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.
Author's note: Again, apologies for taking so long with this, and many thanks to those who are patiently sticking with me. Real Life as always must take priority, and so far I'm pretty sure which one that is...though I could be mistaken...
Scully could hear the mewl of a newborn baby. It was a hungry cry, an angry cry. The child clearly had been calling for its food for some time now, and was being ignored. Her breasts tingled in reaction, and a sharp pain shot through her abdomen. She attempted to locate the origin of the sound: to find the baby, to feed it, to relieve the pressure building in her bosom. Upon determining the correct direction, she crept forward, slowly.
The door was closed, but the noise was unmistakably emanating from behind it.
She pushed the door open. It creaked.
What she saw shocked and frightened her.
The baby was hooked to various medical devices, and in her estimation, must be in a considerable amount of pain. Tears came to her eyes as she froze before attempting to make her way into the room, her medical brain quickly assessing how to safely disconnect the child in order to rescue it.
The door slammed closed in her face, startling her.
She gasped, opening her eyes, as bright sunlight flooded her view through the car window. She brought a hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes from the glare.
She took a moment to take stock of her surroundings. She was in the car, with Mulder. They were going...home? She vaguely remembered attempting to walk out of the facility where he'd found her...been held with her? Her hand in his, she'd taken only a few steps before faltering, and he'd awkwardly caught her, then carried her the rest of the way to the waiting vehicle, much to her chagrin. Unlike the Mulder in her personal fantasy - at least as she now understood it - this one strained as he walked with her, and his body offered little comfort as he did so.
Her heart was still pounding from the nightmare. She looked over at her companion, who was glancing worriedly at her in brief intervals while nominally focusing on the stretch of open road ahead.
Vague nausea was building inside her, her medical training identifying it immediately as a likely result of her elevated heart rate. Hastily, she rolled down the window, hoping some fresh air would help to restore her equilibrium.
Mulder looked back at her. "Do you need me to pull over?"
"Mmm," she whimpered weakly, and he nodded, then slowed the car to a stop along the shoulder of the deserted highway, then reached over to unbuckle her seat belt for her.
Scully opened the door as he eyed her worriedly, but was determined to get her body under control, and with several deep breaths, was able to do so. She closed the door again and re-buckled her seat belt.
"Feeling any better?" he asked, and she almost gasped, remembering those same words coming from someone else, a lifetime ago, yet in similar circumstances, when she was barely pregnant with her first-born and desperately searching for his father: the man who now sat beside her, watching over her, seemingly lost as to how to help her.
Did I ever really find him? her mind supplied. It had never occurred to her before that the Mulder she got back was not the one she lost. Certainly his experience had changed him, as her experiences had changed her, but could there be more than that?
"Who are you?" she remembered hearing from his lips, and a pang of regret formed within her chest at repeating those words back to him when he had come to rescue her from her most recent peril. Of course, when he'd said it, it was a joke...but still, she'd been cruel.
With good reason, she reminded herself, images of alternate versions of him flashing through her mind.
"Scully?" he repeated, his voice low, almost tender, but also ever-so-slightly tinged with impatience. "You okay?"
"Yeah," she replied, shaking off her reverie. "We can go. I'm fine."
His lips pursed into a frown, his face showing he didn't quite believe her. She sighed; she hadn't the energy to argue or explain herself. Not now.
He didn't reply, but simply turned on the ignition and pulled back onto the road while she rolled her window back up, leaving it open a crack and pretending to be fascinated by the scenery behind it.
They completed the rest of the drive in silence, Mulder stealing glances at his companion periodically, and Scully doing her best to remain stoic, to not reveal any of her inner turmoil, even while she attempted to process it herself. Most importantly, she resolved to stay awake, because she had no desire to revisit any of her nightmares.
Finally, they reached the gate, and she motioned to get out of the car and open it, but he held his hand up, stopping the car and getting out before she could. As he returned, she glared at him, but he remained unfazed.
They pulled up at the familiar house, and now he let her exit the car, but he quickly ran around to her side, protectively shadowing her as she climbed out, then offering his arm, which she reluctantly took, not wanting a repeat of her earlier collapse.
As they approached the door, they quickly spotted the figure calmly seated on the bench, smoking a cigarette.
She let out a small yelp. "Jesus Christ, what the hell is he doing here?"
"I don't know, but I'm going to find out," Mulder responded, stepping in front of her, as if to shield her from harm. She huffed with annoyance, but hadn't the energy to push past him.
The man smiled at them. "Greetings, you two. So nice to see you up and about."
Mulder held a hand in front of Scully to prevent her from approaching further. "What are you doing at our house, you bastard?" he asked. "Haven't you taken enough already?"
The man held a hand to his heart in mock pain. "You wound me, Fox. I was only making sure you had somewhere to go. You see, it is my house now; I made sure to buy it from the bank after they foreclosed. It seems you were a bit behind on your mortgage payments. However, I'm happy to allow you to stay here. I won't even charge you rent, seeing as I know your financial situation."
"No thanks," Mulder replied automatically. "I'll find another way."
"You've been gone a long time," the man chided. "I think you'll find the world isn't what it once was. You may have more difficulty than you think."
"The plague," Scully muttered. "Is he saying what I think he's saying?"
Mulder looked back at her, alarm written all over his face as he gently touched her arm.
The man slowly got up and moved towards them, tapping his cigarette and allowing the ashes to blow away in the mild wind. Scully suppressed a cough.
"You needn't worry; the plague has been cured, thanks to you two. You've got what you wanted; you saved the world."
Mulder looked back at him disbelievingly. "We? I certainly didn't do anything."
The smoking man tapped his cigarette again, then made his way back to the bench before addressing them again, pointedly ignoring Mulder's implicit question. "You may stay here or not, as you wish. But you no longer have jobs or assets; you were both declared legally dead during your absence. Something I could not prevent, alas, while protecting you."
Mulder glanced back at Scully. She silently conveyed to him her exhaustion and resignation, which the elderly Spender seemed to notice as well.
"Whatever you decide, at least come in and have some refreshment. You both look tired; I'm sure you could use a rest before you attempt to restore your lives."
Overwhelmed with desperation and exhaustion, the two former agents reached for each others hands, then with a squeeze, made a joint decision, which Mulder voiced aloud. "All right, but only because I want to know more about what's happened."
The smoking man grinned at them. "So pleased to have you as guests," he responded lightly, getting up from his perch once again, this time discarding the cigarette butt and crushing it under his foot after he rose. "Come in. I hope you don't mind; I've done a bit of redecorating."
Warily, Mulder and Scully followed him inside, and he motioned for them to sit on the couch while he disappeared into the kitchen. They didn't notice anything different at first, but on a hunch, Scully made her way through the living room and opened the door to the room that was once Mulder's office, where he'd continued to pursue his conspiracy theories while she was off treating children for devastating illnesses, trying unsuccessfully to make up for the loss of her own.
The room was changed, drastically. Inside it was a bed: a familiar bed, and on the walls, familiar decorations in lieu of the newspaper clippings and photographs she'd been accustomed to seeing push-pinned to a cork board. She gasped audibly. "Mulder?" she called, gesturing with her hand for him to come quickly.
He ran to her side, and his face fell as he snaked an arm around her shoulders.
"We've got to get out of here," Scully insisted. "Now."
"Are you sure you won't have a cup of tea?" Spender called out to them as they made a beeline out the door.
They didn't respond, but instead raced into the car in order to make their getaway.
"What now?" Scully asked her companion once they were safely back on the open road.
"We need to find Skinner," Mulder replied. "He'll be able to help us."
"I'm so tired," Scully admitted.
"Me too," Mulder agreed. "But I promise we'll be okay." He took his right hand off the wheel and laid it upon Scully's thigh.
"Don't make promises you can't keep, Mulder," she responded bitterly, crossing her arms in front of her and turning her head to look out the window.
He put his hand back on the wheel.