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.
Dana Scully awoke to the familiar and excruciating sensation of acute lower abdominal distention, accompanied by what felt suspiciously like rhythmic uterine contractions.
She screamed. Or rather, she opened her mouth, only to fail to find her voice. Her eyes grew wide with horror as she observed her surroundings: she lay on a hard, metal table, and her legs were in stirrups. Her belly protruded upward, obscuring her field of view. Surrounding her were several figures dressed head to foot in what appeared to be white Hazmat suits; she could not see their faces.
Memories surfaced unbidden. She remembered yelling, "Don't let them take my baby!" She wondered if one of the hidden faces was that of the woman who had attended her birth, one who had recently proven to be, at least in part, a traitor, partnering with the man who was responsible for most, if not all, of Dana Scully's suffering over the last quarter century.
Surrounded by animals and super soldiers, she had been frightened she would never see her child again, yet somehow those who she'd expected to take him from her had withdrawn without their prize, leaving her alone and safe.
But not safe enough.
Remembering her determination to keep the child that she would later name William, after Mulder's father, and her later willingness to give him up, never to see him again, tears sprang to her eyes.
It was happening again, but this time they would seize her baby immediately, as it was never hers to begin with. And what right would she have to it, even if it had been? She'd let one die, and given another one up; why should she be allowed to keep a third, especially one of whose conception and gestation she'd been heretofore unaware?
Warm salt water trickled down her cheeks and into her ears as she attempted desperately to suppress the overwhelming urge to push.
It was too late.
She felt the child slide out of her birth canal and then saw it briefly cross her field of view then disappear into the shadows in the hands of one of the figures in white.
In utter despair, and in tremendous pain her attendants seemed in no hurry to alleviate, she lost consciousness.
She awoke, once more, in the now-familiar bed, and startled herself into a sitting position, only to cause more acute abdominal pain.
Involuntarily, she cried out, and this time, her voice obliged as she collapsed back onto the mattress.
Suddenly a large, male figure was with her, cradling her in his arms.
"It's all right, Scully," he murmured. "It was just a fever dream. You're okay."
"No, I'm not!" she wanted to scream, but words still failed her, and all she could do was to sob brokenly into his chest.
Suddenly another long-forgotten sensation overcame her and she realized her body was about to, yet again, betray her.
She didn't have the strength or time to prepare, instead observing with horror as her stomach contents spilled out of her mouth and all over her, the bed, and the man attempting to comfort her.
"I'm sorry," she tried to say, but she could only continue to cry.
He rubbed her back, seemingly unfazed by the situation. "It's okay," he repeated. "I'll get us cleaned up in a moment."
Simultaneously she wanted to beg him to stay and to tell him to go away forever and leave her alone with her shame.
Gently, he lay her back down onto the bed. "I'll be right back."
True to his word, he returned shortly with supplies and began cleaning her up: tenderly wiping her face and gently squeezing the foul-smelling muck out of her hair before removing the ruined comforter and sheet and replacing them with fresh ones. He placed a cool cloth on her forehead before disappearing again with the soiled linens, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Although she'd been cleaned up, she couldn't get the recent sight of the disgusting mess out of her mind. She'd identified enough stomach contents in her time doing autopsies that she knew exactly what she had just expelled: the only problem was that she had no recollection of having eaten it, at least not recently enough for it to still be in her system.
After a time, Mulder returned once again, his wet hair glistening. He sat beside her on the bed, then took her hand in one of his while using the other to brush a strand of her own damp hair off of her cheek. "Can I get you some tea...or an anti-emetic?"
She shook her head. "No thanks. But maybe you can tell me, how did you get my mother's chicken soup recipe?"
He blanched. "Obviously I didn't get it right," he pointed out. "But you asked that before. She gave it to me over the phone, said it would make you feel better when you were sick. Don't you remember?"
Scully shook her head. "I don't even remember eating it," she admitted, then changed the subject. "So my mother's alive here?" she asked incredulously.
The man sighed. "I can't say for certain, but she was alive when she gave me the recipe a while back. I haven't talked to her since. Do you want me to call her?"
Suddenly Scully dreaded learning for the second time that her mother was deceased. "No, that's okay."
"You sure? I'd be happy to—."
She cut him off. "No, thank you." If her mother was dead, she didn't want to know. And if she were alive...she didn't want her to see her like this, not again. Memories of her mother's face by her bedside as she lay dying of cancer flashed through her mind, and guilt flooded once again into her chest.
"Where is William?" Scully asked abruptly.
Mulder's face contorted painfully. "I don't know, and neither do you. He was two days old when I last saw him, and I wasn't around when you gave him to the adoption agency."
At least some things hadn't changed.
"You know," Mulder went on, "you're really worrying me. These lapses in memory, they're getting worse, aren't they?"
She didn't know how to answer, so she just stared questioningly at him.
"I don't want to lose you," he admitted, "but most of all, I don't want to lose you piece by piece as you lose yourself."
"What are you saying, Mulder?" Scully asked now, more curious than fearful in her confusion.
"Do you remember what the doctor said?" he asked her gently.
"What doctor?" Scully asked.
"The one I called when you first came home sick," Mulder told her.
"I don't...what did he say?" she prompted.
He sighed sadly. "He diagnosed you with early-onset Alzheimer's, Dana. I'm not going to patronize you by explaining your prognosis; he already did that when he was here." A tear ran down his cheek as he spoke. "And you opted against antibiotics for the infection that's making you sick right now. I argued with you, but you'd made your decision, and I couldn't go against your wishes. If you can't fight this," he continued, his voice cracking, "I'm going to lose you forever. But you said that was better than having your mind go first."
She shook her head. "No, this can't be. It isn't right."
"You'll get no argument from me," he agreed.