Title: Blue Girl
Classification: SA
Keywords: none
Rating: R
Spoilers: Ascension
Thanks: as always, to realb and Karri
Feedback: please, to lil_gusty@hotmail.com
Distribution: not that you would, but you could.  Just let me 
              know.
Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me, they belong to 
            Mr. Chris Carter, lucky bastard.
Summary: "Do any human beings ever realize life while they live 
         it? - every, every minute?"  (From "Our Town" by 
         Thornton Wilder)



When she woke up, the first thing she noticed was the cold.  So, 
so cold.  Then the pain: in her legs, arms, back, face.  It hurt 
to blink and to try and open her eyes, so she didn't.  All of 
this was nothing new, so she lay still, and listened.

Soft beeps, and muffled footsteps and voices from somewhere not 
too far off.  The smell was distantly familiar, and after a few 
moments, she registered an IV in her arm, a heart monitor stuck 
to her chest.

A hospital.  She was in a hospital.  What had happened that they 
were done with her?

She swallowed dryly, and winced at her scratchy throat - wincing 
hurt, too, she discovered.  God, did anything not hurt?

Against her body's wishes, she opened her eyes and immediately 
shut them again; the bright light from the window hurt, and she 
turned her head reflexively, murmuring a "shit" as she realized 
that hurt, too.

The beeps from the heart monitor increased a little.  She licked 
her lips.  No one was in the room with her, so she pressed the 
call button for a nurse.

Four button pressings later, one finally showed up.  "Oh!"  The 
nurse exclaimed when she realized her patient had woken up.  
"Glad you could finally join us."

"Huh?"

"My name is Nancy.  Do you know where you are?"

"Hospital."  Her throat was raspy; God, she was so thirsty.

"That's right.  You're at Georgetown University Medical Center.  
Do you know what happened to you?"

Yes.  Terrible things.  The last thing she remembered...

"The guards taking me back to my room after the tests..."  and then 
darkness, until waking up here, in pain, thirsty, and a little 
confused.

The nurses immaculately sculpted eyebrows puckered.  "A policeman 
found you unconscious in the driver's seat of a car."  She said 
slowly, warily.  "That was five weeks ago."

Her eyes opened a little wider, despite the sun and the pain.  
"Five weeks ago?"

Nancy nodded.  "You've been in a coma ever since.  The doctors 
have run every test they know to on you, and you seem to be fine.  
You showed some signs of being...beaten and starved, but you're 
doing much better now."  She smiled as she said the last part, 
indicating that, in her perfect little nursing world, a patient 
was awake and everything would be fine.

Instinctively, she raised her arm -a challenge, she realized - 
and touched her cheeks, her nose, her forehead.  They felt 
swollen, and tender, and her nose sent a sharp jolt of pain 
through her spine and down to her toes.

"Be careful," Nancy cautioned, helping her put her arm back down 
on the bed.

"Can I have some water?  Please?"

"Sure.  I'll get you some, and I'll page your doctor."  She 
turned away, water pitcher in hand, then turned back.  "Ma'am?"

"Yes?"

"When you were found, the police couldn't find any ID on you, and 
the license plate and vehicle registration number on your car 
turned out to be false.  You've been listed as a Jane Doe.  Do 
you remember your name?"

"Yes," she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the 
world.  They should've known who she was, regardless.  There were 
people looking for her, surely her description would've been 
given to all the local hospitals, law enforcement would've been 
on alert...  "Dana Scully.  I'm an FBI agent."

Nancy took a step back.  "Oh."

Scully blinked once.

"Is there anyone I can call for you?"  Nancy didn't believe her.

"Yes, my partner.  My mother.  I can give you their numbers."

"I'll bring you back some paper when I bring the water," she said 
placatingly, turning again and walking out of the room.

This wasn't right...surely the FBI had used all available resources 
to search for her.  Kidnapping an agent was a federal offense.  
Officers from here to California would have a photo and 
description of her.  This wasn't right at all.

Nancy came back a few minutes later with a full pitcher of water, 
a pad of paper, and a pen.

The water stung as it slid down Scully's throat, but it felt 
good.  She was so, so thirsty.

"Thank you," she whispered, and gestured for the paper.

Nancy handed it to her.  "I've paged your doctor.  He should be 
down in a minute."

"Thank you," she repeated, scribbling.  "Call him first, Mulder.  
Don't call my mother unless you can't reach him."

"Okay," Nancy said, smiling a little less reassuringly, then 
disappearing again.

Mulder would be close.  Surely he wouldn't be out on a case...he'd 
be here in a few minutes, then this whole thing could be 
explained.  Until then, she lay back against the pillows, wincing 
as her body conformed to the mattress, and closed her eyes to 
wait.

<><><><><><>

He was expecting Diana to call and let him know what time to pick 
her up at the airport.  Or to tell him that it would be another 
few hours, days, weeks.  These trips to Europe were getting 
ridiculous.

"Mulder," he said tersely, in the middle of writing their latest 
field report.  He always got stuck doing them nowadays.

"Is this Fox Mulder?"

Well, obviously.  "Speaking."

"My name is Nancy Chambers; I'm a nurse at Georgetown University 
Medical Center.  Um...I have a patient here who asked me to contact 
you...?"

He put down his pen.  "Who?"

"She was listed as a Jane Doe.  No ID, been in a coma for five 
weeks.  She insisted we call you, though."

No telling what nutcase had seen him on one of those UFO shows 
the History Channel was so zealous about.  "Did she give a name?"

"Yes, Dana Scully.  She said she was with the FBI."

His lips started to tingle, and he swallowed a lung full of air.

"Sir?"

"Can you give me a description of her?"  He asked slowly, making 
sure the words came out sounding right, and not warped and ripply 
and backwards.

"Um, she's small.  Red hair, blue eyes..."

He was already on his feet, his phone tucked between his ear and 
shoulder.  "How is she?  Is she okay?"

"She's fine.  She's lucid, coherent, aware of her surroud-"

"Tell her I'm on my way, okay?  Tell her I'll be there in ten 
minutes."

He hung up before there was a reply, six steps from his car.

<><><><><><>

The world was moving in fast-motion, but he was the only one who 
knew it.  Everyone else seemed to be going slower, getting in his 
way, keeping him from knowing.

"Dana Scully, is she here?  Is she a patient here?  What room is 
she in?"

The woman behind the desk looked up at him quizzically.

"I got a call from a nurse, her name was Nancy, saying that a 
Jane Doe asked to see me.  I need to know what room she's in," he 
said urgently.

The woman made a sour face and typed something into the keyboard.  
"We have a Jane Doe in room 412, sir -"

"Thank you," he called, almost to the elevator.  When it didn't 
arrive fast enough, he ran into the stairwell.

403, 405, 407, 409, 411, 412...he pushed open the door, and held 
his breath.

Nancy was right, she was tiny.  Tinier than he remembered.  Her 
skin was pale, making her long hair look like fire, and making 
the yellow and black bruising stand out enough to make him 
nauseous.  Those bruises were fresh, which meant something - or 
someone - had recently put them there.  

She was resting, and he'd startled her awake.  Her eyes were 
huge, and her body was taunt, poised to run and hide.  When she 
saw that it was him, though, she relaxed, and smiled slightly.  
"Mulder, thank God you're all right."

Well, that certainly wasn't the reply he'd been expecting.  
"You..." he said in awe, floating towards the bed cautiously.

"I was afraid they went after you, too."

He paused, cocking his head like a confused puppy, then bobbed 
his head up and down, sinking into the chair beside her.  "Who?"

"The men that took me, after Duane Barry."

He nodded, still confused, but beginning to understand.

"What's the matter?"  She finally asked.  "Mulder?"

"Scully..." he shook his head, disbelieving.

She reached out a hand to him.  "What?"

He eyed her hand warily, then slowly stretched his arm out to 
meet hers.  Their fingers touched, twined, and he held on 
tightly.  "Scully," he said again.

"Mulder, what?  Did something happen to you, too?"

He shook his head, beginning to lose control of his emotions as 
the implications of this settled in on him.

"Mulder, you're scaring me.  What happened?"

To her, he realized, it was late December of 1994, or maybe it 
was barely 1995 by now.  She probably didn't notice that his 
sleeves were rolled up and that he came in without a coat.  

He took a deep breath, swallowed some tears, and redirected 
himself.  "You just don't know how happy I am to be talking to 
you."

She smiled again, not as widely as he'd seen her in the past.  
The bruises must've made it painful.

"What happened to you?"  He finally asked, raising his hand to 
hover over her face, afraid of hurting her.

She flinched and leaned away from him as she intercepted his 
hand, holding it still and away from her before pressing it 
gently against her cheek.  "The guards, I guess.  When they were 
angry, they weren't very nice."

A little shutter went up his spine - is that what it had been 
like all this time?

She didn't let go of his wrist.  "Did you call my mother?"

"No.  Not yet."

"Mulder, the nurse...she didn't believe me when I told her who I 
was.  They thought I was a Jane Doe.  Didn't the Bureau send out 
APB's?"

He nodded, looking down at the spotless tile between his shoes.  
"Yeah, they did."

"Then how come no one recognized me?"

He bit his lip, snatching his hand away so he could ring them 
together in his lap.  "Scully...things...I think things are 
different from what you realize."

He heard her stiffen.  "What do you mean?"

"Do you know what today's date is?"

She almost answered automatically, caught herself, and licked her 
lips.  "No."

"Today is a Tuesday, Scully.  Tuesday, April 8th...2003."

 There was no reaction for a moment, just stillness and quiet.  
Her eyes gradually opened wider, and her lips parted slightly.  
"No...Mulder- "

"You've been gone...for almost nine years."

Her jaw fell open, then, and her hands covered her mouth in 
horror.  "No!"

"Scully," he took her hands, sitting in front of her on the bed.  
"It's okay.  Everything will be okay."

"Mulder, no!  I can't...it can't...no!"

He didn't know what to say to reassure her that everything really 
would be fine in the end.  Instead, he just sat, clutching at her 
hands and watching as she shook her head and searched for an 
argument.

After long moments, her eyes filled with tears, and her voice 
broke, then whispered, "nine years?"

He nodded sadly.

"That's why they didn't recognize me."

Again, he nodded. 

"Mulder...what do I do?"

He took a deep breath and sucked on his bottom lip thoughtfully.  
"I don't know yet, but we'll figure it out.  The first thing we 
need to do is call your mother, then let Skinner know so he can 
start...paperwork."

Her eyes refocused on his.  "Paperwork?"

"You were declared dead after a year.  We'll have to get that 
reversed."

"A year?"

He closed his eyes briefly and nodded.  It seemed like too short 
of a time to give up on someone, but he couldn't tell her how her 
mother had wanted it at three months, that he'd been the one who 
kept pushing and pushing for them to wait and keep looking and 
just a little longer, Mrs. Scully, please, it's too soon.

Her shoulders started to shake, and she slipped her fingers from 
his, wrapping her arms around her body.  "I'd like to see my 
mother."

"Okay.  I'll go call her."

And maybe between the hallway and the payphone, he could figure 
out what to say.

<><><><><><>

"Hello?"  Her cheery voice answered.  She had no idea how her 
world was about to change.

They hadn't spoken in months.  Up until then, she'd called him 
every few weeks to check on him, see how life was.  She'd known 
how difficult Scully's disappearance had been for him- it had 
been difficult for her, too - but her motherly instinct just 
wouldn't let him mourn in peace.  When he'd told her about Diana, 
and their plans, she'd taken a hint he hadn't meant to give, and 
left him alone.  "Mrs. Scully?  It's Fox Mulder," he managed, his 
hands and lips shaking.

She was surprised; Before, the only time he'd called her had been 
to report that there was still no new on the whereabouts of her 
youngest daughter.  "Fox?  Hi, how are you?"

How was he?  He was certain that he'd wake up from this dream any 
moment now, and his world would go back to normal.  "I, um, I 
have some news."

Her voice lowered a notch, picking up on the seriousness of his 
tone.  "What is it?"  There was no reason for him to be giving 
her any news.

"I'm at the hospital in Georgetown."  Deep breath.  "Dana's here.  
She's alive."

There was only silence on her end for a few shaky breaths.  
Finally, "Fox..."

"She's asking to see you," he added helplessly.  He couldn't 
image how this felt for her.

"She's awake?"  She asked incredulously.

"Yes, but according to a nurse, she's been in a coma here for 
five weeks."

He heard her struggling for something to say.  "Fox...what do I 
do?"

Why did people keep asking him that?  "Just get here as soon as 
you can.  I'll stay with her until then."

"All right.  I'll...I'll call you once I get a flight."

"Okay."

She hung up without another word, and he closed his eyes and bit 
his lip to keep from crying.

<><><><><><>

Scully had the TV on CNN - catching up, he assumed.  There was so 
much she'd missed that wouldn't be on any news show.  So much of 
life - her own, her family's, his.  Would she even recognize her 
world as habitable?

She and Samantha had become twin ideals for him until three years 
ago.  In his mind, if he kept turning over every stone he 
stumbled on to, kept searching, kept hope, he'd find them.  His 
beautiful, annoyingly snobbish little sister, a perpetual eight 
year old in pigtails and her nightgown, and Scully, his stubborn, 
brilliant partner, wrapped in her trench coats and frumpy suits.  
They were frozen in time, waiting for him to rush in and rescue 
them.  In his mind, they had been well treated during their 
absences, and were more than ready to launch themselves back into 
his life and resume their previous roles.  No psychological 
trauma, no evidence of malnourishment and beatings, no pale skin 
and weakened muscles.

But Samantha had died in 1979, and his life spent searching for 
her had been a waste of time, which meant that Scully 
disappearing had been for nothing.  He'd not been able to rectify 
that, how so much had been sacrificed for what turned out to be a 
lie.

The easiest and most plausible assumption was that Scully had 
died shortly after she'd disappeared, and that some random hiker 
would find her skeleton after a good rain up on Skyland Mountain.  
Eventually, he'd started to believe it, and he'd started his 
weekly pilgrimage to the memorial headstone her mother had 
insisted upon.  Weekly became every two weeks, which became every 
other month, and finally tapered off into only on her birthday.  
He supposed, and her mother agreed, that it was a part of the 
natural grieving and healing process.  Normal.  You don't forget 
them, but you can't continue to let them be the center of your 
life, either.

So his twin ideals were laid to rest years after their respective 
deaths.  He moved on.

After Diana had come back into his life, she'd helped him to 
steer a more directed course.  She'd been there when he found his 
sister, and was there when he finally moved Scully's case file to 
the inactive drawer in his office.  As soon as her assignment in 
Europe was completed - whenever that happened to be, and 
sometimes it seemed like it would never happen - they'd planned 
to close the X-Files, drastically cut back on their hours spent 
at work, and get married.  That, he knew, was all normal too.

He stared through the glass window at Scully, and wondered if she 
could ever understand that, right now, she didn't fit into his 
life, but he would make a place for her.  It would just take some 
time.

This wasn't normal.

There were tears rolling down her cheeks and, when he saw them, 
he pushed open the door and sat on the bed in front of her.

Again she tensed, and relaxed, when she saw it was only him.  "I 
can't believe this," she sighed, turning off the TV.  "So much 
has happened...so much has changed."

She didn't know the half of it.  "I called your mother.  She's on 
her way, and she'll call when she had a flight."

"A flight?"

"She moved to Texas a few years ago to be closer to your 
brother."

Again, Scully shook her head.  "I guess that's what happens in 
nine years," she said after a few minutes of pitiful shaking.

"She had a hard time, losing your father, and then you, so close 
together.  She's doing better now."  Those words sounded 
encouraging in his head.

Scully looked up at him and the tears that had pooled in her eyes 
spilled over, a sob escaping her throat.  Ashamed and 
embarrassed, she wiped her face with the sheet and looked away.

"She still misses you, though.  So do I.  We haven't forgotten 
you."

Laughing slightly, she nodded.  "Yeah."  She didn't believe him.

"Scully?"  He hated to do this now, but he had to know.  "What do 
you remember about all this?"

She wrung the sheet in her hand, squeezing it tightly.  "I think 
they must've kept me unconscious most of the time.  I knew I had 
been there for a while, but I didn't know it had been nine 
years."  Her voice broke again, and she cleared it, not admitting 
tears.

"They, who?"

She started shaking harder, and he took hold of her shoulders, 
keeping her steady.  "Um...men.  Doctors.  I don't know.  I 
remember voices more than faces."

"What did they do to you?"  He murmured.

Her hands went to her temples, massaging like her head ached 
terribly.  "I don't know.  I remember them taking me into rooms 
and bringing me back to my room.  They would hit me, sometimes."

By the looks of the fresh bruises, the old ones, and the scars, 
it had been more than sometimes.

"Once, I swear...I woke up and I was pregnant."  She smiled sadly.  
"I don't know how that would've happened, though."

No, they both had an idea.  He bit his lip and looked away, 
disgusted.

This had always been something he'd been afraid of for Samantha: 
years of tests and torture and not knowing what had been done to 
her without her consent.  In his nightmares, when he found her, 
she was frightened and broken, keening as doctors who were trying 
to help her injected her with a sedative so they could examine 
her.  Sometimes, Scully had been Samantha, and he couldn't 
rectify that image with the one he remembered of her: tough, 
strong, take-no-bullshit.  It didn't fit, and yet here it was, 
sitting in front of him, pale and shaking.

"Do you know where you were?"  He finally asked, just filling 
silence.

"No.  It was like a jail.  There weren't any windows and there 
were guards everywhere.  I saw them kill people who tried to 
escape."

That caught his attention.  "There were others?"

"Yeah.  I never got to talk to them, but everyone I saw was a 
woman."

Was it some kind of breeding camp?  A brothel for the men that 
organized these abductions?  Why hadn't he ever thought of this?

"I didn't see Samantha, Mulder.  I looked for her.  I'm sorry."  
Another tear, another angry swipe at her bruised cheek.

"She's dead, Scully.  I found out a few years ago."

She huddled back into her pillow, pulling the covers up as a 
shield.  "Oh," she said as if her heart finally shattered with 
that admission.  "I'm sorry," she added belatedly.

"Me too."

There was silence for a few long, tense minutes.

"Mulder," she finally whispered, not looking at him.

"Yeah?"

"If, um...if you thought I was dead, that means you weren't looking 
for me, doesn't it?"

He sighed slowly.  This was so hard.  "Yeah, it does."

She huddled some more, sliding lower into the bed and covering 
her face with the blankets.  "Oh."

"Scully...there's so much that needs to be explained.  Right now, 
you're just overwhelmed...and so am I, and so is your mother.  
We'll need some time to process all this before we can start 
talking about it.  But we will, and everything will be all right.  
Okay?"

When she didn't respond, he stood up, and walked to the door.  
"You need to rest right now, though.  I'll be out here."

Still no response.  He closed the door on his way out, found a 
chair near her door, and sat down to wait.

<><><><><><>

On a slow day in Mulder's office, she'd picked up an issue of 
"The Lone Gunmen."  There was an article about how the government 
knew of POW's still in Vietnam.  Of course, by now, they'd been 
declared killed in action.  Their families had moved on; parents 
had mourned, wives had remarried, children had grown up.  She'd 
been fascinated by this, though, and had wondered what she would 
do if her father or brothers had been one of these POW's, if 
she'd ever be able to tuck them into the past and move on with 
her life.  She wondered if she'd somehow know that they really 
weren't dead, if she'd have a feeling that proved to be true.  
And how would she and her mother deal with them suddenly being 
alive again?  Tortured and imprisoned in the name of their 
country while they went about their lives, happy and unaware?  
How would her father or brothers deal with it?

What was it like to be returned to a world that had forgotten 
you, or were just as happy to have you dead than for you to be 
alive?  She supposed that now, she knew.

Some nights when she wasn't weak enough or in enough pain to 
loose consciousness, she'd let the blood drip down her throat, 
let the semen ooze onto the floor beneath her, and wonder if 
tonight would be the night that Mulder came to rescue her.  
Escape had been out of the question ever since the first time she 
saw a guard suffocate a woman by holding her broken jaw closed as 
another guard raped her.  Just moments before the woman had run 
from her room three doors down from Scully's, whispering to the 
others as she passed that she was getting out, for them to follow 
her.

They'd left her body in the hallway for all the inmates to see.  
A warning.

As ridiculous as it sounded, she was probably safer there than 
she was if she escaped.  It was fall, or maybe by then it was 
winter, and she would freeze or starve to death, or maybe just 
die from exhaustion before she made it to a phone to call 
someone.  And if she was good, they wouldn't hurt her.  That was 
the way it worked.  They were only violent if she fought them, 
but sometimes pain reflexes and moans were interpreted as a 
struggle.  She'd have to do better about hiding them, that was 
all.  Play the part of the good little inmate until Mulder found 
her and rescued her, took her someplace safe and then shot every 
one of these men that had hurt her.  It would be any day now, she 
had been sure.

Every night before she fell asleep, her last thought was of what 
she'd say to him when she saw him again.  "Thank God you're here.  
I've been waiting for you.  Take me home."  It gave her hope that 
she'd eventually get out of there.  It gave her something to have 
faith in, to believe in, to keep her from trying to escape just 
so she could die.  It was the only thing those men couldn't take 
away from her: her dreams.

Mulder had just taken them away.  Now, she had nothing, and she 
regretted not making them kill her nine years ago.

<><><><><><>

Mrs. Scully looked near hysterical when she finally arrived at 
the hospital nearly twelve hours since he'd called her.  She 
walked up to Mulder, swallowed a cough, and asked him, "where is 
she?"

"She's sleeping down the hall."

She started walking in that direction and he followed her.  "Is 
she all right?"

"A psychiatrist just left about an hour ago.  He said she 
wouldn't say much, but she's showing signs of severe emotional 
trauma.  Physically...she looks bad."

"What's happened to her?"

He wondered how he should reply to that.  "I don't have an answer 
for that yet, but I'm working on it."

Mrs. Scully stopped at the closed door of room 412, her hand 
poised above the handle.  "Fox?"  She looked back at him.  "What 
do I say to her?"

He shrugged.  "That you love her and you missed her, I guess.  I 
don't know."

She nodded tightly, then went inside.

<><><><><><>

Fox had been wrong; Dana was awake, and staring out at the bright 
lights of downtown DC.  "Dana?"  She asked cautiously, easing to 
sit beside her, placing her hand on her daughter's back and 
stroking lightly.

The bruising bothered her, and Dana's nose was crooked.  What had 
she been through in these past few years?

Her daughter continued to stare out the window, jerking and 
tensing when the hand touched her, and not relaxing.  "Dana, it's 
mom."  She just didn't know what else to say.  "Will you talk to 
me?"

No response, but tears collected in Dana's eyes.

"Baby, I'm so sorry, what they did to you..." the hand moved to 
caress her face, but Dana flinched away, burying her face in her 
pillow.  "But I'm glad you're safe now.  I missed you so much."

Dana's back started to shake and heave; she was crying quietly.  
Mrs. Scully looked back at Fox, standing in the doorway.  She 
shrugged, and he hung his head sadly.

The three remained like that for almost twenty minutes before she 
stood, bending to kiss her daughter's shoulder.  "I'll be right 
here, Dana.  I'm not going to leave."

Fox met her on her way to the door.  "I don't know what to do," 
she confessed.  "I never imagined this...what do we do?"

"I don't know.  Just be here, I guess.  I don't think there's 
really a precedent for this."

She nodded.  "I have to call her brothers.  Will you stay here 
with her?"

"Yeah."

After she left, Mulder went and claimed her seat beside Scully, 
deciding not to touch her, to give her some time to regain her 
personal space.

"Scully...I don't know what you're feeling right now, but I know 
you have to be confused.  So are we.  We don't know how to handle 
this, and I'm sure you don't either.  We're gonna have to do this 
together, and you're gonna have to be the leader.  If you tell us 
what to do, we'll do it.  Just say the word."

If she was listening, she didn't give any indication.

"Scully?"

"Leave me alone," she said into her pillow.

Well, he'd said he'd do whatever she asked.  Reluctantly, he 
stood, smoothing the covers over her body.  "Okay.  We'll be 
right outside.  If you want to talk to us, just let us know, and 
we'll be here."

He and Mrs. Scully took turns sitting outside her room for nearly 
a week.  Diana was back on US soil, wondering why her fiance was 
spending all his time with a dead woman, and Mrs. Scully needed 
to go back home and help her daughter-in-law with a baby that was 
due any day now.  Scully never asked to see them, so they left 
her alone.

<><><><><><>

Another week, at least, in the hospital.  Outpatient psychiatric 
care for a year.  Close contact with her family, a strong support 
system, people to help her get back on her feet.  That was what 
her doctors recommended, yet Scully signed herself out anyway, 
refusing it all.

She hadn't asked for him, but he stood uncertainly at the door as 
she dressed anyway.

She just brushed his shoulder as she walked past, not glancing at 
him.  He followed her.  

They didn't speak until they reached the taxi that she'd called.  
The driver standing by the door, waiting to put her bags in the 
trunk.  There were none, and with a suspicious eyebrow-lift, he 
climbed behind the wheel.  Scully followed suit, slamming the 
back passenger door and saying something to the driver he 
couldn't hear.

The driver glanced at Mulder, and he held up a hand: not yet.  He 
opened the door, and sat down beside Scully.  "You can stay with 
me as long as you want, until you can find your own place," he 
offered.  If you want," he hurried to add.  "We can do this 
together, Scully."

She squeezed herself close to her door, as if she could melt 
through it, unable to get far enough away from him.  When she 
spoke, her chin was high, and her back was straight.  "Kathy."

"What?"

"I'm changing my name to Kathy."

He reached a hand towards her, and she cowered away.  "Why?"

"Because Dana Scully is dead."

"No she's not.  Not anymore."

"Well, maybe she should be."

She didn't flinch as she said the words, and he wondered if she 
truly believed them, or if it was just the PTSD talking.

"I'm dying my hair.  Black."

He rubbed his forehead, a dull ache starting to build there.  
"Why?"  He asked again.  The more she talked, the more he was 
beginning to realize that he didn't know this woman and, despite 
what he liked to believe, he never really had.

"Because I'm tired of looking like Peg Bundy."

"Scully, you don't have to do all this.  This is still your life.  
It'll just take a while for it to feel like it."

She chuffed a laugh.  "Maybe I don't want it to."

"Where are you going?"  He asked her as an afterthought.

"I don't know."

He nodded, not really understanding, as he reached for the door 
handle and climbed out of the car.

It drove away two seconds later.  She didn't look back at him as 
the taillights faded into the early morning air.

He had a feeling he'd be laying flowers on her headstone tonight 
even though it wasn't her birthday.

<><><>End<><><>

Oh, and I have a web page now.  geocities.com/lil_gusty