Genesis
Ally

Chapter 20

At around the time that Mulder was smiling at Frohike's evident paranoia, someone much closer to him was battling some serious emotional misgivings of her own.

Ensconced safety within the boundaries of her hospital room, Dana Scully lay staring up at the ceiling above her, battling to hold on to some semblance of sanity as she replayed the events of the last few hours over and over in her mind.

Since awakening, it had seemed as though a constant stream of doctors and FBI agents had surrounded her, asking her questions she didn't know how to answer. She had not seen Wickham all afternoon, despite her frequent requests, and it seemed that no one had any wish to tell her any of the details she desperately needed to hear without him being present.

She had spent the afternoon battling to remember in more detail just how she had got here and the events leading up to it, and although the memories were there, the structure of them just didn't track somehow. She could remember clearly confronting Mulder as she held the child in her arms, and his face as he insisted she hand her over to him. It had also become clear to her that the child had not in fact been Emily, but the terrified form of Charlotte Stevens who they had tracked down to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of San Diego. She could remember clearly her conversation with Mulder as they drove to the location. In fact she could remember every word of it, as though it were a stage play she had seen as an observer rather than a performer.

She could remember feeling mild pangs of unease at Mulder's insistence that they did not need to enlist the support of other agents before entering the building. But she could not remember actually entering or how exactly they had known that this was the place or that the child would be there.

She recalled talking to Christine Stevens at the motel and of removing her from the care of the sanatorium, of her partner's mild illness, and of his conversation with Wickham regarding those same actions.

What she couldn't reconcile in her mind were the gaps in those memories when some segments were so clear to her. For example, she had no recollection of the interval between Mulder's conversation back at the motel and of getting in to the car to go find the warehouse. It was all a complete blank, and the more she tried to remember, the more she ended up at a brick wall, frustrated to the point of tears.

She had not wanted to believe that it was Mulder who had put her here, but Wickham's words, her injury, the notes on her chart that she had requested to view and not least her own memories had made the fact just about irrefutable. The real question, she admitted, was not that he had done this to her, but why?

It was something she suspected only Wickham could answer, but his long absence was not helping the situation. Nor was the fact that no one seemed to be able to give her any kind of assurance as to his return, only that he had intended coming back to see her later.

Scully sighed and shifted her head slightly on the pillow, attempting to get comfortable and to ease the pain in her neck that her doctor's training told her was a direct result of laying in the same position for so long. She wished she could turn over, but the nature of her injury dictated that to do so would be both foolhardy and dangerous. The powerful pain relief that was being fed in to her via a canular in her arm had dulled the pain somewhat and Scully had no wish to allow it to flare up again.

The substance was probably a morphine based drug, and although she had attempted to read the typed wording that adorned the clear bag above her, she had been unable to, arriving at her conclusion based mostly on how drowsy she felt. She had drifted off for periods of sleep throughout the day, welcoming the oblivion, however brief, from her current situation, only to awaken with ever sharper memories of what Mulder had done to her, becoming wide awake once more as the sense of betrayal sharpened, driving in to her like a knife to her heart.

Why?

The word was such a humble one, and yet it had been used by humans for centuries to inflict punishment and torture from within. To attempt to gain understanding for the inexplicable.

Scully sighed heavily as her eyes began to close, knowing even as she slipped toward sleep that the word was set to torture her for many years to come.

********************

If Scully had been aware of the presence of the two men viewing her from within the confines of a small room across the hall, sleep would not have arrived quite so easily.

They had remained in their positions throughout the day, although Wickham had left for brief periods of time to check in with the office so as not to give rise to any suspicions regarding his absence.

He had also been mildly alarmed to hear from Skinner that Mulder was missing from the hospital, although he had been slightly mollified to be told by his companion that Mulder's leaving the hospital was integral to the continued success of their scheme

He turned to face the Smoking Man who was regarding the sleeping form of Dana Scully closely.

"So what now?"

The Smoking man merely smiled softly.

"We wait, Agent Wickham."

"Wait? For what exactly?" Wickham was aware that his voice was shaking slightly, but all this waiting around was playing on his already shattered nerves, and he had no wish to draw out the process for longer than was absolutely necessary.

For a few seconds though, his question remained unanswered and the silence stretched uncomfortably between them. Finally though, The Smoking Man inclined his head toward the screen.

"Agent Scully has spent the afternoon playing events over in her mind. Events that have been suggested to her without her knowledge and which she now believes to be absolutely accurate. But the process cannot be rushed. Information must be suggested to her over time, information which she will come to regard as her own memories of what happened to her and why she was betrayed so utterly by the man who has saved her on so many occasions. To expedite the process would be disastrous for all concerned, inasmuch as Agent Scully must believe without question. Too much information would effectively induce her to not be able to differentiate between the truth and the lies. She would begin to question her own memory and with it her recollections of true events," he smirked, "and we wouldn't want that to happen would we, Agent Wickham?"

The unspoken threat was unmistakable and Wickham felt himself pale slightly, as the implications of the words became clear.

The Smoking Man, however, didn't seem to notice.

"So," he continued, "I believe we should let Agent Scully enjoy the quietude she so desperately needs to help her recover from her recent ordeal. And then, when she awakens once more, you will be there to answer some of her questions. You will be her friend. Her only friend, now that Mulder is gone."

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