Title: Struggling
Category: X-Files XRA
Author: Singing Violin (Pearl on Ephemeral/Gossamer)
Rating: K+
Disclaimer: The X-Files characters and universe are not mine.
Summary: What happens after the screen goes black in "My Struggle II"?
Archiving: Anywhere, just let me know.

Dana Scully awoke slowly, gradually becoming aware of the aches and pains throughout her body, and then of the intense cold permeating every pore. As she forced her heavy eyelids open, she shivered and attempted to survey her surroundings, but her muscles were sluggish, and she could barely move. It wasn't long before she realized she was lying on something hard and metallic, and hooked up to various machines that did not resemble anything she'd ever used on a patient.

It felt familiar, somehow.

Memories she didn't know she'd had, images from over two decades ago, began to flood into her mind, and her eyes filled with tears.

Not again.

She tried desperately to break free of the instruments attached to her, but she was too weak, even as she struggled.

She felt sick.

She was going to be sick.

Just barely managing to turn her body sideways, she retched over the side of the table on which she lay. Not much came up, and she wondered when she had last eaten before collapsing onto her back, panting and sobbing.

A figure coalesced into her view, and a hand went to her shoulder. "Easy, Agent Scully. You're not well."

No shit, Sherlock, she thought to herself, but she couldn't form the words. She tried to access her medical brain in order to assess her own condition, and perhaps surmise what drugs she might have been given to immobilize her, but her mind, too, was fuzzy.

However, she recognized that voice. She just needed him to say something else—or come closer—and she'd know who it was.

Satisfying her morbid curiosity, the face of the Cigarette Smoking Man—aged and disfigured, but unmistakable—swam in front of her, and with all of her effort, she managed to choke out one word, "Bastard!" and spit foul saliva into his face.

He pulled out a cloth and casually wiped it off. "Is that any way to treat the man who saved your life?" he taunted.

Despite herself, more tears escaped her eyes, and she desperately racked her brain for ways to escape, but came up empty.

The elderly Spender gestured to someone out of her field of view, who then handed him a syringe. "Sleep now, Dana. You'll feel better in the morning," he bade, and injected her arm.

Oblivion came quickly.