Blue Girl IIITitle: Blue Girl III
Classification: SA
Keywords: none
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Ascension
Thanks: as always, to realb, Karri, and Liam
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) Sequel to Blue Girl II.


Fern Creek, Kentucky.  It wasn't far, but it was far enough.  She 
hadn't had any more money, anyway.  The only way she'd gotten 
this far was hitchhiking.

She half expected Mulder to be the next one picking her up - he'd 
clench his jaw closed, wanting so badly to give her another 
sermon about how he didn't know what to do, her mother didn't 
know what to do, that they were all in the same boat together, 
and that if she jumped in the shark-laden waters, they were 
jumping in after her to save her.  Never mind that they might 
lose a limb, or a life, for a life that wasn't worth saving.

He hadn't picked her up, though, so she kept thumbing, kept 
moving whichever way her driver happened to be headed.

Of course they'd all wanted to make conversation, just being 
polite.  She answered the questions like, "where ya headed?"  
"what's a pretty little thing like you doin' out here all alone," 
and the omnipresent, "gotta be careful; lots of crazies out 
there."  They gave up after a while and left her to her silence, 
watching America the Beautiful whizzing by from her window.

Crazies didn't much scare her, anyway.  Not when she'd been 
through the hell that was the last nine years.  Nothing could be 
worse than that.

No: being released was worse.  This life?or unlife?was a
thousand times worse.  At least at that place, she still had her 
belief that someone gave a damn about her, that someone was 
desperately searching for her and wouldn't give up until he 
rescued her.  How stupid of her.  How naive and childish.

Kathy, unlike Dana Scully, had no high school diploma, social 
security number, or driver's license.  The only jobs she seemed 
to be qualified for were ones that didn't require her to wear all 
of her clothes, but those jobs paid, and if she were going to 
carve out a life for herself, she desperately needed some money.

Vegas Nights was just off the main highway running south away 
from Fern Creek.  Their marquee said "help wanted," so she took 
it as a sign.  It didn't take the manager but four minutes and 
sixteen seconds to decide she was hired.  She'd counted; it kept 
her mind off things.

His name was Jeff, and he liked to drink.  He also liked to have 
his favorite girl close, and gave her a place in his bed every 
night.  Six days earlier, he'd even convinced her to abandon her 
black hair phase in favor of blond, only it turned out dishwater 
brown and she hated it.  He hated it, too, and left her bleeding 
on the bathroom floor.

It didn't seem to matter much in the dark, and the club was kept 
softly lit with footlights and cigarette smoke.  She slowly made 
her way across the stage towards a table circled with drunk, 
rowdy men.  The drunker they were, the more they tipped.

If she was being romantic, she might say that she knew the exact 
moment he walked in the door.  The air changed, got thicker, or 
maybe it was those pills Jeff had asked her to take earlier.  She 
thought she could feel him.  She stumbled, twisted her ankle in 
the high-heeled sandal, and grabbed the closest pole to steady 
herself.

From behind the bar, she saw Jeff sneer and mumble a curse.

The men she was arousing thought it was part of the act, so she 
pretended it was, insanely embarrassed to be doing it in front of 
him.  She could feel him watching her, but his gaze didn't drop 
below her shoulders.  She could feel the way he looked at her: a 
little shocked, a little ashamed, and a lot disappointed.

She couldn't concentrate; the stage was rippling underneath her.

The music stopped and the men were devastated.  The other girls 
made their way off stage, but she was jerked by an angry grip.  
"What the FUCK was that?  Huh?  What the hell happened?"

She was dizzy, couldn't get her balance.  The words she was 
trying to say, "I'm sorry" were lost in a thick haze in her mind.

Jeff jerked her closer to him, hard up against his chest.  "You 
don't mess up my shows, got it?  Stupid slut?" and he pushed her 
away roughly.  Without something to stabilize her, she landed 
hard on her ass.

Frustrated, embarrassed, ashamed, and too sick to think of 
anything else to do, she just sat there, staring at the dirty 
floor between her legs, and willed herself not to cry.  Around 
her, girls were seeing to their favorite customers, Jeff was 
serving drinks, and Mulder stood watching her silently at the 
door.

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

The bruises could be easily hidden by make-up, and she'd 
perfected the art of hiding the ones on her face.  The ones on 
the rest of her body she didn't worry about.  No one much paid 
attention to what she looked like, anyway.

The knock on her door made her jump: Jeff didn't like her smoking 
cigarettes - said they were for five dollar street-corner whores, 
that she was better than that - and she rushed to put it out in 
her Dixie cup of Wal-Mart wine.

He was probably bringing by another of his "best customers," 
which meant she'd either spend the next hour on her knees or her 
back.  She was hoping for knees; she was too sore for anything 
else.

"Come in," she said quietly, standing and putting her back to the 
door.  Underneath the thin robe was a sheer white negligee Jeff 
had bought for her during her first week.  She'd blushed as she'd 
pulled it out of the bag, and he told her how beautiful she was 
when she was embarrassed.  He could be flattering and insulin-
worthy sweet sometimes.

The air in her room was frigid to her, but she let the robe pool 
at her feet, pasted a seductive grin on her face, and turned 
around to meet her next customer.

Mulder.

She might've known.  "What can I do for you?"  She asked in her 
most innocent little girl voice.

Just as she'd imagined, he clenched his jaw and shook his head, 
looking away incredulously.

She exhaled forcefully, frustrated, and picked her robe up, 
gratefully wrapping it around her shivering body.  As she sat, 
she reached for her pack of cigarettes and lit one, savoring the 
first long, calming drag.

When he finally looked at her again, it was with sad puppy eyes, 
the ones that had gotten in her trouble with superiors a few 
times Before.  Now, they hardly phased her.  Kathy didn't do 
emotions like Dana Scully had.

"Your ankle okay?"  He asked, as if it was just another day in 
the Perfect Life of Fox Mulder, staring a calmer, more relaxed 
man as himself and Diana as his beautiful, intelligent fiancee.

She held her last puff of smoke.  "Yeah."

"What about this?"  He pointed towards the yellow-promising-to-
turn-black bruise peaking out from the three-quarter sleeves of 
her robe.  "Does he do that often?"

"I screwed up the show," she told the stringy-haired waif in the 
mirror.

He shook his head, walking further into the room and closing the 
door.  "I'll take that as a yes."

Take it however you want, she thought.  Take it and get out.  
"It's his club.  He gave me a chance and I said I could do it."

He bit his lip, pensive.  "Amanda said you'd been here almost two 
months," he began, coming to stand behind her, searching for her 
eyes in the mirror.  "You know what else has happened in those 
two months?  Your sister-in-law had a baby.  Her third, a boy.  
They've all been boys, but they're gonna keep trying for a girl.  
Personally I think she'd be happy cutting her losses, but your 
brother is insistent.  He says hello, by the way."

She flicked the ashes into her wine.

"Actually he doesn't.  He says for me to go to hell, and that's 
about it.  He blames me for this."  Mulder sighed, clearing a 
space on the broken, stained couch to sit.  "Do you blame me, 
Scully?"

Scully?  Who was Scully?  She picked up her bottle of foundation 
and started on the bruise molting around her jaw.

"I do.  I keep thinking...Before, the next lead I'd received, the 
next piece of evidence I'd found or the next contact I'd talked 
to would've led me to you.  Then we wouldn't be here.  I had 
leads.  I had evidence.  I had contacts, but I just gave up.  
Nothing else had worked out, I was no closer to finding you than 
I was the day you were taken?just like Samantha," he added 
wistfully.

For a short moment, she was sure he was going to cry.

"She was dead all these years, Scully.  I spent my life searching 
for something that was never there to find.  I was afraid of the 
same thing happening again: that I'd spend the rest of my life 
searching for you only to find out you'd been dead and that it 
was all for nothing.  I-I couldn't do that, Scully."

Her hand was shaking.  She was cold.  She needed something?a 
drink or something.

"But I could've found you," he whispered, finishing his 
monologue.  He shifted against a broken spring at his back, gave 
up, and slouched forward to his knees.

The heavy pulse of the music vibrated through tiny room, filling 
the stuffy silence.

"How did you find me?"  She finally asked him.

"Someone must've seen your missing person's poster.  They're 
supposed to be in all the post offices, government buildings -"

"You put out posters?"

"You were missing, you're a person."

She scoffed a laugh, rubbing her eyes exhaustedly.  Jeff's party 
hadn't ended until six this morning, but that was early for them.  
She'd been serving drinks and filling syringes, checking pulses 
on the rowdier guests, remembering the first time she'd put an IV 
in a real person or took a patient's vitals.  She stuffed that 
memory into the dumpster inside her mind.

"We wouldn't do all this unless we wanted you to come home," he 
stated firmly, tired of repeating it to her.

"We?"

He sighed.  "Me, your family, your mother?we miss you, we're 
concerned about you.  It?it wouldn't be so bad if you'd just 
contact us, call us, let us know you're all right -" 

"What am I supposed to say?  I got a new job at a strip club and 
my manager is letting me live with him as long as I let him fuck 
me?"  She snapped, reaching for another cigarette.

He caught her wrist, and she jumped, snatching her arm back.

"Don't.  You.  Fucking.  Touch.  Me."

He watched her light another one with huge frightened eyes.  He 
swallowed nervously.  Some psychologist he was.  "Just tell us 
you're safe, tell us that you're trying -"

Her eyes snapped to his, locking on.

"- trying to get your life back together," he finished.

"Does this look like a life to you?  Does this look safe?  Does 
this look like something I can report to my mother?"

He shook his head slowly.  "Then why are you here, Scully?"

"God," she murmured, dropping her head into her palm in 
disbelief.

"Just show us - show me - that you're trying.  Show me that you 
want help."

"I DON'T WANT ANY FUCKING HELP!"  She screamed.  "And I CERTAINLY 
don't want any from YOU!  I needed your goddamned help for nine 
fucking years and YOU NEVER CAME!"

There: she'd said it.  It was out.  It was real.  Adrenaline 
pulsed through her veins, accelerated by the nicotine, alcohol, 
and whatever was in Jeff's pills.

The maddening beat of the music paused and was replaced by her 
heavy panting, his quietly repressed breaths.

They both jumped when her door swung open, hitting the wall hard 
and bouncing almost half-closed again.  Jeff walked in, weaving 
on his feet from alcohol.  When he saw Mulder, he stopped, 
blinked a few times to clear his eyes, and stood a little 
straighter.  "Wha's this?"  He asked, looking so hard at her that 
she turned her head away in fear.

When it became clear that she wasn't going to respond, Mulder 
did, already hating this man.  "We're just talking."

"Just talkin'?"  Jeff mimicked, swaggering towards her.  "Kathy?"

She swallowed and looked at the floor.

He moved closer.  "I don' like people 'just talkin'' to my girls 
without me knowin' about it."  His eyes shifted from the tiny red 
roots on Scully's head to Mulder's angrily squinted eyes.  "I 
heard yellin'.  What was you yellin' about?"

Mulder looked at her, waiting for her to tell this man to fuck 
off, to stand up for herself.  She didn't.

"Kathy, baby..." he murmured to her, his voice dripping evil oil.  
"Wha'ssa matter?  This man bein' mean to you, baby?"  She jumped 
again when he found her arm, stroking it lightly.  He tipped her 
chin up to his face, but she wouldn't look at him.  "You can tell 
me, baby.  I can make it all better."

His lips were close to her ear now, grazing, murmuring.  From 
beneath her closed eyelids, tears began to slide down her face.  
She still didn't say a word and that, more than anything yet, 
worried Mulder.

"That's enough," he jumped in, taking Jeff by the arm and tugging 
him away roughly.

Jeff was shorter, though not by much, but he still had to look up 
to sneer at Mulder.  "Who're you?"

"The guy who's gonna kick your ass if you don't get out of here 
right now," he sneered back.  There were all sorts of crimes 
being committed here, and he knew that all it would take to get 
Jeff out of his face was flashing his badge, but he hoped it 
wouldn't come to that.  Scully would have to be arrested if it 
did.

"You listen to me, man," Jeff said, poking his finger into 
Mulder's chest.  "This.  Is my.  Club.  If anybody's gonna kick 
anybody's ass, it's gonna be me.  Got it?"

He knew Jeff couldn't find his own ass if he had to, so he 
smirked and reached towards her.  "C'mon," he told her softly, 
taking her trembling wrist between his fingers.

Jeff was having trouble following the conversation and his train 
of thought at the same time.  "She's not free, man.  You gotta 
pay first, then you can do whatever you want."

Beside him, she moaned, stifling a sob.

"She's free from you, you son of a bitch," Mulder mumbled under 
his breath.  He tugged Scully's wrist, ready to prove that 
assertion, but she wouldn't move.  She sat still on the very edge 
of her chair, staring at the floor and biting her lip in 
confusion.

"Scully, c'mon," he repeated.

She shook her head, tears dripping and making clean spots in the 
dust at her feet.

"I don' think she wants to leave with you," Jeff teased, sliding 
an arm around her shoulders.  "Too bad.  She's a tight one."

He moved to nibble at her neck, and she leaned away, whispering, 
no, to him.

In the next breath, he had her up and pinned to his chest.  "What 
did you say to me?  Did you tell me NO?  YOU DON'T TELL ME WHAT 
TO DO, BITCH!"

Mulder already had his gun aimed at his head.  "Let her go."

She shook, but otherwise she didn't move.

He shoved her away violently, and she hit the wall, sliding down 
it limply until the floor caught her.  "You're FIRED, bitch!  Get 
out of my club!  Goddamned WHORE!  YOU!"  He screamed, meaning 
Mulder, "get out of here before I call the cops!"  He lumbered 
out of the room, slamming the door as he left.

Her knees to her chest, Scully cried quietly.  Mulder put his gun 
away and took a deep breath. 

He knelt in front of her, pulling her hands away from her face.  
"C'mon, Scully.  Let's go."

She shook her head, wiping the tears off her face roughly.

"Yes.  We have to," he insisted, pulling her up.

"Just leave me alone," she moaned.  "Just go.  He's serious, 
he'll call the cops.  You'll just make it worse if you stay."

"Worse for me or worse for you?"

Her voice was shaking.  "Look, you've already gotten me fired.  
Just go.  Please," she pleaded, eyes closed, head bowed in 
defeat.

For half a second, he remembered the look on Diana's face as he'd 
left their apartment early this morning.  Pity: she'd pitied him.  
She thought he was chasing a ghost, just like he had been with 
Samantha.  Searching for someone that didn't want to be found.  
He almost left her standing there, shaking and slowly crying.

Almost.  He'd have to call her mother, tell her he'd let her go 
again.

"No.  C'mon."  He pushed her in front of him and steered her 
towards the car.

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

On their way to the motel, he'd called Scully's mother to check 
in, give her a little good news.  She asked to talk to her 
daughter, and when he'd handed Scully the phone, she'd shook her 
head and leaned against the window, feigning exhaustion.

She collapsed onto the bed, fighting with the comforter until she 
was buried underneath it, only the very top of her head visible.  
He sat down beside her, head in his hands, and began to speak 
softly, not knowing if she was even listening.

"You're right, Scully.  I didn't help you when you needed it."  
He paused.  "But I can't help you if you don't want it.  I'm 
sorry.  It's just?you don't belong in a place like this.  You 
belong at home?"

She surprised him by answering, her voice muffled and soft.  "I 
don't have a home.  I don't have anything.  Everything I had, 
everything I was, is gone."

He shook his head, reaching to his neck.  From underneath his 
collar, he pulled a fine gold chain.  "Not everything."

As if he was unearthing a thousand year old mummy, he peeled back 
the covers until he could see her eyes.  Her necklace.  She'd 
ripped it from her neck when she was in the trunk, leaving a clue 
for him: back when she was certain he'd find her.  That was all 
such a long time ago.  Tears threatened her eyes, so she closed 
them.  They burned.

His tears were in his voice.  "Your mother asked me to give it to 
you when I found you.  It's not the same chain?I got yours fixed, 
but I needed a bigger one.  I've been wearing it, holding it for 
you."

She shook her head.  "I don't want it," she whispered.

He bit his lip.  "Why not?"

"Because?"  Memories flooded her, and she let her dam open a 
little, letting one trickle in.  "My mother gave that to me when 
I was fifteen.  It was supposed to be a reminder that God was 
always with me, that I should never lose hope because He was 
watching and listening and waiting to help me.  It was a reminder 
of the person I was supposed to be.  But I don't?I-I don't 
believe that anymore."

A tear slid across the bridge of her nose, over her eye, and into 
the sheet.  She shivered.

"God wasn't with me in that?place.  I don't?I don't believe that 
He would've let those things happen to me.  God wouldn't let 
things like that happen.  I don't believe in that anymore.  And 
now?this person I've become?my mother would be so ashamed of
me.  And my father?I am so glad he's dead.  I couldn't stand to 
have him see me like this."

He reached towards her just as she sniffed, and she looked up.  
He froze.

"I'm not that person anymore, Mulder.  That," she pointed to the 
necklace, "belonged to her.  Not to me."

Her eyes were liquid blue, and he was drowning.  "Maybe?maybe you 
should keep it, so that when you find her, you can give it back 
to her," he said slowly, hoping the words made sense to her.

He thought she would agree for a long moment, then she shook her 
head and looked away again.  "I can't."

He kneeled in front of her, looking up into her battered face.  
"Yes, you can.  Scully, you've just been through an incredibly 
traumatic ordeal, one I can't even begin to comprehend.  Your 
life?that life you had before you were taken is gone forever.  
You'll never get it back, but you have pieces of it.  You have 
me, and your mother, and your job when you're ready?you have 
this," he gestured to her necklace.  "You can put those pieces 
together again."

Her hands were shaking.  God, she was so cold.  Mulder's warm 
fingers slipped into her tight fists, gently settling the long 
chain into her palm.

She took a deep breath, squeezing his fingers between hers.  
After a moment, she collapsed forward.  He caught her, settling 
her head against his shoulder and wrapping his arms around her 
trembling back.

They sat, the only people in the world, holding each other as 
lifelines.  That's what they were: neither of them was the same 
person they'd been, and the only thing they had tying them to 
that life Before was each other.  He was tirelessly clinging; she 
was just getting a good foothold.

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

When she awoke, eyes swollen and burning, he was asleep in the 
chair with his head on the table.

She was desperate for a shower, or a long, hot, sweetly scented 
bubble bath to ease her sore muscles and bruises.  The running 
water would probably wake him, though, and then they'd have this 
whole teary scene again.  She just wasn't up to that right now.

Her necklace was still tucked tightly into her palm, and as she 
sat on the bed, she contemplated whether she should take it with 
her or whether she should leave it with him.

If she took it, it was a commitment.  She had to put a life 
together for herself, she had to try to make it as much like her 
life Before as possible.  She had to go back to Washington, maybe 
go back to the Bureau teaching.  No, probably not.  She'd never 
pass the psych evaluation.  It was possible for her to get a job 
at a county or hospital morgue, but that was a step below what 
she was used to.  Her father had warned her that there weren't 
many respectable career options for a specialty in pathology; 
that's all he had been concerned with.  Not her personal 
happiness or fulfillment, but how easily she could find a job 
that guaranteed her a good reputation and how quickly she could 
make a lot of money.  He had even been disappointed when she'd 
told him of her teaching position at Quantico.  Nothing had ever 
been good enough.

Not that he would've approved of her recent career.  He'd never 
recognize her as his daughter.  She wasn't.  She was Kathy, the 
girl without a family or a past.

It was entirely freeing and entirely frightening.  If she 
continued as Kathy, with the dirty dishwater hair, she could be 
anyone she wanted to be, do anything she wanted to do.  She 
wouldn't have to worry about what others thought of her or how 
they might miss her.  If she wanted to be the oldest girl at a 
club, she could be.  If she wanted to beg on the streets, she 
could.  She had no standards, no goals, nothing she was too good 
for.  None of that much mattered anymore.

If she took the necklace, she'd always be comparing what was to 
what had been.  Her job would never be her field agent status; 
her friendship with Mulder would never be the exhilarating 
challenge and exclusive trust; her life After would never be her 
life Before.  It would be easier to not even bother, to not even 
try to get it back.  If she left, she'd never mourn what could 
never be again.

Dana would take the necklace; Kathy would leave it.  She sat 
rubbing her fingers over the chain, considering.

He had worn it all these years.  He had said he had been holding 
it for her - waiting on her.  No.  He had been waiting on Scully, 
his strong, intelligent, independent, take no bullshit partner.  
He had never considered getting a broken, frightened, desperate, 
and alone shell of a woman back instead.  No matter how much 
therapy she went to, no matter how much stability and help Mulder 
wanted to give her, she would never be that Scully again.

She stood, dropping the necklace quietly onto the table beside 
his head, resisting the urge to sift her fingers through his 
hair.  He could be dedicated and caring to the extreme; she'd 
seen hints of how deep his empathy could go when her father died.  
She hoped Diana knew how lucky she was to have this man love her.

She opened the door, looked back at him in the purple hints of 
dawn that snuck into the room, and left him.

Kathy had a life to live, too, just like him.

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

When he awoke, the first thing he noticed was that his neck hurt 
like hell.  The second was that his back did, too.

He sat up, wincing and cursing himself for doing something as 
stupid as sleeping like a bored fifth grader all night.  Scully 
had deserved the bed more than he had, though.

Scully; he wondered if she was awake yet.  He painfully turned 
his head towards her, and looked to the bed.  It was empty.

He jumped out of the chair to sift through the messy pile of 
sheets, like she could be hiding in there and he wouldn't know 
it.  He checked the bathroom, walked outside, to the lobby, and 
back again: no Scully.

Back inside the room, he noticed a sharp glint from something on 
the table.  When he inspected it, her found her necklace sitting 
where it should've been the first thing he saw when he opened his 
eyes.  Dammit.

He should've known she'd run if she got the chance, but after 
last night, he'd thought he'd convinced her to stay.  He'd said 
everything he knew of to say, even the harsh reality of the life 
she remembered being gone forever.  He'd tried every trick he 
knew and it still didn't change anything for her.  It still 
didn't convince her that there was enough left of the life she 
knew to come back to it.

But, in the end, maybe she just didn't want to.  Maybe she didn't 
think it was worth it.  He wondered how he'd feel if he had been 
in her place, if he'd be able to accept the naive help of his 
mother and a partner who he barely knew outside work.  He'd 
trusted her above anyone else, he'd respected her and enjoyed her 
company, but was it enough to call him back to a life that had 
ended nine years before?

Maybe it wasn't.  Evidently, it wasn't.

He picked up her necklace, watching the delicate cross slide back 
and forth on the chain.  What bothered him most was that she 
hadn't taken this with her.  It was almost symbolic of her giving 
up on anything, even the meager existence she'd managed in the 
past few months.

He'd given it to her as a lifeline and she'd rejected it.  Now, 
the only thing he knew to do was to go home, wait, and hope that 
she would come to him.

He picked up his overnight back, opened the door, and left the 
room.

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

Her life wasn't a puzzle, but if she were comparing it to one, it 
was as if she was sifting through the few pieces that were 
presented to her, setting the edges to the side, then starting to 
arrange them in groups of the same colors or patterns.

One pile for her family: Phone calls at work from Melissa, 
wanting to catch up on all the time that had passed while she 
searched for herself in the New Age.  "Tell me about him," she'd 
said once, coyly.  Dana hadn't know who "him" referred to until 
she heard Mulder slap a file-folder down on his desk in disgust.  
Missy giggled, Dana blushed, and they acted like sisters while 
Mulder watched her curiously.

No, no, no, you belong in the Mulder pile.  She mental shifted 
the piece to its proper place.

Tara having her second miscarriage and Bill calling her late at 
night to ask medical questions, worried that he'd never be able 
to provide an heir to the Scully name.

Her mother starting to smile again, then immediately looking 
guilty, like she wasn't supposed to be happy without Ahab.  
Distantly, she wondered if her mother ever smiled while she had 
been dead.

Missy was off to where ever it was she went again, Bill was at 
sea, Tara had given him three perfect sons, and her mother had 
moved to be with her new family.  She probably smiled all the 
time, now.

One pile for her memories of Mulder and what they were: partners, 
yes.  She was just starting to feel that he trusted her.  He 
trusted her enough not to tell her where he was going and what he 
was doing, but enough to depend on her when he got in over his 
head and needed a last minute rescue.  Scenes from Puerto Rico 
flowed through her mind.  "...I still have you..."

He'd said it with an almost reverence, and she'd likened that 
moment to that first time she'd seen the smile melt off her 
mother's face as the reality returned that her husband was gone.  
Like they'd just remembered an important part of themselves that 
wasn't there.  Her mother felt it: the emptiness that Dana had 
heard in Mulder's voice that day.

Mulder wasn't supposed to smile without her.  Dammit, he was 
supposed to need her like he did in Puerto Rico, like he did in 
that travel agency when she'd come to him like an angel in the 
darkness, bringing him a candle of truth.  He wasn't supposed to 
find someone else to take her place as his partner.

One pile for her career, the thing that had seemed most important 
Before: Thirty pushups was the requirement for both males and 
females.  She'd rejected the notion of doing the "girl" ones, on 
her knees instead of on the balls of her feet.  Her biceps 
burned, her chest was leaden, but she was almost there.  The 
instructor had already failed the only other female in her class.  
Twenty-seven, the look on Bill's face when she passed this "basic 
training" that was more difficult than the Navy's...twenty-eight 
shocking the male cadets that surrounded her, arms crossed, 
waiting for her to collapse...twenty nine, getting her badge at 
the graduation ceremony.  One more.  Thirty, hoping her father 
would come to watch her and be proud...

He hadn't.  He'd had an emergency meeting at the Pentagon, but 
congratulated the space of wall directly beside her head before 
he'd left to go.

Mulder said she still had her job when she was ready.  She was 
weak, unsteady; she'd never meet the physical requirements.  
Whatever they'd done to her at that place had left her with a 
fine tremor in her hands and she wouldn't be able to carry a gun.  
Mentally...she shook her head, letting the idea be flung away.  
She would never get her job back.

She'd felt more pieces being dumped on her every time Mulder had 
found her and dragged her back home, messing up her neat piles of 
colors and confusing the middles with the edges.  Now she had to 
start all over again.

No more family in this one, no more Mulder, no more career.  Just 
memories of the jail-place, of beatings and metallic water and 
giving blow jobs for some fresh, dizziness and fear, wondering if 
today was the day he would rescue her.

She had enough money in her pocket for a ticket across the 
Mississippi.  It was a start.

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

Website (that's been fancied up): geocities.com/lil_gusty