Date sent:        Thu, 6 Nov 1997 13:02:41 -0500 (EST)
From:             AGillian21@aol.com
Subject:          Pieces of Brain (1/1)

Title: Pieces Of Brain
Author: Noelle Lundgren
Rating: PG
Classification: VA
Spoilers: Gethsemane
Keywords: Mulder/Scully UST
Summary: An evening spent with a friend makes Scully question her
ability to deal with the loss of her partner.

Disclaimer: Mr. Carter, yes, I know Scully, Mulder, and Mrs. Scully
are yours. Keep them, by all means.
Joan Hunter not only belongs to me, but to the women who inspired
her creation: The Fantastic Five.

Note: As always, thanks to Gillian Anderson--without her, the
character couldn't be so wonderful. However, she'll have to share
Scully with Kris for this story. And Elaina, it's "just enough for
you, and just enough for me." :-)


"Pieces Of Brain"
by Noelle Lundgren

"I've got a picture in my head
In my head
It's me and you we are in bed
We are in bed..."
--D. O`Riordan

Dana Scully lay on her back on the couch, her knees bent and pointed
skyward. She was barefoot, showing off her cherry-coloured toe-nails. 
Scully was dressed much too warmly for the summer evening that was
practically near the boiling point, but the fuzzy pink sweater and blue
jean combination didn't seem to bother her. Her mouth formed a
goofy smile. A drinking glass balenced precariously between her
breasts, rising and falling with her deep breathing.

"So how did he die?" was the question. Joan Hunter was sitting on the
floor a few feet away, dressed a little more coolly. She didn't mind
that in the hunched-over, cross-legged position she was sitting in, her
low-cut white tank-top and short green skirt were giving quite a show. 
Her glass rested on her knee, supported by her right hand, while her
left held her chin.

Scully pondered her friend's question for a moment, wondering how
grossly honest and blunt to be. "He shot himself in the head." She
half sat up in crunch-position to take another sip of her drink, and then
let her head fall back on the sofa as she swallowed. For some reason,
the reply made her giggle.

"Really?" Hunter was interested.

"Yep. In his apartment one night," Scully said, still staring at the
ceiling, and smiling despite herself.

"Wow. Why'd he do it?"

"Beats the fuck outta me!" Scully said helplessly. Then she turned her
head, looking at her friend. "No, seriously...no one *really* knows." 
She returned her gaze to the ceiling. "I don't think anyone really gave
a shit."

Hunter took another sip of her drink. "Aw, *sure* they did." 

Scully looked at her, a little surprised.

"They threw a fuckin' party for Christsakes," Hunter finished.

Scully burst out laughing. "I'll bet!" Then she frowned. "*I* wasn't
invited..."

Hunter tipped her head back, gulping down the last of her drink. "You
were probably still crying your head off and mopping the pieces of
brain off the wall."

Scully giggled. "Prob'ly."

There was a long, awkward silence between the two women. Then
finally, Scully said, "So are they using the basement for the copiers
again?"

"Yeah," Hunter said. 

Scully smiled. "I was *wondering* what would happen to that office
after I got all his old crap out of it--"

"What did you *do* with all that shit?" Hunter asked, bending her arm
into a contorted position in attempt to scratch an itch on her back.

"Actually," Scully confessed. "I kept some of it."

"*Really?*" Hunter was shocked. She gave up trying to reach the itch
with her fingers, and grabbed the fork off of her empty dinner plate,
using it as a back-scratcher. "Whatever did you do with that kooky
poster. You know, the one that said--"

"'I Want To Believe," Scully finished. "Actually, I--"

"Kept it?" Hunter interrupted, hopefully.

"Uh, no..."

"I'll bet you framed it and hung it over your bed! So you can look at it
when you're lying there with your finger up your--"

"Hey!" Scully tossed a pillow weakly at Hunter. It missed. "You're
sick," she muttered. 

Hunter heard. "That's why you love me," she said, batting her
eyelashes. Scully didn't reply. Hunter cleared her throat. "Seriously
now, I'll bet the fluke-in-a-jar makes a great paperweight."

"Doorstop actually," Scully tuned her head again, looking at Hunter. 
"No, really... I sent it to my mom as a Christmas gift."

Hunter laughed. "Those tissue samples must be a real hit at parties." 

"If I ever *had* parties..." Scully mumbled to the ceiling.

"You should throw a party," Hunter said, hearing.

"Yeah," Scully said. "But I don't have anyone to *invite* to a party!"

"*Sure* you do!"

"Oh yeah?" Scully challenged, turning her head once more, glaring at
her friend. "Like who?"

"Like..." Hunter thought. "Elaine, and...Lauren, and Grace--"

"I hardly *know* Grace!" She sighed, changing the subject abruptly. 
"Have I just totally lost it?" she asked, only half-serious. She added,
"Since...well, you know..."

"Naw," Hunter said. "You just gotta remember...it's not you going
nuts. You're finally getting to be more normal. Everyone *else* is
nuts."

"Thanks," Scully said dryly. "That makes me feel a *lot* better..." 
She sat up again, just enough to take a sip of her drink. "Guess who
*I* dreamt about last night," she said, in a depressing, sing-song voice.

"Gee," Hunter said sarcastically. "Lemme think." When Scully didn't
respond she asked, hopefully, "Were you in bed together again?"

"Huh? What?" Scully realized she was being spoken to. "Oh, no... He
was... I had been hit by a truck, and--"

"A truck? Ooo-kaay..." Hunter pulled the word out, raising her
eyebrows.

"No, listen. I'd been hit by this big truck on this road out in the woods
somewhere and he came out of the trees and picked me up and put me
in the back of his car."

"*In*-teresting."

"And you--shut *up*!--you know what he said to me? He said, 'You
sure can't take care of yourself can you?'"

Hunter snorted.

"I know," Scully continued. "I was all, 'What the *hell*'?"

In a mocking tone, Hunter mumbled, "Scully, you're hit by a truck /
Since you can't fight I'm in luck / I think we should go an--"

"Aren't *you* the regular little poet?" Scully taunted, not needing to
hear the last word of the poem.

Hunter laughed. When Scully didn't join her, she asked, "Was that all
that was in the dream?"

"All I remember, yeah."

"Spooky..."

Scully glared at her.

"Ooh...sorry," Hunter apologized. "Didn't mean to say the forbidden 'S'
word, there."

Scully had to laugh at her friend's jeer.

"Weird dream," Hunter decided. "Kinda cool, though..."

"Yeah," Scully agreed. "But I think I like the ones better where we're
sleeping together."

Hunter was about to laugh again, but swallowed it down when she saw
that Scully was serious. Her face had taken on the expression that
only took place when Dr. Dana Scully was thinking an important
thought. Hunter could practically hear the gears in Scully's brain
turning, crunching data. 

"You really miss him, don't you?" Hunter concluded.

"Who? Mulder?" Scully looked for a moment as though she might
wave the statement away, but she ended up answering, "Yeah. I do." 
She paused. "A lot more than I thought I would."

The last word was choked, and she gulped, as though in attempt to
swallow her tears. Hunter saw the glitter of tears in her eyes, however. 
"Oh, Dana..." she said softly. "I'm so sorry."

"Oh, it's okay..." Scully said, wiping at her eyes forcefully. She
plucked her glass up off her chest and sat up in one swift, smooth
motion.

Hunter took four steps toward Scully, on her knees. "It's okay," she
said, putting her hand over Scully's. "You can tell me."

Scully sniffed. "I just... I never thought I'd miss him this much." She
sniffed again, but finally let herself just cry. "I think about him all the
time... And every time--" she wiped her eyes again, "--*this* happens." 
She gestured helplessly. Scully closed her eyes for a moment, and
took a deep breath. Then she looked right at Hunter and asked in a
low voice, "Do you know that feeling where you really, really want to
call someone, but you realize that you have *nothing* to say to them?"

Hunter nodded.

"I was always like that with Mulder." She paused, remembering. 
"You know, I'd just be sitting at home--watching TV or something--
and I'd think, 'God, I want to call Mulder and talk to him' but I could
never think of anything to say."

"Why didn't you just tell him, 'I just felt like calling you'?" Hunter
asked.

"Oh, right," Scully said, rolling her eyes. "You know how bad that
sounds coming from *me*? Especially to *Mulder*..."

"Mmm..." Hunter considered it. Scully didn't continue, so Hunter
asked, "Do you think he, you know...felt the same way about you?"

Scully chuckled lightly at that. "Never. I mean, he *worried* about
me, but I think that ninety-nine percent of the time, I drove him
absolutely nuts and he wanted to shoot me!"

"Sometimes *I* want to shoot you," Hunter admitted with a sly smile.

"*Sure* you do," Scully laughed.

"I *do*! You're a pain in the ass to work with, you know that?"

Scully laughed again. "When Mulder and I started working together,
he told me that's why Agent Lamana resigned as his partner. Because
Mulder's a self-proclaimed 'pain in the ass to work with.' You
remember Jerry Lamana?"

"Sure I do," Joan smiled. "I slept with him."

"You did *not*!" Scully laughed. "Besides, that isn't a reason that
you'd remember him."

"I--Hey! You're not nice!" Hunter gave her a look. "And yes, I did,
you bitch! Don't you remember?" Hunter playfully slapped her
friend's knee.

Scully thought for a moment. "Oh, *that's* right." She wrinkled her
face, doing an impression of Hunter. "'Hey, Dana! Guess who *I* just
fucked'!"

Hunter laughed. "I didn't *say* that."

"Yes you did! I heard you...on the phone!"

"I never said--"

"Oh shut up, Joan," Scully said. "You're a shitty liar."

"Yep," Hunter admitted. "You know me too well."

"I'm your friend. I'm supposed to know all those gory little details
about you."

That made Hunter laugh. "Why *are* we such good friends, anyway?"

"We work together. We have to get along," Scully answered quickly.

"You and Mulder never got along...?"

"No, we never *agreed.* We *got along* great," Scully corrected,
swallowing her tears at the mention of her former partner's name.

"But you and I disagree--"

"Joan, you and I disagree about what color lipstick looks better with
blue eye-shadow, and what kind of tampons *expand*, and what kind
'flower out'--"

"Dana--!"

"Well, we *do*!"

"Hey, *there's* one I bet you never got to discuss with Mulder..."

Scully laughed. "I doubt Mulder would have any knowledge in that
area--"

"He had a sister, didn't he?" Hunter interrupted.

"Not *really*," Scully said.

"Huh?" Her friend was now terribly confused.

"Don't tell me you've *never* heard *that* story," Scully moaned.

"No, I don't think so..."

"Well then I'll have to tell you some other time," Scully decided.

"Some 'other' time is right," Hunter said, glancing at her watch. "Got a
meeting with BFGIFC in half an hour."

"BFGI--what?"

"Big Fuckin' Guy In Fuckin' Charge. You know, BFGIFC," Hunter
explained.

Scully smiled.

"Anyhow," Hunter continued. "I'd better be gettin' a move-on, Dana." 
She stood, putting her empty glass on the coffee table. 

Scully stood with her, and walked her to the door of the apartment. 

"Hang in there, sweety," Hunter told Scully, embracing her in the
doorway.

"You want me to come with you?" Scully asked. "To the meeting, I
mean?"

"Naw," Hunter waved the offer away. "I'll cover for you. Just get
some sleep. You look like you need it."

Scully smiled, and hugged her friend once more before letting her go. 
She watched Hunter make her way to the elevator. When the doors
slid shut, Scully closed her apartment door, spun around, putting her
back against it, and slid all the way down into a sitting position.

She put her hands over her face, sighing. Hunter's suggestion had been
a good one: the much-needed opportunity to sleep would also be an
opportunity to escape the memories of her partner, his horrible
death...and the whole process of trying to gather up all her own broken
pieces and swallow all of the awful, bloody secrets. All of the things
she'd seen on her cases with him, all of the mysteries of the "X-Files"... 
She had taken a lot of darkness and hid it inside her at Mulder's grisly
departure.

She stood once more, slowly, reluctantly, and made her way to her
bedroom. The room was basically the color of oatmeal, except for the
pale green of one of her suit jackets hanging from the bedpost, the
shocking pink covers of the romance novels that had gathered on her
bedside table, and the sky blue, and deep green of the poster that hung
on her wall right above her bed.

"I Want To Believe," she read in no more than a whisper.

Did she really? she wondered, staring at the saucer-shaped black
object hovering in the middle of the sky above deep green trees on the
poster. As she moved closer to the bed, she touched the cross around
her neck, almost unconsciously. Did she really 'Want To Believe' as
the poster stated?

She stood just looking at the poster for a moment. Quickly, her
attention moved to the body asleep in her bed. He was a tall man, and
his feet hung off the edge of the bed. He was sleeping far over to one
side, his right buttock off the edge. 

"Mulder..." she said quietly, half knowing that he'd wake up, half
hoping he wouldn't.

"Wuzzut? Huh?" he asked, still mostly asleep.

"Mulder," she said again.

He rolled over and looked at her. "Scully," he said.

"Mulder, I thought I was hit by a truck."

"Scully?"

"You heard what I said. Why the hell are you sleeping *all* the way
over there."

"Huh? Oh, well..."

"Mulder, move over," she said.

He didn't budge.

"Oh Jesus," she muttered, grabbing his ankles and pulling them over to
the middle of the bed, and then coming around the side to lift his
shoulders and move them over. He didn't resist. "There," she said a
little out of breath. "Now go to sleep." 

She reached over and flipped off the bedside lamp. The room was
instantly drowned in the fuzzy gray darkness of early evening. Mulder
didn't move. "Close your eyes," Scully said.

He didn't move.

"Close them!" she said, a little more sharply.

Mulder shut his eyes. 

Scully sat down on the edge of the bed, her back to him. 

"Scully..." he said, but when she turned to look, the bed was empty. 
Mulder was gone. 

Scully sighed, disappointed. She opened the drawer of her bedside
table slowly, and produced Mulder's glasses, stems down. She picked
them up, and held the lenses to her cheek, letting hot tears streak them. 

When she opened her teary eyes and looked at the wall in front of her,
there was a wet, shiny splatter on the wallpaper that could have easily
been spaghetti sauce, or tomato juice. But Scully knew what it was,
long lines of red shooting out from a center, like an underwater plant. 
It was flecked with bits of bloody bone and pieces of brain. "Oh,
God," she sobbed. "Oh, God, why...? So soon..."

She heard something, and turned around to see Mulder in the bed once
more. He, too, was crying. Scully gently unfolded the glasses, and
placed them on his face. She stood, sniffed, and turned around, losing
her balance and nearly toppling onto Mulder. She bent down, kissed
him wetly on the mouth, and quickly moved to leave the room.

When she got to the doorway, she heard, "Scully, I wanted you to
know--" from behind her, and whirled around. Mulder was gone once
more. Her eyes darted up at the "I Want To Believe" poster. This
time, she was aware of her hand moving to her throat. She coiled her
fingers around the gold cross on its thin chain, and yanked outward
sharply.

The chain broke with the harsh sound of tearing metal. Once the
necklace was off and in her fist, Scully threw it with all the force she
could muster directly at the poster. It fell short of making contact with
the wall.

Scully stormed out of the room, teary and a little shaken. She
practically fell onto the sofa, and had the phone in her hand before she
knew what was happening. She dialed her mother's number out of
pure instinct. 

"Hello?" was Margaret Scully's greeting.

"Hi, Mom? It's me--"

"Dana? You sound-- Is something wrong? Did something hap--"

"Mom! Listen! Listen for a minute." Scully took a deep breath. "You
went to Mulder's funeral, didn't you? You were there, right?"

"Yes, Dana, why--?"

"I was there, wasn't I? I was *there*? At the funeral?" Scully spoke
quickly, panicked.

"Of course, Dana--"

"What did I wear? Do you remember the dress I wore? Anything
about it? Mom?"

Worried, her mother replied, "Well, it was black...it was the long one,
with the--"

"Green lace trim?"

"Yes, Dana. Why is it so impor--?"

"And the flowers? Oh, God...! Mom...?" Scully started to cry again,
despite herself. "I was always a sensible girl, wasn't I? I was
always...normal?" she pleaded.

"Dana, what's going on?" Margaret Scully sounded more afraid now
than concerned.

"I told him, right? I said it? Didn't I? He knows, right...?"

"Knows what, dear?"

"That I....That....Does he know? I mean...that I l--" 

Her sentence was cut off by the sob that rose in her throat.

===========
The End.
+++++++++++