Title: Purgatory
Author: Gina Rain (ginarain@aol.com)
Rating: R (sexual content, language)
Category: X, MSR
Spoilers: General knowledge up to season 7. Requiem 
never happened in this world, however. All ovens are 
bun-less.
Archive: Sure, but drop me a line and let me know where. 
I like to visit.
Summary: Members of Scully's old science club are 
falling into comas. Will she be next?
Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully (and the x-files, of 
course) were created and nurtured by CC, 1013, Fox. . 
.any and all of the above. But, for the next hour or so, 
they are mine. It's like a visit to their maiden aunt. I 
turn my head and let them do what they want. I'm sure 
they'll have to pay for it when any of the 
aforementioned get their hands on them again.
Disclaimer 2: This case file includes some religious 
references. I have tried to handle them with as much 
care and sensitivity as I can but if it's not your 
thing. . .bail now, don't blame me later.
Thank you: To my beta, Christina, who always manages to 
work her magic in spite of all the demands on her real 
life. Thank you so much.


February 15, 1999
San Diego, California

She stood in the park, watching. They couldn't see her. 
They weren't paying enough attention to anyone but 
themselves to notice the rest of the world.

Her husband. Never mind the "ex." She married for better 
or worse; richer or poorer; in sickness and in health 
till death do us part. Death. Not divorce.

He was smiling down at her. 

Janet. The "other woman."

Time hadn't changed her much at all. She was still the 
nerdy science geek she was in school. Mousy brown hair, 
glasses, a bit on the chubby side. He left her for this 
nothing of a woman. What did she look like in bed? Did 
she dress up for him? Did she moan constantly, making 
her throat ache, endlessly waiting for him to come? Did 
she act like the perfect little wife in every perfect 
little way until her teeth ached from smiling and her 
back broke from poking her bosom out like the little sex 
kitten he wanted her to be? She doubted it.

Janet did nothing to deserve that smile. Nothing.

Except act superior. 

Just as she had in high school.

Just like all of her kind.

They had all considered her a "bubble-headed 
cheerleader." Nothing more.  Dismissed her, like she 
didn't have a worthwhile thought in her head or emotions 
in her soul.  But she did.  They never even noticed that 
she was bothered by their attitude. Felt their slights.  
She sighed. High school was a long time ago but that's 
where it started.

The trouble was, she still loved Gary--which meant she 
couldn't do anything to Janet. He loved her now and it 
would hurt him too much. You don't hurt the ones you 
love. Poor fool. After all these years, he fell for 
Janet's high and mighty routine. He probably was going 
through an early mid-life crisis and she was there--
waiting. Offering something different. Something more. 
He wanted someone "deep" and didn't stay long enough to 
find out that Candi had plenty of depth. It had just 
been hard to incorporate it into the Stepford wife 
persona that he had seemed to want up until that point. 
She was not going to do anything to make him unhappy. 
Sooner or later, he'd realize his mistake and come 
crawling back. 

But that did nothing for her anger now.

Someone had to pay. Someone had to share in the depths 
of despair she felt everyday. 

The science geeks. Five girls who dared enter the 
previously all-male domain of the high school science 
club. Five girls who were virtually ignored in high 
school. Five girls who virtually ignored Candi.

They thought she didn't have a moment's worth of 
introspection. In reality, she knew that they were the 
ones who had no need to think about what they were 
feeling. They felt nothing. They lived in their ivory 
towers, basking in the glow of their own brilliance and 
carefully planning careers. Exciting careers. And when 
the time was right for them. . .and only them--they 
stole what was not theirs.  They stole other women's 
husbands. 

Soon they would have plenty of time to think. Plenty of 
time to delve into their inner lives. Face whatever they 
didn't have time to face while on the fast track to 
success. Bring it all to the surface. Their lives would 
revolve around their conscience--their guilt.

Victoria, Elaine, Crystal and Dana. 

The other four girls in the science club. 

They would all pay. They would all pay for Janet's sins 
because they were all the same. They liked going into 
unchartered territory. They'd soon see how they liked 
this exploration.

February 18,1999
Coronado, CA

Victoria could hear the phone ringing. Ceaseless 
ringing. She felt little pin pricks on her back. Claws. 
Her cat. Kneading. Worrying. She reluctantly opened her 
eyes and looked around. She had passed out. Right on the 
bathroom floor. The ringing stopped. Thank God. She 
couldn't say it was giving her a headache because she 
seemed to be in the middle of an Excedrin moment that 
had lasted four years so far. 

Blood and vomit. On the gray tiles, on the toilet seat, 
on the towel she pulled off the rack to stop the 
nosebleed. She had never had a nosebleed in her life and 
this one wouldn't stop. It had scared her so badly she 
lost the only food she had consumed in three days. Along 
with the three-quarters of a bottle of vodka she had 
drank that evening. She stumbled to her knees. She had 
to clean the place up.  Before the cat jumped off her 
back and started walking in it. 

She put the plug in the bathtub and let the water run. 
The phone began to ring again. 

Damn. It was probably her mother. If she didn't answer, 
she would send someone over to check on her. She hadn't 
been answering her phone in days.

She held on to the walls and managed to make it to the 
couch.

"Hello?"

"Victoria? Victoria Johnson?"

"Yes. Speaking."

"You are in hell, Victoria," the soft female voice 
stated, just before hanging up.

Victoria looked at the phone before putting it back in 
its cradle.

"You don't know the half of it, you sick fuck."

She went into the bathroom and got on her hands and 
knees. She pulled the remaining guest towel from the 
rack and submerged it in the water. She cleaned off all 
the surfaces that had been stained during the body-fluid 
fest of a few hours ago.  Lysol was sprayed and 
resprayed, then she took her ruined towels and shoved 
them in a Hefty bag. Her clothes were removed and added 
to the trash.

"Gwendolyn," she said with a sigh as she lay back in the 
nearly empty bathtub waiting for the water to rise a 
second time. She was dirtier than the floors or walls or 
towels. But she wasn't sure it was a dirt that could 
ever be rinsed away. Her dark gray Russian Blue stared 
at her with green, unblinking eyes. "Don't you have a 
better class of person to hang around with?" The cat 
leaned forward on the edge of the bathtub and quickly 
rubbed her head against Victoria's shoulder before 
jumping off and making herself cozy in the living room. 
Victoria let out a sob.

Gwendolyn was the only one who understood--on some 
strange animal level. Unconditional love. She wondered, 
briefly, what everyone else would think if they knew 
their golden girl was a down and out drunk. She was 
blessed with what used to be called hollow legs. Cursed 
with them, maybe.  She could drink a lot and no one 
knew. It would be so nice to just stay in the bathtub 
and let the water rise while she kept her body below the 
surface. But then, they'd know. It would be revealed 
during the autopsy. She couldn't do that to her family.

She dried off and poured a very large glass of vodka to 
still the tremors that were beginning to wrack her body.  
Drinking off half the liquid, she slipped into bed 
thinking about the hell her life had become.

An hour later, she didn't feel the cat insistently 
kneading the skin above her chest.

She was already in a coma.


March 7, 2000
Hoover Building, Washington, D.C.
4:45 PM

Mulder wondered if he could get away with it. A meeting 
with Bertram McGregor and twenty seven world -weary 
field agents. Bertram McGregor. Head Bean Counter. Six 
new rules were being added to the already endless list 
they had to follow while filling out expense reports. 
Six new impossible rules. Pre-approval, indeed. Half 
their assignments were based on spontaneous moments 
which led to spontaneous expenses. Not only was this 
ambulatory abacus informing the assembly of these 
ridiculous new policies, he was also going into 
excruciating detail on why each was needed--peppering 
his boring tale with side-splitting stories of what not 
to do. Using the X-files division to illustrate. Mulder 
was not amused. Since the new rules impacted everyone, 
though, maybe they would just turn the other way if he 
slipped out of his chair and pumped a few bullets into 
the thick skull of old bean bag. Chances are, with 
Bertie's personality, no one would be all that sure he 
was gone for quite a while anyway. 

Scully seemed to be taking it in stride. Seemed to. She 
had brought a notebook and pen with her. She almost 
always did. She was a random note taker. She kept 
writing something down and crossing it out. No. That 
wasn't quite the right expression for what she was 
doing. She was obliterating what she wrote. Crossing it 
out to the point where Mulder was sure there would be 
pen marks on several pages unlucky enough to rest below 
the top sheet. She was doing it in such a calm fashion, 
no one seemed to notice at all. It gave him a delicious 
little thrill to know her secret.

Everyone was starting to struggle to their feet. Shit. 
He hadn't even noticed the meeting was breaking up. What 
was the outcome? Oh, yeah. Beanie gave them new rules 
which they would all steadfastly ignore, if not 
downright break. Gotcha.

He was one step behind as Scully stalled in the doorway 
due to the gridlock of agents trying to escape the 
conference room.  She had one hand up under her hair, 
rubbing the back of her neck. Her other hand was at her 
side, holding the pad and pen she had used solely for 
her own amusement. 

He leaned down a bit.

"Can I interest you in a backrub, Agent Scully?" he 
whispered, nonchalantly.

She glanced over her shoulder.

"We'll discuss it."

He stopped in his tracks for a moment as she headed 
toward the already crowded elevator. He caught up just 
as the doors were closing and they both stared straight 
ahead of them as they made their descent to the 
basement. 

He closed the office door the minute their bodies were 
through.

"We'll discuss it?" he asked, letting a tiny spark of 
hopefulness color his usually measured voice.

"Well, you got me on a good day, Mulder. I am so fucking 
sick of rules. Especially idiotic ones."

He had to admit to two weaknesses. Scully in her  
guttersnipe persona and Scully as  rebel. Both stayed 
hidden ninety nine percent of the time but were an awful 
lot of fun for the short time she allowed them out to 
play.

"Does this mean we might be bending a few of our own?" 
he asked, highly doubtful. Scully was known to change 
her mind and think sensibly if given a moment.

"No. It means we are going to break one. Rule number two 
is a good place to start."

"Number two?"

"Yup."

He was impressed.

The adult equivalent of no partying on a school night: 
no fraternizing on a work night.

Rule number two in their lovers' manual. Scully gave him 
a copy after their first night together. Well, not 
really, but they had discussed the ground rules and they 
had playfully assigned numbers to the first five.

She looked over at him with a sly expression on her 
face. He still looked partially stunned.

"I really need a good backrub, Mulder," as if that 
explained it all.

"Oh, you'll get one, Scully. I can guarantee that."

She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes for a 
moment. He loved that expression. The look of relaxation 
and almost-- contentment. Scully. Content. He had lived 
to see the day.  She shook herself out of it and put on 
her work face.

"We have to finish this expense report and get it 
upstairs before the rules officially change. We wouldn't 
want Bert to call another meeting to point out the error 
of our ways."

"Do we have to?" He put on his best whiny voice for her 
benefit.

"Faster we get to it, the faster it gets done, the 
faster your magic fingers can start their assignment."

"All right, then. What are we waiting for?"

He put on a big show of adjusting the computer monitor 
and keyboard and then looked across at her one last 
time.

"Scully?"

"Hmmm?"

"Do we need to--stop by and pick up some clothes? For 
you or for me?"

Her lips curved into the faintest trace of a smile but 
he noticed.  She had never spent the entire night with 
him. She always picked herself up sometime around dawn 
and left. He acted accordingly in her apartment, even 
though she told him he could stay. 

But as long as they were breaking rules, he thought he 
might as well push the envelope and ask.

"I have some clothes in the trunk of my car, Mulder."

"You do?"

"Yes," she quietly acknowledged. He looked at her one 
more time and then began working on the expense report.


Fox Mulder's apartment
7 PM

He was closing the door behind them when he felt her 
hands encircle his waist from behind. She leaned her 
head quietly against his back.

"Um--Scully? Are we spending the evening in this 
position? Because generally speaking, I find I usually 
have more options facing the other way."

He heard her laugh against the layers of his clothing. 
Her small hands were going under his trench coat and  
suit jacket and were busy pulling his shirt out of his 
pants. She ran her slightly cold hands on his warm 
stomach and he shivered at the touch. Now, he could feel 
her laugh.

"I have to take a bath and I'm just working up the 
energy to actually move on over to your bathroom."

"You don't need a bath, Scully. I like my women a little 
grungy."

"I'm glad you confirmed what had only been a suspicion 
up until now." She stroked his stomach lightly and 
rubbed the side of her face between his shoulder blades. 
"But I'd rather not be a member of that illustrious 
group. I really do need a bath. I have to wash away that 
meeting, for one thing. Sitting there for hours for a 
bunch of nonsense.  I'll be out soon." 

She quickly kissed his back and was out of sight almost 
before he turned around. She had taken her overnight bag 
with her.

With a sigh, Mulder pulled himself together, ordered 
food and went into his bedroom. He removed a pair of  
sweat pants and a tee shirt from his dresser. He 
supposed he'd have enough time to take a shower before 
dinner if Scully didn't use up all the hot water in the 
building with her bath.

Scully--in his bathtub. And she had just made herself 
right at home. He could hear the sounds of the water 
running and Scully moving around a bit. A Kodak moment 
if ever there was one. He walked over to the door and 
tried the handle. Locked.

He knocked.

"Scully?"

"Yeah?"

"Door's locked."

"I know."

"Don't you want company?"

"I think I already answered that question by locking the 
door."

"I think I'm insulted."

"Don't be. I told you. I just want to wash up."

He sat on the floor and pressed his back against the 
bathroom door. He removed his tie and threw it on the 
bed. 

"I ordered the food, Scully," he called to her, opening 
a few buttons on his dress shirt and taking off his 
shoes and socks.

"Great. Mulder?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you setting up camp outside the bathroom door?"

"Yes, I am."

"Why?"

"Because. I like this. I like the sounds of you in my 
tub," he said, leaning back and concentrating on the 
soft movements in the water. Imagining her soaping up, 
rinsing off--normal, every day things that took on a 
monumental significance in his mind because of her 
location.

"I don't want to burst any bubbles, Mulder. But I'm not 
doing anything in here."

"I know that.  My mind isn't always tuned to the Spice 
Channel, you know. I mean, I like the fact that you are 
in my tub--that I am out here like a faithful St. 
Bernard puppy, waiting for you to emerge all wet and 
steamy."

He heard the sounds of her light laughter followed 
abruptly by an "Oh, shit."

"What?"

"Nothing. It's. . .nothing."

"You didn't slip, did you?"

"No, Mulder. Everything is fine. Just--go wait for the 
delivery guy, okay? I'll be out in a second."

He sat there for another minute. The harmonious spell 
was broken. If he stayed any longer, he'd piss her off. 
He lifted himself off the floor and went to the living 
room. 

Her second extended over a full twenty-five minutes. 
When she emerged from the bathroom, her hair was dry and 
she was dressed in a rather nondescript sweat suit. 
Dinner had arrived and was laid out on the coffee table.

"Sorry I took so long."

"It's okay. Food's here," he gestured toward the table.

She looked distracted. As she approached the coffee 
table, she seemed to make up her mind.

"I'm being an idiot, Mulder. Look--I got my period. I--
well, this is all so new and I just--I can leave if that 
sort of thing bothers you."

"Why?" He had no concept of why she made the offer.

"Well, I know it's not always comfortable for men. . ."

It dawned on him.

"Scully. You've got to be kidding. First of all, we 
don't have to make love if you don't feel like it. But, 
as for me--put off by a little blood? I don't think so. 
As long as you're comfortable. . ."

She smiled, "I am. Actually, I'm usually kind of in 
overdrive." 

He looked at her bright eyes and the slightly pinkish 
tinge to her cheeks. Their first sex talk. He had to 
mark this down somewhere. Up until now, discussion had 
not entered into it.

She sat beside him on the couch and he looked at her 
sideways, tilting his head a bit.

"The. . .others. . .didn't. . .?" He didn't want too 
many details, but he did want to know.

"Rarely.  Maybe it was partly my old attitude. Maybe 
theirs. I don't know. They pretty much waited until my 
cycle was over."

"And the old guy called himself a doctor," he gently 
scoffed.

"Daniel didn't just 'call' himself a doctor, Mulder. He 
is one.  And way beyond a good one."

"Yeah. He's a saint."

"Mulder. It probably was just as much my fault back then 
as anyone else's. I mean, young girls hear old wives 
tales and tend to go along with them until they know 
better.  I've changed a lot since then."

"Well, I still think the previous men in your life were 
fools. Sex is messy anyway. What's the big deal?"

She looked at her meal for a moment, trying to quell an 
almost unstoppable urge to laugh. He had seemed to be  
annoyed that the "others" had not wanted to sleep with 
her during a perfectly natural female cycle. Only 
Mulder. Always fighting for a principle. She lifted a 
forkful of her chicken to his lips.

"This is good. Try it."

He opened his mouth and she gently placed the lemony 
chicken inside. 

"It is good."

She leaned forward and kissed him softly.  She moved 
back and touched his hair. He could see a thousand 
different sentences forming in her mind and she 
discarded each one in split second decisions. She ended 
up giving him another kiss and then spearing some pasta 
from his plate. 

"I guess--maybe I hung around some pretty grungy men, 
when all was said and done."

She didn't look up for a minute but when she did she 
caught one of his rare million dollar smiles.

"I've always suspected as much."

After dinner, Mulder took his shower. As he was emerging 
from the bathroom he watched as Scully put down his 
bedside telephone, a frown on her face.

"What?"

"I called for my messages. There was a call from my 
mother who 'can wait' and then--well, I guess it was 
just a strange crank call."

"What did they say?"

"It was a woman. She said, 'Dana Scully. You are in 
hell,' and hung up."

"Crank callers usually don't use their victim's names."

"Well--I don't know about that, Mulder. There are ways 
of getting even unlisted names and numbers. It's 
nothing, I'm sure. Probably some kids a little bored on 
a school night."

"If it happens again, we are running a trace."

She smiled. 

"Okay. 'We' will."

He got on the bed.

"Come here and lay down. I owe you a backrub."

"You don't have to, Mulder. I'm fine now, really."

"Assume the position, Scully."

She removed her sweatshirt and lay on her stomach as he 
pulled a bottle out of his night stand. He bought it two 
weeks ago waiting for the opportunity to use it. It 
smelled like jasmine and was supposed to warm as it was 
rubbed onto the skin.

He poured some oil into his hands and rubbed them 
together. It was warm. He put his hands on her 
shoulders, kneading the way he used to see his 
grandmother knead bread. His grandmother. . .

"Scully?"

"Hmmmm?"

"Do you want a hot water bottle?"

"What?"

"You know. . .to ease the cramps."

He had to sit back as she broke into what could only be 
described as peals of laughter. He didn't know whether 
to smile at her obvious bizarre delight or scowl over 
her amusement at his expense.

She turned over, grabbed his forearm and pulled herself 
up.

"I'm sorry, Mulder. It's just--sometimes I find it hard 
to believe we've only been doing 'this' for such a short 
while. Sometimes it feels like I've been with you my 
entire life."

"And how do you feel about that?" They psychologist in 
him just had to ask.

She moved herself up into his lap and draped her arms 
over his shoulders. Her bare breasts pressed into the 
flesh of his chest. She lifted her hand and smoothed 
back the hair from his forehead.

"I only wish it was more than just a feeling."

He tightened his grip around her. He hadn't seen her 
genuinely happy and carefree in years. It was almost 
overwhelming to watch. He quietly stroked her hair, 
kissing her gently on the cheek. Every ounce of pain. He 
wanted every ounce of pain to disappear from her memory 
banks. When she looked in his eyes, he saw that she knew 
his mood was changing. He also understood that she was 
determined to keep things light tonight.

"Mulder--I hate to be a nudge, but I think you still owe 
me half a backrub and we better get to it. We need to 
get some sleep before work tomorrow and well--there is 
something else we should be trying to fit in this 
evening."

Her eyes were glistening with suppressed laughter. 
Great. Now she was handing him blatantly suggestive 
straight lines. She  in overdrive.

He picked up the bottle of oil and got back to work.

March 8
3 AM

Scully was dreaming but couldn't quite get a picture of 
what she was dreaming of. There was a sound. A hollow 
sound, growing louder and louder and a horrible feeling 
of falling. No. More than falling. Being pulled down. 
Down.

It was hot. Damned hot. She still couldn't see anything 
and then she felt it. Fire. As soon as she realized what 
it was, she began to see the red flames around her, 
touching her. Burning parts of her although she remained 
intact. She could hear screams coming from dark corners, 
in every direction. She could hear her own voice joining 
the chorus. Screams and burning. Then red. Only red.

She was telling herself it was a dream. Just a dream. 
Wake up. Wake up. Her legs didn't move, her arms didn't 
move. She willed them to move. One finger. One fucking 
finger. One toe. Just one motion and the rest would 
unfreeze. An eyelid. Open an eyelid and see the real 
world and the red would disappear. The flames would 
fade. Nothing moved. Nothing was able to move.

She wanted to scream but she had no voice. No ability to 
open her mouth. No ability to speak or scream or 
swallow. She couldn�t breathe. There was something 
holding her down. God. Oh, God. Something was holding 
her down in this inferno. She would burn to death.

A vice-like grip was beginning to exert pressure on her 
shoulders. Out of the nothingness she felt it. Pulling. 
Pulling up.

She heard a voice screaming in a way she had never heard 
another human scream. It was coming from her.


End of Part 1
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