be here? Don't you think God sent you here for a reason?" She reached out and touched the cross around Dana's neck for emphasis as she retrieved the compress from Dana's lap with her other hand.

"Mom," Dana replied, fingering her necklace idly. "Don't get me wrong; I'm grateful for all your care, and I am so happy to be with you and the children...but I'm still not sure where 'here' is, and I'm pretty sure God wasn't the one who sent me."

With that, Margaret shook her head sadly and stood up, gathering the now-sleeping-again baby from Dana's arms. "Then I can't help you," she admitted. "You need to make your own decision, to accept what is, or not. Let me know when you've got it figured out." Then she walked out the door and closed it behind her.