Title: Six
Author: annaK
Summary: The stages of healing.
Category: VA
Spoilers: Orison
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine.
Archive: I'll do Gossamer and Ephemeral. Anywhere else, just let me know.


Many thanks to xdks.


**

Six by annaK

**


It was five 'o' clock in the morning. She had not slept in five days.
She had watched five sunsets and five sunrises, seen the paper delivered
five times, heard five silent screams; her own.

Dana Scully moved slowly into the kitchen, a shadow gliding through the
dimly lit apartment. Boiling the kettle, then pouring the water onto the
pile of instant coffee that lined her cup like dirt, sprinkled on a grave.

She added a spoon of sugar, stirred the potent liquid and took a small
sip. It was hot. Too hot, like the burning of gunpowder in her mouth.

She could still feel his hands on her, grasping, touching, stroking. Six
strands of auburn hair had cascaded across her face, allowing her to
view the world in five sections. Each section had displayed its own
horror. Each image stealing the air from her lungs, choking her senses.

That was five days ago.

She is counting time in segments. Each day, a healing for each window of
pain. Day one; a fear of baths. Day two; candles. Day three; broken
glass. Day four; rope burns. Day five; the echo of bullets passing
through flesh; moving through skin, bone and sinew. Tearing, breaking,
annihilating.

Five seconds to decide. One shot; five murders; five silent screams.

She carried her steaming cup into the living room and sank into the
couch. Setting her drink on the coffee table and pulling the comforter
across her lap, she waited for the fifth day to pass.


**


A man; a monster. Cold eyes and a Cheshire cat grin. He smiles at her,
beckoning her nearer; she cannot resist.

Eyes darting, searching; gun, gun, gun. He took it.

Ice meets ice; eyes lock. Her image is reflected in his crystal gaze,
crystal like broken mirrors, broken glass.

Pain. Her feet. Like Jesus, she walks on water; its frozen waves cutting
into her soles, her soul. She is shredded; bleeding and broken on her
bedroom floor.

Distant shouts. Her own? No. Her other self. He is here. Saved again.

Until next time.

No. There will not be a next time. There can't be. No more, no more, no
more. She is draining away into her carpet. Each blood stain a eulogy.
Losing herself into the cream rug little by little. Tooms, Barry, Pfaster.

Always Pfaster. Not again.

Gun. Cold metal clasped in her hands, rigid steel; unbreakable, like her.

This creature has drained her heart bright blue. Now she will bleed him.

She pulls the trigger. The familiar motion comforting in its rhythm.
Five seconds to decide, aim, fire.

Each second, a scream; her own.


**


Seven 'o' clock in the morning. She had missed the sunrise of the sixth
day. The room glowed amber, the early rays exorcising the demons. A
ringing sound. Not the shot echoing in her ears. Telephone.

"Scully" she said into the receiver, sipping at her cold coffee.

Mulder asked how she was. One week's compulsory leave whilst the enquiry
is carried out. It is only a formality, but necessary non-the-less. He
misses her; she misses him.

They will meet tomorrow, go for dinner, perhaps see a movie. Perhaps she
will allow him back into her bed. For now, she just listens. Work, an
interesting case. They will investigate when she returns.

"See you tomorrow" she confirms, "five 'o' clock. I'll be there."

The time means nothing. Her hair is out of her eyes. She sees one
picture; one man. Five screams; his victims.

She will not be his sixth. It is a new day. She is free.





**

The End



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