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 baby was indeed hungry, as he quickly drained both of Dana's aching breasts, providing her only partial relief from the pain that her mother had surmised had indicated an infection. Afterwards, he cooed and waved his arms, and she held him to her chest, cherishing the feel of him in her arms, trying to commit this moment to memory, even if it wasn't entirely real. She bent down and kissed William's chubby cheeks, then allowed her tears to fall as she held him close and murmured into his hair.
"Mommy loves you," she told him, even though she knew he wouldn't understand. "I gave you up once, and I can do it again. It's only for the best, but God, I'm going to miss you." Fighting the lump in her throat and the heaviness in her chest, she rocked him back and forth, more for her comfort than for his, then gently set him down on his back in the crib, where he happily flailed underneath the mobile. She half expected the mobile to begin spinning on its own, but it remained still, another indication that wherever she was now, did not exist in the same reality to which she was accustomed.
The cigarette-smoking man's words in the garden echoed in her head: Click your heels together three times and say, 'There's no place like home.' It was a joke, wasn't it?
Joke or not, it was all she had.
Feeling immensely silly, she stood up, closed her eyes, and snapped her heels together: one, two, three, then mumbled, "There's no place like home, there's no place like home, there's no place like home."
She was about to open her eyes, expecting to prove the futility of her ritual, and berate herself for being duped by the Cancer Man yet again, when suddenly she felt her knees give way, and she fell to the floor, then lost consciousness.
When she awoke, she was in a field: a field she immediately recognized as the one she had, in happier times, walked through with Mulder, hand-in-hand, speaking of God and trumpets. But now she was alone, and awkwardly, her legs protesting every step, she arose and stumbled towards the house.
With difficulty, she climbed the stairs to the porch, then rapped on the door.
She waited, and nothing happened.
She was about to search for the spare key—she wondered whether it was in the same place, after all these years—and feared what she might find once she entered without permission—when the door opened, and Fox Mulder appeared behind it, looking surprised and confused to see her, but also appearing to be perfectly healthy. As he took in her appearance, worry washed over his face, but he seemed otherwise frozen, neither speaking nor moving towards her.
Unable to wait any longer to feel his physical presence, she threw herself into his arms, much as she had done on their very first case together, when she had spotted what had later turned out to be mosquito bites on her back and thought they might indicate something far more sinister. Like he had then, he reflexively put his arms around her, rubbing her back until moments later, he felt her calm slightly.
He pushed her away, holding her shoulders at arms' length, and asked, "What's wrong, Scully?"
Suddenly she lost her voice, and her face crumpled as all she could do was weep. She rose her hands to her face even as her knees began to buckle, but Mulder was quick, and caught her under the shoulders, then picked her up in his arms.
She buried her face in his chest, and he carried her into the house, then deposited her onto a bed, tucking her in and feeling her forehead for fever before sitting beside her, hand on her leg as she covered her face with her hands once more and struggled to compose herself.
"It's all right," he soothed, sounding only moderately concerned, which should have been a red flag.
Finally, she took a deep breath and uncovered her face, then lifted her gaze to survey her surroundings.
What she saw caused her to gasp with shock and immediately attempt to rise out of the bed, despite the aches in her muscles and the sharp pain in her chest that resulted from her movement.
She was in the same room she'd woken in with her mother at her side, down to the identical paintings on the wall, which she hadn't bothered to take much notice of before, but now seemed eerily familiar.
Mulder's hand on her shoulder stopped her from rising.
"Let me go!" she pleaded in a strangled whisper as the tears stung in her eyes.
"I would, but I don't think you're in any condition to be going anywhere," Mulder assessed. "Just rest, Scully; I'll call a doctor and we'll find out what's wrong."
With that, he leaned forward and began to stand up, but she grabbed his wrist and begged, "Wait!"
He sat back down. "I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong," he objected. "Talk to me, Scully. Tell me what's going on."
She gulped, then took another deep breath, trying to collect her thoughts and decide how to proceed. "The plague," she got out. "Is everyone cured?"
Mulder eyed her curiously. "What plague?"
"There was an illness, affecting most of the people in the United States," she explained desperately. "You were dying; so was most everyone else. I was safe, because of my alien DNA, and I formulated a cure from my blood, and was about to administer it to you when I was apparently abducted."
Mulder frowned at her, but did not speak.
"What?" she asked, her eyes begging him to understand.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Mulder told her. "I'm fine, but from what I can see, you're the one who's sick. Can I call a doctor now? Or should I just take you to the hospital myself?"
Scully shook her head. "This isn't real either."
Mulder blinked and stared at her. "Either? Scully, you're going to have to help me out here, because I'm totally lost."
"No," Scully answered sadly, "I'm pretty sure I'm the one who's lost."