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: I am aware that these chapters are coming out at the speed of molasses. I do intend to finish, I promise! Thank you to everyone who's still with me, and feel free to leave comments, questions, and anything else you think might help spur me on. It's worth a shot. :)
As she sat on the closed lid of the toilet seat, head in hands, attempting to stave off the inexplicable lump in her throat and stinging sensation in her eyes, images flowed through Dana Scully's mind: William. Emily. Her mother. The mysterious baby that kept appearing in her dreams. The last image was blurry but packed a gut-punch she was unaccustomed to receiving from mere apparitions borne of her own imagination. As she bit her lip to avoid crying out audibly—the last thing she needed right now was to summon the other inhabitant of the hotel room—she searched the depths of her soul for an explanation. The only thing that came immediately to mind was that her guilt over giving up William was personifying itself as another child. But why now, and why a newborn? Was she hoping for some sort of do-over, another chance to raise a child of her own? Surely even her subconscious knew that ship had sailed a long time ago.
It didn't make a whole lot of sense, and she was sure Mulder would have a better explanation, but she wasn't yet ready to share her fears, let alone the specifics of her visions, not with this version of Mulder or anyone else. There was a time when she would have shared almost anything with him—when she knew it was really he—but even then, she was guarded with her most tender emotions. Once, she'd figured it stemmed from a fear that appearing weak would jeopardize her chance at equality within the partnership. She'd discovered later that what she dreaded was much more than losing her pull at work. Mulder treated her with kid gloves often enough that it didn't seem to make a difference whether she kept a stiff upper lip in the face of unimaginable pain and danger, or whether she let it all out in his arms. On the odd occasion when she did let him in, it seemed not to affect their working relationship at all, at least not on the surface. Strangely, it was when she refused to confide in him that he grew angry, creating a distance between them. And somehow it hadn't worked in reverse: when he hid things from her, it only drew her nearer, as she knew he would need her close to save him when inevitably he ran himself amok.
He'd run away again, and almost got killed. And she'd chased him, as usual, in an attempt to save him.
But this time, she'd failed. Or he hadn't needed saving. And he ended up saving her. It didn't sit well in her heart or her mind. Something just didn't add up.
And in the meantime, an emptiness was building inside her, like a tiny singularity, sucking her very essence into itself and leaving a vacuum in its wake. The last time she'd felt like this had been when she'd buried Mulder after he'd been returned from his abduction, cold and stiff. When, against all odds, he'd been resurrected, she had been instantly healed, filled beyond measure with a warmth and comfort that could not be explained by the life growing within her. But he, or at least something resembling him, was here now, and yet she still ached inside. Was this new hole borne of the loss of her mother, or was it something else? And if Mulder's presence couldn't fill it, what could? Or was his presence insufficient because the man on the other side of the wall wasn't Mulder at all?
A sharp knocking at the door of the bathroom snapped her out of her reverie.
"Scully, are you okay? You've been in there a long time. I'm coming in!"
Before she could object, he'd opened the door, which thankfully she hadn't thought to lock, as she couldn't imagine how they'd pay for the damages had he kicked it in. Too many years of living with him, too many monsters behind locked doors: they'd had an unspoken agreement to leave all doors between them unlocked, if closed, and that went for the metaphorical ones too. There was always a line of communication open for when they needed it.
But right now, she had no desire to communicate.
And right now, it seemed, he wasn't going to give her a choice.
He peered at her hunched form with tense worry in his eyes, studying her for signs of what was wrong.
"Talk to me, Scully," he ordered, his voice cold and shaky.
She sighed, then looked up at him. "About what?"
He crossed his arms. "Something's bothering you. And don't tell me you're fine; I know you're not."
She met his probing gaze with a defiant one of her own. "I don't want to talk."
He recoiled slightly, looking more hurt than she'd expected. "Then what do you want to do? Other than hog the bathroom?"
She studied him for a moment, ignoring his lame attempt at humor, then decided upon a reply with which he was bound to agree, no matter who he really was, unless...well, she'd soon find out. "I want to figure out what the hell is going on," she told him matter-of-factly.
He nodded. "All right. How?"
She shrugged. "Library seems like a good start. Let's find out what's happened in the news since I've...since we've been gone."
"Okay," he agreed, and held out his hand to pull her up from her perch.
Tentatively, she took his offering, and side by side, they walked out the door.
Half an hour later, they sat in front of computer screens at the D.C. Public Library, scouring Google for clues.
It only took a moment for Scully to find the plague. The epidemic had struck just over a year ago, killing tens of thousands of Americans before being publicly diagnosed as a rare strain of influenza. A vaccine had emerged, then, and the CDC had obviously hurried it through in an effort to save as many lives as possible. Scully shuddered to imagine what precautionary steps had been skipped because of the nationwide emergency.
Shoving aside her shock at the length of time she had apparently missed, she attempted to trace the origin of the vaccine, and found it was issued by a new pharmaceutical company that had not existed before, and, apparently, no longer existed. "Damn," she swore under her breath as she searched for names associated with the firm.
When she finally found one, she swore again, this time a bit louder, as her companion heard her and was instantly at her side. "What is it, Scully?" he asked earnestly. "What did you find?"
Dumbstruck, Scully just swiveled the screen so that he could see, then pointed at the relevant name.
"Well, I'll be damned," Mulder remarked. "What's Old Smokey up to now?"
"And more importantly," Scully added, finding her tongue, "what does it have to do with us?"