Work Text:
CENTERS FOR DISEASE CONTROL AND PREVENTION
FORT COLLINS, COLORADO
BIOSAFETY LEVEL 4 CONTAINMENT ROOM
DAY 4
1034 AM, MST
Mulder was sitting on the side of his unmade bed, tossing a paper ball in the air and catching it.
Scully was sitting cross legged on her own bed, flipping though a paperback book. It was one she remembered her mother reading years ago, and she was trying to see the appeal. She couldn’t yet, but being that it was probably the only book she would have for the next month, she was going to try.
Since they had arrived, they had had the most contact with a nurse named Andrea, who smiled frequently behind the plastic plate of her biohazard suit at them. She had offered to bring them a few items to keep them busy during their confinement, and had, at their request, produced a couple of notepads and pens, playing cards, and the book Scully was currently looking at.
Biohazard level 4 was serious business, and it meant that they stayed in this sealed room all day every day. It meant that any and all visitors wore bulky suits and decontaminated after coming into contact with them. It meant daily nasal swabs to determine if they carried the fungus in their respiratory tracts. It meant a lot of time to sit and think and try to remember and try not to worry and try not to picture a demise that included something shooting out of your throat. It meant trying not to picture how it had gotten the others.
She hadn’t slept well the past couple of nights. Scratch that, she’d been having trouble staying asleep and had since she had come back. Falling asleep, that hadn’t been too difficult, especially the past few nights.
She was using her old trick from medical school days and listing different anatomical structures and functions until her mind drifted. She would lie on her side facing the curtain that turned their quarters into a room for two and whisper the knowledge to her partner.
Part of her wondered if Mulder was asking her to share this information because he was worried about her resting. If she was honest with herself, though, that idea didn’t bother her. The information would be running through her mind no matter what, so why not impart it?
It reminded her of sharing a room with Missy, whispering back and forth after they were supposed to be asleep. They would gossip, share stories, and had even gotten into a few arguments over clothes borrowed without permission, times they’d gotten each other in trouble. Normal things.
There was comfort in remembering that time, and she let herself hold onto it with both hands. She’d just gotten her life back from a disappearance she didn’t remember, and now she was trying not to feel the claustrophobia that wanted to creep in at the thought of being held in this room after she’d just gotten free.
“Wanna play hangman?” Mulder asked. He switched between being cautiously solicitous with her and being easily bored with their surroundings.
“Not particularly.” She didn’t look up from the page she’d flipped to. “Let’s not waste our paper like that.” Her own voice suddenly sounded like it was coming from miles away and her hands, which began to grip the pages tighter, were alternating between feeling hot and cold.
She wasn’t really thinking about paper. She wasn’t reading the page in front of her. She was now focusing on not being taken under, of not losing being in the moment she was in.
She closed her eyes tightly and bit her lip hard enough to taste the coppery taste of blood. Ducking her head, she felt the wave of anxiety come and she didn’t know if she could stop it this time. She didn’t know if she was going to drown in the fear and in the memories that were memories of nothing.
Logically, she knew this could happen. It was logical that this new confinement, right on the heels of the events of this latest case would make a prime breeding ground for the fear she was trying to keep at bay.
She’d been consumed by adrenaline and the urge to survive when she’d thrown Jessie over her shoulder and pushed her into the chamber, knowing the other woman was going to die. It hadn’t been the desired outcome, of course, death of another person never was, but what choice did she have? Jessie had handcuffed them and tried to seal Scully’s fate along with hers and Scully could not allow that. She had resolved not to let herself feel guilty over what had happened. She was not responsible for the contamination, and ultimately, she was not responsible for anyone else’s actions. She had to live her own life, and she had enough going on.
It was all about control. She liked being in control of her life, her career, her decisions. She wanted to tell herself that she had it back, but she couldn’t stop the feeling that so much had been taken from her.
Three months. Ninety days of her life, gone. Completely gone. She didn’t blame herself, but she was so angry and so hurt. She’d been cheated. She didn’t remember anything. It wasn’t fair.
She couldn’t stay asleep at night. Her eyes would just snap open all of a sudden and she’d find herself staring at the ceiling, trying to catch her breath and wracking her brain for an idea of what had caused her to wake up.
She didn’t remember what happened. She didn’t even remember Duane Berry or his trunk, though she’d seen the photo of herself in the trunk. She didn’t know anything about the missing time, she only remembered waking up in the hospital. She wanted to know, wished for recall, because at least then she could have something to tell her work appointed therapist about rather than just her frustration. At least then, she’d know what kept her from unbroken sleep.
She didn’t know. She didn’t remember. It wasn’t fair. How long had this refrain been circling her mind when she let it? Why did she sound like a child to herself as the script kept running? She didn’t know. Oh, God, she didn’t’ remember and she wanted to and she HATED this feeling because it wasn’t her in control anymore. This feeling was going to swallow her whole and the wave was going to drown her while she flailed and, and, and, and, and
“I don’t know,” she said softly, but with force. She hadn’t meant to speak aloud, but there was too much, there had just been too much lately and she couldn’t hide it anymore because they were in the same space. The fear, the feelings were going to crush her, her thoughts had nowhere to go except out, into the stale, recycled air of their shared room.
“I don’t know any of it. It’s not fair.” Her voice remained as firm as it was soft. A tear slipped down her cheek and she brushed it away hastily with the back of her hand. She hadn’t wanted to cry. She hadn’t wanted any of what had happened to her.
"Scully," Mulder said just as quietly, though she heard the emotion evident in his voice. He stood and took a step toward her before stopping himself. "I'm-I'm sorry about all of this. I don't know what else to say. I just-"
She shook her head, and he stopped talking. Opening her eyes briefly, she studied his figure, dressed in the scrubs they'd been given. He was in the space between their two beds and his face looked uncertain while his posture looked slightly defeated. She knew he blamed himself, she knew that he thought he somehow had a hand in what had happened to her. She wished he didn't. This man who confounded her at times and irritated her at others was her friend and cared about her, but she didn't need him imposing martyrdom on himself for the actions of others.
During a conversation with Melissa last week, about everything and nothing all at once, when they were trying to carry on like normal, her sister had made a telling comment. Missy wouldn't elaborate, but the meaning was not lost on Scully. Mulder had been worried about her to the point of neglecting himself, had been at her bedside wishing for her to return and God only knew what would have happened to him if she hadn't come back. She didn't want to think about it. She wished that they could just go back to what passed for normal in their lives.
If only she could wish all of this away. If she could be home right now. In her own apartment, with its comforts. If she could talk to her mother. If she could talk to Melissa. If the panic, the breathlessness, the closed in feeling would just stop. She didn't want to feel like her life was wrested from her hands.
But, hadn't it been? She closed her eyes again and felt, rather than saw, him take another step toward her.
"Do you want to talk to me about it? " His voice hesitant. She knew in that moment, he would give her whatever she asked for, grant her any wish. The knowledge of this was actually a balm. It made her want to get herself under control. It made her want to reach out to her friend, to repay his care and concern with her original self, the first one he'd met before this incident had changed her life.
She didn't want him to hand her pieces of himself to patch onto her and make herself whole through his sacrifice.
"Hey," he tried in a different, slightly more confident tone. It was almost as if he could sense what she needed. "I've been keeping track, and I owe you about $150 bucks from Rummy. I think we should switch to a new game before I go broke."
She chuffed a small laugh and felt some of the tension inside of her slip down off of her shoulders.
"You think so?" she asked, feeling glad to hear her own voice sounding much closer than before. She swiped at her eyes with both hands and took a deep breath. "I told you I was good, but you just didn't want to hear it." She opened her eyes again and saw him smiling, standing in the same place as before, but now with the deck of cards in his hand.
"Have you ever played Euchre?" he asked, looking at her face briefly and seeming to be comforted in what he saw there.
"Never even heard of it. How do I know you're not making it up?"
"I learned it from the guys at the Cleveland field office. They played pretty high stakes. It's a serious game, not like something you learned from your grandma."
"Grandma Reilly didn't mess around with cards. Charlie once lost his allowance to her." She took another breath and felt a little lighter. "How do I know you won't cheat?"
"I'm hurt that you would even ask," he replied, giving a small laugh of his own. "But, scout's honor, I won't rob you blind."
"You seem really broken up about that money you owe me." Breathing was becoming easier and she was glad.
"Nah." He pulled her little table over to the bed, then sat down at the foot of it. "I just know how to get it back with interest."
"Don't be so sure of yourself," she joked, feeling more of the tension going away, feeling the giant wave ebbing.
He winked at her while deftly shuffling the deck.
She looked from Mulder's face to the fast moving cards and back. She wanted to tell him how much it meant to her that he was treating her as normally as possible. She wanted to tell him that when he did that, it made her stronger, made it easier for her to be herself.
Instead, she smiled again and watched her cards pile up.