Blue Girl IVTitle: Blue Girl IV
Classification: SA
Keywords: none
Rating: NC-17
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 III.


A life was a hard thing to start when one only had a fake first 
name.  No social security number, no driver's license, no high 
school - let alone college - diploma.  No savings account, no 
credit card, thirty six dollars in cash, and the clothes that she 
was wearing.  No, not much at all to account for - how old was 
she supposed to be now? - thirty nine years.  The world hadn't 
changed much in the nine years that she'd been gone.  Life was 
hard enough when one had a family and friends for support, a 
decent education, and the resources to try and assemble a career.  
Without those things, it was damn near impossible.

Nine years.  God, it was like such a long time, yet, to her, it 
only seemed like a few months.

Prostitution had seemed easy, accessible.  All you needed was 
your body.  You didn't get a W-2 from your pimp, and no one 
really cared what your last name was or what you majored in in 
college.  It was fast money.  It was reliable.  It was 
consistent.

And it scared the hell out of her.  Every night, she would wake 
up screaming with memories of what they had done to her.  Piece 
by piece, she was starting to assemble a narrative of what it was 
like there, and the more she remembered, the more she wanted to 
forget.

Intellectually, she knew that if her most recent occupation was 
sparking her memories, she should either find a new job or seek 
an outlet for what was buried inside her mind.  Realistically, 
she knew her only other job prospects were begging and 
panhandling, and finding someone to talk to was out of the 
question.

Mulder, she'd thought at first.  He'd love to know what it was 
like for her, what it could've been like for his sister, for 
hundreds of other women.  He'd love to find that place and kill 
every single man there, then return each of the women to their 
families.  After what she'd been through, though, staying there 
might be preferable to coming back to a life which didn't want 
you back.  And Mulder didn't much care anymore about what men who 
worked for the government were doing to innocent women in the 
name of science.  And no one else, not her mother, or any of her 
family, would believe what she had to say.

Begging and panhandling it was, then.

Only she had no idea how to do it, and the first man that leered 
at her called her back to her easiest and most accessible option.  
She'd gotten into the car with him, she'd gone into a motel room 
with him, she'd let him take off her clothes and touch her.  When 
he asked her to get down on her knees, though, she couldn't do 
it.  It was too much like what she had done at that place, it was 
too familiar and real, it brought it all back.  She couldn't do 
it, no matter how much money he was offering her.

He'd shoved her against a wall and she'd started screaming 
hysterically; she'd scared him.  He'd called her a crazy slut, 
zipped his pants, and left her crying and gagging in the motel 
room.  Alone.

After a couple of hours, she'd calmed to the point that she could 
get dressed, crawl to the phone, and dial a number.

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

It had been an exhausting day, but every day with a rookie 
partner at the BSU was exhausting.  Ever since the alarm had gone 
off that morning, he'd looked forward to crawling into bed with 
Diana that night, pulling her close, and turning his mind off 
until Monday.

Four months ago, he'd rescinded the APB's he'd put out on Scully.  
He'd asked that all the missing person's posters be removed.  
He'd explained to Skinner what had happened the last time he saw 
her, that there was nothing more he knew to do.  Skinner frowned, 
told him a Vietnam story about coming back to a culture that had 
no idea its soldiers were murdering thousands of innocent women 
and children in the name of democracy, and how he'd holed up in 
his parents' garage for months, stoned out of his mind, before he 
finally decided to straighten up and start living life again.

It didn't make him feel any better.  Scully was still out there, 
alone and vulnerable, and there wasn't a damn thing he could help 
her do about it.  He'd considered handcuffing himself to her the 
next time he found her, forcing her to come back to DC and seek 
help.  If he did that, though, he'd be no better than the men 
who'd held her against her will for years, forcing her to do 
things she didn't want to.

In the end, there was no right answer.  He just did the best he 
could and hoped it all worked out in the end.

The phone rang just as he snuggled in against Diana, and he 
wanted to let the machine get it.  He could probably handle 
whoever it was - and it better not be that stupid, cocky, punk-
ass partner of his - in five minutes and go right back to sleep.

Still, he sighed as he answered the phone.  "Hello?"

There was no sound for a moment.  Then a staticy, quivering, 
"Mulder?"

He sat up slowly, pressing the phone against his ear.  "Scully?"

She sniffed, exhaled, and swallowed.  "Yeah.  I, um..."

"Scully, what is it?  Are you okay?  Where are you?"  All came 
out in a jumbled rush.  He was on his feet again, searching for 
the clothes he'd just taken off.

"I'm in Michigan.  I don't know where, I..."  She stopped, sniffed 
again, then sobbed, "Mulder, I need your help."

"Okay.  Scully, it's okay.  I'm here, okay?  I'm right here," he 
tried to assure her, gathering his gun, cell phone, and wallet.  
"I need to know where you are."

She was hyperventilating.  "I don't know...I don't know the name of 
the town."

"Okay, can you give me a phone number?"

"Um...734-555-0524.  I'm in a motel room."

"Are you alone?"

"Yes," she whispered, her voice thick with tears.

He paused in the middle of his bedroom.  "I'm on my way.  I'll 
trace the number and be on a flight as soon as I can.  Just stay 
where you are, all right?  I'm on my way.  Scully?"

"Okay."  She didn't sound "okay" at all, and he hated to hang up 
on her.

"Stay by the phone and I'll call you when I get a flight.  Just 
stay there, don't run," again, he didn't add.

She was taking deep, slow breaths to try to calm herself down.  
"Okay."

"Okay."

She didn't respond, so he hung up the phone, immediately picking 
it back up to call the Bureau to get the number traced.  River 
Rouge, Michigan.  Just outside Detroit.  American had a flight 
leaving in forty minutes; he could make it if he drove like hell.

Diana put her hand on his arm as he reached to put the phone 
down.  "Was that her?"

For years, "her" had become synonymous with Samantha, and there 
had been many nights just like this one, where he would get a 
call about a skeleton being found that matched her description, 
or of another lead concerning her current whereabouts.  If they 
were discussing Scully, she was called by name, and there had 
been just as many nights spent rushing out to follow up a lead of 
a red-haired Jane Doe in a morgue.  Lately, the two had become 
switched.  "She" was now Scully, and every thought, action, and 
reaction he had centered around her.

"Yeah.  She called me."  He was stating the obvious, he knew, but 
it was such an important thing that he couldn't let it go 
unnoticed.

She just nodded, not seeming to understand.  As much as he 
realized he didn't know Scully, Diana had never known her at all, 
and didn't know that Scully asking for help was rarer than a 
solar eclipse.

"I have to go get her." 

"Is she gonna come back with you this time?"

He shook his head, shifting his feet nervously.  "I don't know."

"Fox, I'm just tired of seeing her hurt you.  I know you want to 
help her, but there has to be a line.  If she's just gonna run 
away again- "

"I have to go," he interrupted, pressing a quick kiss to her 
cheek.

Thirty five minutes.  He could make it.

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

It was dark outside, and she didn't turn on any lights.  She 
preferred it dark anyway.  In the corner of the tiny room, behind 
the bed, she sat hugging her knees to her chest, shivering and 
jabbering to herself about how it was all right, she was safe, 
they weren't coming, it wouldn't happen again, it was all right, 
she was safe...

And she was slowly crying.  What a fool she was to think she 
could ever do this by herself.  And what a fool she was to think 
that Mulder could help her.  Mulder, who's beautiful fiancee 
probably helped him pack his bag and kissed him goodbye before he 
left.  She shouldn't have called him.  He'd not come looking for 
her again, which meant he'd not wanted to find her.  He'd given 
up, deemed her a lost cause, and went on with his life.  If he 
even came this time, it would only be to turn her in to the 
police for prostitution, what he probably suspected she'd been 
doing, and get her out of his life forever.

There was no life for her anymore.  She might as well just accept 
that the world had declared her dead nine years ago and go along 
with it.  Everyone would certainly be better off.

But God, she wanted her life back.  Nine years in hell and it was 
all she dreamed about, all she hoped for.  Why couldn't she just 
be happy that it was over and that she was free and start living 
her life again?  She dropped her head to her knees, and let a 
long, keening sob escape her throat.  Mulder called and said he 
would be here any time now, and he always kept his word.  God, 
she wished he'd hurry.

She jumped when someone started pounding on the door.  She kept 
still, waiting, listening.

"SCULLY!"

He pounded again, and she stumbled towards the door, her knees 
achy and her feet asleep from being still for so long.

His hands were on her shoulders immediately, one searching for 
her face while the other steadied her.  "Are you all right?" He 
asked, his voice nervous.

She nodded furiously, closing and locking the door behind him.

He found the light switch and exhaled slowly when he saw her: 
even thinner than before, black bruises underneath her eyes, a 
constant, fine tremor in her body.  She looked and smelled like 
she hadn't showered in days, and her clothes hung off her frame 
in rags.

"Jesus Christ, Scully."  He tipped her face up to his and she 
shook away, clenching her eyes closed.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not," he insisted.  "Are you hurt anywhere?"

"No.  I'm okay."

"Then why'd you call me?"  He asked almost angrily.

Her eyes opened wide, and she took a step back.  Foolish.  
Stupid.

"If you're fine, then why'd you call me?"  He clarified, taking a 
step towards her.

"I don't know," she tried.  "I thought- I thought you- "  She 
backed into the bed and stopped, unable to run any further.

"You thought what?"  He asked her softly, one hand on her arm.

She looked down, ashamed.  "I thought you could help me," she 
whispered.

He nodded, stroking his thumb over her dirty, pale skin.

"I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have dragged you out here in the middle 
of the night.  I'm sure Diana's angry."

"No.  She's just...she said she doesn't want to see me get hurt 
again."

She glanced at him from underneath her eyelashes.  "Is that what 
I do?"  She asked in a tiny voice.

"Every time I come out here to bring you home and you run away 
from me...yeah, that hurts, Scully."  There was no anger in his 
voice, just sadness and exhaustion.

She bit her lip, thinking.  "I shouldn't have called you."

"No, you should have."  He turned her face towards him again.  
"I'm glad you did, but I want you to tell me that this time will 
be different.  That the next time I turn my back, you're not 
gonna disappear again.  I can't help you if you don't want to be 
helped, Scully, and it hurts when I try to offer you help and you 
reject it over and over again."

Her chin started to quiver, and she tried to hide her face.  
"Then why you'd come?"

"Because," he sat down on the bed, pulling her close to him so 
that they were nearly eye to eye.  "I still care about you, and 
nothing will ever change that.  No matter how far you run, 
that'll never stop."

She sniffed, trying not to cry.  "Mulder, I can't do this...I 
can't- "

"Do what?"

"I can't pretend to be something I'm not.  You remember the 
person that I was, but I, I can't even remember who that person 
was anymore.  I don't know how to be her.  I don't know what to 
do...I can't do anything...I can't- "

"You need help, Scully."

She wiped the silent tears off her face, nodding.

"Are you willing to accept that now?"

She nodded again, emphatically.

He exhaled.  "Okay.  You took the first step by calling me.  I 
don't think you realize what a big step that was."

"Don't give me all that psychological bullshit," she mumbled.

He grinned.  "It's not bullshit, but if that's what you're 
looking for, you'll have to find it someplace else."

"What do you mean?"

He slid his hands down her arms until they met hers.  "I mean, 
you're not the only one who needs help.  I've been talking to 
someone in the Army who has experience treating rescued prisoners 
of war.  He's helped me understand some of what they go through 
when they return home, some of the same things you're going 
through.  He's willing to work with you...if you want."

She sighed.  "I don't know."

"You have to talk to someone, Scully.  Someone with an objective 
perspective on this.  Your mother and I...we need this, too."

Her brow furrowed and her teeth gnawed at her lower lip.  "Okay," 
she finally whispered.

"Okay," he agreed, squeezing her hands in his.  "Why don't you go 
take a shower.  I brought you some clothes and things," he 
gestured to the bags he'd dropped just inside the doorway.

She nodded, taking the one he offered her.

"Can I call your mother, tell her you're coming home?"

She stopped, her head turned slightly away from him, on her way 
to the bathroom.  "Yeah," she said softly, then closed the door 
behind her.

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

It was late.  No, wait...he looked at his watch...it was early.  
Ungodly early on a Saturday morning when he was supposed to be 
sound asleep with his fiancee spooned around him.  Instead, he 
sat in a cold motel room, listened to Maggie Scully's phone 
ringing, and waited for Scully to emerge from her twenty-five 
minute long shower.

Some things were more important than sleeping late on weekends.

"Hello?"  A sleepy voice answered, finally.  He was almost ready 
to hang up.

He spoke softly, gradually waking her up.  "Mrs. Scully, it's Fox 
Mulder.  I'm sorry to call so early."

"No, it's all right, Fox.  Is something the matter?"  She'd 
learned after Kentucky not to get her hopes up and ask about Dana 
- invariably, she was always disappointedd.

"Yes.  Um...Scully called me.  We're in River Rouge, Michigan.  
She's okay, she's just scared."

Her mother exhaled a sigh of great relief.  "Oh, my God."

He bit his lip, thinking.  "She says she's ready to come home and 
get help.  I guess that begs the question, though, where is home 
for her now.  In DC with me, or Texas with you?"

"Fox, I know you've done a lot for Dana, and we're all grateful 
for everything- "  Yes, he was sure that included being 
indirectly responsible for letting her daughter rot away in some 
unknown, unnamed hellhole for nine years while he healed up all 
his psychological wounds. "-but I think she should be with her 
family.  It would be too hard for you to care for her, with work 
and, um-"

"Diana," he supplied.  She could never remember her name, just 
that it was similar to her daughter's.

"Diana.  It's too much, Fox.  And we can be there all the time, 
when ever she needs us.  I just think it would be better if she 
came here."

He closed his eyes.  Logically, those were all good arguments.  
He'd never considered Diana's reaction or that he was working 
eighty-plus hours a week.  He would never be able to give her the 
full time attention, patience, and dedication she needed.  In his 
gallant romanticism, he was willing to do whatever it took to 
help her, even if it included taking a leave of absence and 
moving out of his and Diana's apartment and into someplace that 
he and Scully could live together.

Not that that would ever work.

"Well, I haven't talked to her about it yet.  Ultimately, I want 
the decision to be hers.  She needs to get back some control over 
her life; I don't want to force her into anything," he finally 
said.

"Where is she?  Can I-?"

"She's taking a shower.  I'll have her call you later, once she 
makes her decision."

"All right."

There were several seconds of tense, staticy silence between 
them.  Behind him, the shower continued running.  He wondered if 
he should check on her.

"I better go," he told her mother.  "We'll let you know."

"All right, Fox," she repeated.  "Thank you."

He nodded, not thinking a "you're welcome" was appropriate.

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

"You ready?"  He asked her as she tugged the jeans he'd brought 
her higher on her hips.

She smiled slightly, but there was no happiness in it.  "Unless 
you have a belt."

He shook his head, and followed her out the door of the motel 
room.

She was doing better now than she had been earlier.  Her hair was 
neatly combed behind her ears while it dried, the dirty blond 
looking mouse-grey and making her pale skin pop against her 
reddened cheeks and sunken eyes.  Still, the clothes he'd 
brought, while a little too big, made her look normal.  She'd 
stopped shaking, but she gratefully took his leather jacket when 
he'd offered it to her against the morning chill.

They could be any happy couple on their way home after a 
vacation, he thought as he pulled out onto the road.  Nine years 
ago, they could've been a pair of FBI agents on their way home 
after a case.  Now...he didn't know what they were other than 
desperate.

"You hungry?"  He asked, his voice flat, as they passed a 
McDonalds.

"Not really," she answered, just as flatly.  Her head was leaned 
back against the seat, her eyes closed.  He knew she didn't get 
any sleep last night, but then again, neither had he.

"I called your mother."

Her eyes popped open, her neck stiffening.  "What'd she say?"

"She said she wants you to come stay with her so you can be close 
to your family."

Nodding, she leaned her head back again.

"I think that's the best idea," he continued.  "She and your 
brother, your sister-in-law, can give you round-the-clock 
support.  Being a part of a close family relationship can give 
you stability and consistency."

She was looking at him now with large, watery blue eyes.  "What 
about you?"

He kept his eyes on the road, studiously not meeting her gaze.  
"My life is my work, you know that.  I couldn't give you the 
attention you deserve."

"And your fiancee wouldn't like me being there," she added, 
turning her head to stare out the window.

"That's true, but it wouldn't matter.  If I knew you'd be better 
off with me, it wouldn't matter what she thought."

"I called you.  I didn't call my mother," she said quietly.

He popped his neck, thinking, only an hour more to the airport.  
"I know."

She nodded silently.

"But I think, and your mother agrees, that it should be your 
decision.  If you want to come back to DC with me, you're more 
than welcome to.  If you want to go to your mother's...that's fine, 
too.  Whatever you want."

I want not to be like this, she thought.  I want not to have to 
stay with other people.  I want my own place, my own home, my own 
LIFE back.  "Okay," she said instead.

"We've got a little bit of a drive ahead of us.  You think about 
it, and we'll get your ticket when we get there."

She leaned her head against the window wearily, letting the cold 
of the glass send shivers down her spine.  She pulled his jacket 
tighter around her, closed her eyes.

After a moment, he turned the heater up and the radio down low; 
some rock station that wasn't annoying.  "Kids today, huh?"  She 
heard him say years ago.

She wiped at her tears with shaking fingers, then dozed off into 
a light sleep.

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

They'd had no schedule, so he'd sat in the parking lot with the 
car running, heater on high, and watched her sleep for almost a 
half-hour before she'd woken up.

"Nice nap?"  He asked her as she rubbed her eyes like a child, 
embarrassed.

"Yeah," she mumbled.

"We have some time.  You can rest for a little while longer if 
you want."

She shook her head.  "I want to talk to you."

Any sleepiness he'd been feeling melted away.  "Okay," he said 
carefully.

She cleared her throat and folded her hands in her lap, giving 
herself something to focus on.  "You said you'd talked to someone 
at the Army?"

"Yeah."

"What'd he say?"

He hesitated.  "What do you mean?"

"What did he say about POWs that's like...this?"  She clarified.

"Well, the two situations are inherently different, really.  
Soldiers are given training to help them mentally prepare for 
what they may have to endure if they're ever taken prisoner.  
Mainly it's a specialized form of resistance training, survival 
skills, and hostage negotiation.  All of that helps them remain 
strong and hopeful while they're captive.  You didn't get any of 
that, though."

He paused, and she cleared her throat again, trying not to lose 
focus.

"It helps them during their captivity, but it really doesn't 
prepare them for their release and re-assimilation.  Many ex-POWs 
suffer from over-exposure from all the media attention, 
depression, anxiety; the nation expects them to be calm and 
courageous, but they can't be all the time and that's difficult 
for them.  For those that were captive for many years, they may 
return to lives that are radically different from those they 
left, and that can also cause depression and anxiety.  They 
withdraw from their families, may indulge in self-destructive 
behavior.  They feel that no one can really understand what 
they've been through, so they internalize their feelings and let 
them eat away at them - nightmares, panic attacks, and flashbacks 
are all common."

He paused again, noticing tears starting to drip down her cheeks.

"Often times, their families and close friends unwittingly make 
things more difficult by pushing them to talk, or assuming that 
they don't need to and leaving them alone.  In a few cases, where 
they've been assumed dead or missing, families may have mourned 
them as dead...Scully..."

"So this is normal?"  She asked, swiping at her cheeks.  "All of 
this..."

"No.  There's no standard for this.  There are just similarities 
between the soldiers he treats and you.  He did tell me that the 
worst thing we can do is to treat you like you're unwanted, which 
is exactly what we've been doing.  We didn't mean to, it's 
just...Scully, you have no idea what all this has been like for us.  
I know...I know you've been through a lot, but so have your mother 
and I.  You disappearing nearly destroyed both our lives, and 
we'd been putting them back together the best ways we knew how.  
This just opened up those wounds again.  I'm not saying we wish 
you'd never come back, but that it's been just as hard, if not 
harder, than when you vanished."

"Tell me."

"What?"

"Tell me.  Tell me what it was like for you.  Tell me what it was 
like for my mother."

Their eyes met, and held, for long seconds.  She blinked, but 
never wavered, so finally he had to, bowing his head until it 
touched the steering wheel.

"Do you know how I found out about Duane Barry abducting you?"

She hesitated, then shook her head.

He closed his eyes, remembering.  "I heard it on my answering 
machine."

"I left you a message," she say slowly, each word its own 
sentence.

"You left me a message screaming for me to help you.  That was 
the last thing I ever heard you say, 'Mulder, I need your help.'  
Everywhere I went, every time I closed my eyes, no matter what I 
did.  For years, I heard that in my head.  It was the first thing 
I thought of in the morning and the last thing I thought of at 
night: you, begging me for help, being dragged from your 
apartment - because of me."

He stopped, breathing heavily, waiting for her to tell him that 
it wasn't his fault.  She didn't.

"Your mother was already at your apartment when I got there.  She 
said something about having a dream where you were taken...I don't 
know how she knew, but she kept asking me, over and over, where 
you were and who took you.  I didn't know what to tell her.  
Those were the same questions I'd been asking for twenty years 
and I didn't have an answer then...and I don't have an answer now.

"We found Duane Barry on top of Skyland Mountain.  Your car was 
still running, and he was no more than a thousand yards away, 
laughing, going on about how he was free and they weren't going 
to take him again.  It must've just, you must've just disappeared 
then, that must've been just a few minutes after they took you, 
and if I had made it up the mountain a little faster, I could've 
stopped it.  Later, when I was interrogating him, he...I...something 
happened, and I got angry and started choking him.  He died a few 
minutes later..."

Beside him, she was still, her eyes glazed and unseeing.

"Not long after that I discovered that my new partner, Alex 
Krycek - do you remember him?"

After a few seconds, she nodded.

"He was working with the men who took you.  He was supposed to 
stall my investigation, but when I discovered his secret, he 
fled.  Skinner re-opened the X-Files to try and find him, but 
that never worked out.  After that, I was a mess.  I didn't 
sleep, didn't eat.  I would work whatever cases they threw at me 
during the day, then be up all night going over your file, trying 
to put together the clues and evidence.  The Bureau had their own 
investigation going, but after a while, they hadn't found 
anything new and the case was de-prioritized.  I kept searching, 
but after a while, I couldn't do it anymore.  The exhaustion, the 
anxiety started effecting my health and I had to...I had to stop.

"I never gave up, though.  Every new case that crossed my desk, I 
examined it as if it could be the key to unlocking your 
disappearance, just like I did with Samantha.  Leads became fewer 
and fewer, and those that I did get never panned out.  There was 
just...nothing.  Nothing."

"But you kept going?"  She asked softly, still not looking at 
him.

"Yeah, I kept going.  It got easier, after a while.  I never 
forget, I could just...push it away for a few hours."

She swallowed.  "What about my mother?"

He sighed.  "She's...she kept a lot to herself, just like someone 
else I know.  We would meet every so often and she would ask if 
I'd made any progress.  Every time, I'd have to tell her no.  One 
day she gave me your necklace and told me to give it to you when 
I found you...but a few months later, she called and asked me to 
help her...pick out your...tombstone."  He bit his lip, taking 
several deep breaths.  "I told her it was too soon to give up, 
but she was in so much pain.  She just wanted it to be over - not 
for you to be dead, just to have some closure.  I convinced her 
to wait a year, but I thought even that was too soon.  I couldn't 
let her hurt anymore, though."

"Did you miss me?"  She asked suddenly.

He looked at her.  "Yes.  Very much."

She smiled bitterly.  "I missed you, too."

He wanted to reach out to her, to grab her and tell her that no 
matter how long he explained things to her, she could never 
understand what it had been like.  There were no words to 
describe that kind of pain and guilt.  It was trivial to even try 
to find the words.  Instead, he sat still, watching her as she 
let the tears drip off her chin.

"We better go," he finally said, turning off the ignition and 
opening his door.

Silently, she followed, and they walked into the airport 
together, miles apart.

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

The bright-eyed American agent looked at them.  "How can I help 
you?"

According to the monitors, there was a flight to Houston in fifty 
minutes, and a flight to Washington in an hour and a half.  
They'd stood together, watching planes take off and land until 
she'd finally said she was ready.

"Where to?"  He asked her quietly, credit card ready.

She bit her lip, looked down at the floor, and stifled a scream.  
"Houston."

He nodded.  "Two tickets on your next flight to Houston, please," 
he told the girl.

"You're coming with me?"

He steered them towards their gate.  "Yeah, just to make sure you 
get settled in okay.  We can find you someone to talk to, work 
out getting your identity back.  Your social security number's 
been reactivated, and your death certificate has been 
invalidated, so you should be able to get a drivers license and a 
job, if you want.  Maybe not right away, but eventually."

She still wasn't looking at him.

He stopped them, brushing his hand lightly down her arm.  "Is 
that okay?"

"Yeah, I just thought you'd want to...get home.  Diana must be 
worried."
 
He frowned slightly.  "It's okay.  I'll call her when we land."

She nodded, her shoulders starting to shake.

"It's okay, Scully," he murmuring, pulling her close to him.  
"You're almost home."

She took a deep breath, and steadied herself.  Somehow, she 
doubted she'd ever get there.

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

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