The Fifth Night

By Susan
touchstone98@tx.rr.com

Classification: post-ep vignette
Spoiler: Irresistible
Rating: PG
Keyword: Angst

Archive: No archive without permission.
Disclaimer: On paper, these characters aren't
mine. In my head, they are.

Summary: Less than six hours ago, Donnie Pfaster
had changed who she was, and she hadn't been
able to do a damn thing about it.
***************************************************

The Fifth Night
by Susan
~~~~

Her eyes never closed, her body never moved, on
that first night.

She put on her pajamas, washed her face, and
brushed her teeth the way she usually did, then
climbed into bed, but it wasn't her bed, and it
wasn't her bedroom.

And it wasn't her anymore.

Less than six hours ago, Donnie Pfaster had
changed who she was, and she hadn't been able
to do a damn thing about it.

And so she'd spent the night, her first night,
alone in her motel bed, her arms wrapped around
her knees, her eyes fixed on the door.

~~~~

The next night, the second night, she was back
at home with her own bed, her own pillows and
sheets, and the loud ticking of the clock on
her wall.

She'd gone back to work that day, gone through
the motions of being the partner she thought
she was supposed to be, and although Mulder
hadn't pushed her to talk about what happened
that night, she knew he wanted to.

Less than 48 hours ago, she'd fallen apart in
his arms, and he needed to know why.

She needed to know why too, and yet she couldn't
talk about it, and she wouldn't.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

~~~~

Night three came and went as she finally let her
eyes close.

She'd sleep an hour, wake up with her fists and
her jaw clenched, then lie there for two more
hours, waiting for the images of Donnie Pfaster
hovering above her to disappear.

And then she'd go through it all over again,
the same way she'd been going through it every
night since she was returned from her abduction.

More sleep. More images. More guilt for not
fighting back harder.

More reasons to bury her feelings.

And her fears.

~~~~

On the fourth night, she thought she was doing
better.

Things had gone smoothly at the office that
day, and she'd even managed to smile at one of
Mulder's jokes.

But then she'd come home to her apartment and
closed the door, and she wasn't alone.

*He* was there.

Sitting on the edge of the tub, a bottle of
shampoo in his hand, he calmly asked, "Is your
hair normal or dry?"

And in an instant, she was there again too,
looking up into his dead eyes, his cold hands
on her shoulders, his soft voice echoing in
her head.

And then she was moving, frantically running
to the kitchen and emptying the contents of
her stomach into the hard metal sink.

"It's all in your head," she told herself as
she splashed some cold water on her face. "He's
not really here, and he's not coming back. He's
not coming back. He's not coming back..." she
chanted, though she knew he'd never really be
gone from her thoughts.

Later that night, as she sat in bed staring at
the phone, she wondered if maybe now she was
finally ready to talk to Mulder about what
happened.

Picking up the phone, she leaned back against
the pillow, and pressed the first six digits
of his number.

And then she hung up.

~~~~

On the next night, she was in a different bed
again.

They'd spent half the day in Jenison, Michigan
investigating the murder of a wealthy businessman.
It appeared to be a fairly straightforward case,
but one that required them to stay in town longer,
and so they'd checked into one of the local motels
for the night.

It was a nice motel with a comfortable bed and
soft pillows, and although she was exhausted
from the day's events, she couldn't sleep.

Again.

When was this going to end?

When would she be able to close her eyes and not
see Donnie Pfaster's dark eyes leering at her?

When?

"Hey Scully, it's me," called out Mulder, his
soft knocking on the door startling her from
her thoughts. "Are you in there?"

"Yeah, I'm here," she called out, tightening
the belt on her robe as she went to the door.
"Just a minute."

"What's up?" she asked, opening the door just
far enough so that she could see his face.

"Can I come in?"

Taking note of the pensive look in his eyes, the
deep creases in his forehead, she opened the door
wider and let him in. "So, what's going on?" she
asked.  "Did something happen with the case?"

"No." He went over to the bed and sat down on
the edge of it, then added, "There haven't been
any new developments since dinner."

She closed the door, then sat down too. "Well,
what is it then? Are you all right?"

"Nervously clasping his hands together, he quietly
replied, "I'm fine, Scully...but I don't think
you are."

Her body tensed, her toes dug deeper inside her
slippers. "What?" she asked, even though she
knew exactly what he meant.

His hands still clasped, he leaned forward, looked
down at the floor. "I know you don't want to talk
about what happened in Minneapolis, but you haven't
been yourself since we got back," he said as he
turned towards her. "And I'm worried about you."

"I'm fine, Mulder," she lied, the same way she'd
lied that night as she'd watched him gently untie
the cloth around her wrists.

The same way she'd been lying to herself for the
past several days.

"You're not fine, Scully,' he said, tipping up
her chin and forcing her to meet his eyes. "And
we both know it."

He was right, she knew, and though she wasn't
ready to tell him everything, she also knew she
couldn't continue to go on like this.

"I thought I was doing better," she finally
admitted, biting her lip and trying not to cry.
"But I guess I'm not."

"Then let me help you," he said simply, his
eyes soft, his touch even softer as his fingers
brushed across the back of her hand. "Tell me
what you need."

There were so many things she needed right now,
things she wasn't capable of sharing with him
yet, but she could talk to him about what really
happened that night, and she could be honest
with him about it.

And with herself.

Tentatively placing her hand over his, she took
a deep breath, and squeezed his fingers.

"I need you to listen," she said.

And on this night, the fifth night, she let him
in.


~end~


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