Spoilers: Fifth Season Summary: Scully's selves talk during a high fever. Author's acknowledgment and note at the end of the story. "Schizophrenia cannot be understood without understanding despair." R. D. Laing (1927 89), British psychiatrist. The Divided Self, ch. 2 (1959). Broken by MD1016 The air in the small, sealed room was hot and moist. Its smooth, single black wall curved in on itself. Effectively caged, the four women inside the cell waited in frustrated patience. They sat on perfectly smooth black cubes or stood, arms crossed, against the never- ending wall. Each half-listened to the distant nonsensical cries that drifted down to them from above. "It really is a pity She's such a wimp," the soldier side of Scully said with a sighed. She shook her perfectly groomed head disapprovingly. But the doctor in Scully quickly spoke up, as cold and analytical as always, explaining that even though Dana was unconscious, there was still a good chance that She could hear them. "And please," she added with a steady gaze to the identical woman sitting opposite her, "please stay as optimistic as possible." The cynic in Scully scoffed. "We've been listening to you for years, and now look where we are." She crossed her jeans-clad legs to emphasize her defiance. "Yes," said Soldier, eyeing the condensation on the seamless wall, "look where we are." "Divided...dividing..." The new voice hung in the air for a moment before Lover materialized to give it substance. Her full lips were painted and frowning. "And threatening to divide again." She looked exactly like each of them, save the long green nightgown and the softer, more sultry blue eyes. She made a show of languidly stretching before draping herself seductively over one of the box-seats. Cynic rolled her eyes. "I've read about cases like this, but to actually experience it -" Soldier cut off Doctor's fascinated musings with a sharp gesture of her hand and a bark. "Shut up!" Instantly she had everyone's attention. "I'm taking control here!" "Not if I can help it," Doctor insisted, hands on hips, voice controlled. Cynic billowed the front of her tee-shirt in a effort to combat the heat. "None of you will ever get it together enough to take control." "I will," insisted Believer, so softly they could barely hear her. She sat as far from the others as possible in the tight confines of the room, pressed against the slick wall, Indian-style. "You?" Cynic balked. "It's all your fault we're in this mess! You and Lover over there! Making Her stay in all that insanity!" Her face screwed up as she mimicked: "*Oh, he's so great, so dedicated, so true.*" Lover turned and pressed her palms to her ears, but it only incited Cynic on. "*Oh, Scully! Your the ONLY one I trust!* And then he runs off to the blonde at the UN or those three loser computer geeks!" "Shut up!" Lover pulled her legs up to her chest and began to rock. "You don't know! He loves her!" "He's insane! He's incapable of love!" Lover turned, her eyes red-rimmed and blazing. "Liar!" Cynic shook her head. "You're blind. You stand there ogling over that man like he's some kind of God and spend all your time dreaming about the day he's going to fall in love with Her. It's been six years! He's never going to love Her!" "He already does! He does!" Lover cried. "You're fooling yourself." Soldier stepped between the two of them, cutting off the argument. "Leave her alone." Her hard blue eyes glared at Cynic, and after a thick moment, stared, her down. Ego wounded, Cynic turned her back and continued yanking angrily at the front of her shirt. Her angry flushed cheeks radiated heat. The tension between the five of them remained as heavy as the air. The silence broke with a teary sigh from Lover. She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. "It doesn't really matter," she began, but even as she said, the words, another face lifted from hers like a vapor. The twin faces sighed again, and the second, separate from the first, solidified. Friend, newly born, sat beside her sister with a protective arm around her shoulder. "It doesn't really matter," she echoed, same voice, different dynamic. "I know he cares. In his own way. As much as he can. That's enough." The other four groaned. "Could you be anymore cliched?" Cynic grumbled, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. "No! It's love!" Lover wailed. "Yes," Believer said through a desperate smile. "I have faith that it is." "You would." "Uhhg...STOP!" The room held its breath when that single word boomed, shaking walls and floor with the echoed reverberations. All of them knew the voice behind that tormented command. And even though the sound came from all around them, they all instinctively looked up when they heard Her. A moment passed. Two... "I told you She could hear us," muttered Doctor. Cynic slugged her shoulder to shut her up, and she scowled, holding her arm against the sting. And once again it was quiet in the chamber; so quiet they could hear one another breathing the humid air. They waited. Nothing more happened, though, and the six of them soon became restless. Cynic once again began to fan herself with her shirt. "I'm hot." Doctor nodded. "It's the fever." She pressed her hand to the wall and it left an indentation as if it were made of nothing more than warm, black wax. "I'm suffocating." "Is She going to die? Is the fever that high?" asked Lover with tears in her eyes. "If She dies, we won't be anymore, either." "He will come," Believer said with absolute certainty. She began to slowly rock, her arms tightly crossed. "He won't let Her die." "Yes, he'll come. Everything will be OK," echoed Friend. "Oh, for God's sake!" Soldier snapped. "She's not a damsel in distress! We don't need him! I can handle this." "You'd better," Cynic said with a snort. "If we're waiting for Spooky, we'll be here for ever. He's probably in China by now. Or Siberia. Or some train to Canada." "He'll come. He showed up when She found out about the little girl." "Oh, yeah," Cynic made a show of yawning. "Big help, there." "He loves her," said Believer. "He'll come." "Oh, for crying out loud! He does not," cried Cynic. "Does too!" "STOP!" The voice cracked like a thunder clap. They all held their breath, bracing for more. Again, only silence followed. Believer began to rock herself again. "Aren't you tired," she asked Soldier, "always standing at attention like that?" "No," she replied without hesitation. A moment later she slouched forward and admitted: "Yes." With a heavy sigh, Soldier sank down on to a nearby block. She leaned forward over her knees and shook her head. "I don't know why I can't think of something to do. I should be able to take control. What good am I if I can't even protect Her?" "What good am I if I'm not allowed to care for him?" asked Lover in mirrored despair. "I'll never be a mother now. Only a friend. Forever a friend." "Stop," the voice around them demanded in a weary whisper, and the group fell into a guilty quiet. "She wants to forget were here," Cynic muttered. "Shut up, dammit," Soldier commanded under her breath. "But it's true," Believer insisted quietly. "She's lost Her faith in us." "She's shut us out," Lover agreed. "She can't deny us forever." Doctor sat down against the curved wall, slipped off her shoes and sighed. "Whether She likes it or not we're a part of her. She can't change us." "We may split and become more," Friend interjected, hopeful. "Yes, but the essence of us won't change." "Not for Her." "Not for him." "Not for anyone." With her head in her hands, Soldier sighed again and began the long wait for a rescue. The end. ***** Author's acknowledgments: This story is dedicated to Nic, who leads the charmed life that most of us can only dream of, and still (for reasons I can't understand) she makes my fanfic a priority in her life. Thank you Nic for being upset...and thank you again for being so forgiving. I am forever you groupie. Author's Note: Despite the quote I chose and placed at the beginning, I'm not inferring that this story deals with Schizophrenia, M.D. (Multiple Personality Disorder), or any other diagnosable mental or emotional condition.