Night Ride Across the Caucasus
by Politic X

Part 2
See part 0 for header information.


Scully's face was rapt.

"No one saw either of them again until a year
later, when some villagers were in the
mountains. They spotted Irina and Svetlana on
a royal horse.  They knew it was the peasant
and the princess witch because there was no
mistaking their beauty.  They called to them,
but the women galloped away."  She looked at
Scully.  "Although some say it wasn't the
women that the villagers saw, but their
ghosts. This was during the time that Russia
was invading the Caucasus, so it's a popular
belief that they were killed or taken
prisoner by their own countrymen.

"There are other versions of the story that
suggest that Svetlana never found her - that
Irina sang to her like a muse and the
princess followed the sound of her voice to
her death. Others say Svetlana traveled
across worlds - across centuries - to find
Irina, and is still looking today."

"What do you think?" Scully breathed.

She winked.  "I think if Svetlana was any
kind of witch, she would've used her magical
powers to find Irina and get the hell out of
there.  What about you, Scully.  Are you an
optimist or a pessimist?"

"Neither."  Scully stared at the painting.
"But I'm curious about the hex."

"Svetlana conjured a spell that no man would
ever love Irina again."

Scully blinked.  "I guess 'man' is the
operative word."

There was a sudden ringing in Monica's ears,
a rush that made her dizzy.  Then her phone
rang.  She excused herself and went to the
kitchen.  She tossed her head over her
shoulder just before she picked it up,
looking at Scully looking at the painting.

"Hello?"

"Monica."

"Hi, Brad."  Damn.  Just like him to
interrupt.

"I hate to call you like this.  I hate to be
the one to tell you-"

"What?"

"It's Scully.  She's been shot."

"What?  No, that's impossible, she's right
here."

She turned, but Scully wasn't right there.
In fact, Monica could have searched the world
and wouldn't have found the Scully she knew.

****
tWo

Scully dreamt she was a dolphin.  The water
held her, buoyed her up to the sunlit
surface, and warmed her as she dove down. She
sliced through it with her nose, so
streamlined that she sped like a bullet.  She
smiled happily, and turned to look at her
mate, who was close behind.  Her girlfriend
was graceful and quick, even though she was
pregnant with their first baby.  They were on
a journey to spread the good news to the many
relatives and friends that lived nearby.
Their joy couldn't be contained.

They turned, circling each other in perfect
arcs, and the water enveloped them like love.
Her heart was full; she didn't remember ever
feeling so peaceful.   The pockets of water
that were warm at first became colder as they
descended; and the further they went, the
darker it became. But darkness was nothing to
fear.  They swam on, happily humming, until
someone coughed.

No one should ever cough underwater.

She launched herself out of bed, but moved
nowhere. She was weighed down, her body as
immobile as a fat rock.  She reached for the
Glock on her nightstand, but it wasn't there.
She couldn't have grabbed it anyway; her arms
were lead, her legs useless.

She tried looking around, but even her head
was stuck in place.  Neck brace.  The air was
dry, the sheets were stiff and machines
hummed by her bed.  Not her sheets.  Not her
bed.

Hospital.

Again.

God.

Damn.

"Hey," someone said, and she knew the sound
of her lover's voice.  Would know it
anywhere.

"What happened?" she tried to ask, but her
mouth was closed tight like a clamp, and
though she concentrated on opening it, it
remained shut.

"You're awake."  Skinner stood by the bed.

Monica was behind him.   Where was William?
She knew she was on a respirator - the sound
and the sensation were familiar to her - but
why?

"Your doctor had you hyperventilated,"
Skinner explained.  "There's also a tube."
He pointed at her head.  "You were in a coma.
They were monitoring your brain pressure."

Coma was bad news, being hyperventilated - to
increase blood flow to the brain and reduce
swelling - was good news.  At least she had
an intelligent physician this time; she
couldn't always say that.

"You weren't in the coma long, Scully,"
Monica said.  "A couple of hours."

Skinner's voice was quiet.  "You'd come out
of it for a little bit, then lapse back.  Do
you remember?  You were shot."

Memories flashed like a slide show.  Dirty
asphalt.  Lukesh.  Doggett.  Doggett was
down!  He'd bleed out before they reached
him!

"Scully?"  Skinner asked.  He peered into her
face, concerned.  "Everything's okay.  I'll
get your doctor; she can explain things to
you.  We'll talk about the case later.
Okay?"

They locked eyes for a moment, and he was
gone.  She looked to her lover for comfort,
but Monica just smiled tightly.  She seemed
ill at ease.  "I'm glad you're awake, Dana,"
she said.  "I'm sorry for what happened."
She looked down.

Brain injury.  She'd been shot in the head.
What if Lukesh had caught her in the spine as
well?  What if she was paralyzed?  The
thought struck her with fear.

"I'm so sorry," Monica whispered, and moved
close, taking Scully's hand.

The sensation relieved her.

"I hope you're comfortable.  William's with
your Mom; she'll be back soon."  She studied
her face.  "Don't be afraid.  Things are
strange right now, but you're safe."

Damn right, things were strange.  Things were
worse than strange; they were awful.

"I don't understand, Scully.  We need your
help to figure it out.  The witness says John
shot you."

She was confused.  Doggett didn't shoot her.
She stared at Monica hard.

A physician's assistant came in, followed by
Skinner.  She was removed from the
respirator.  Where the hell was her doctor?
She needed to discuss her condition and
treatment plan, but her mouth still wasn't
working.  She was paralyzed, at least
partially.  She tried her fingers and toes
and found she had some mobility in her hands,
but not much.  She dipped her eyes down to
her body.  Her right arm was still plagued
with tremors, though not as severe as they'd
been immediately after she was shot.

She tapped her left pinky - Morse code.  She
was rusty at it, but at least she could
communicate.

It was Skinner who noticed.  She tried to be
clear: 'Doggett dead.  Lukesh killed him.
Shot me.'

Once she said that, and once Skinner
interpreted it accurately, the room began
swarming with people, and didn't let up, even
when her eyes grew heavy.  She heard them
around her. Her doctor finally came in and
spoke of her treatment plan, or the lack
thereof.  Nurses checked tubes and bags and
machines.

Then her mom came and so did Bill.   He took
William home with him.

She worried that Mulder would endanger
himself by trying to see her, but he didn't
come.

Someone brought in a communicating device and
placed it within her reach.  She practiced
for a bit, trying to get the hang of it.  She
spelled out a couple of paragraphs about the
events leading up to her shooting, giving
them Lukesh's address and criminal history,
details which they should know but seemed to
be ignorant of.  She was so riddled by this
that she couldn't concentrate very well.

Skinner and Follmer were buzzing about the
case, and about Doggett.  They brought him to
the hospital as soon as his plane landed.
She was relieved that he was well, but also
upset.  Could she have suffered brain damage?
It was entirely possible.

Of course, no one believed she'd seen John
Doggett's throat cut, especially John
himself, who charged in, looking worried and
sad, but unharmed.   There was the strange
problem of his gun being the one that was
used to shoot her, and the fact that he and
his gun were in Louisiana when the crime took
place.

All of this case talk should have interested
Scully, but did not.  Monica had left hours
ago.

****
thRee

Her lifeline picked up on the second ring.
"Hello?"

"Stephanie."

"Hey. How's loft life?"

"Okay."

"What's wrong?"

Monica couldn't answer.  She was dazed.

"Baby?"

"It's Scully," she managed.

"Oh, no. Is she okay?"

Monica swallowed.  "Sort of."

"Did she... she didn't get hurt, did she?"

"She was shot."  Her words choked and she
coughed.

"Oh my God.  Is she okay?  I mean-"

"She's paralyzed."  She couldn't believe
she'd said it.  She couldn't believe it was
true.

"Oh, God.  Oh, baby, I'm sorry.  I know you
think a lot of her."

She breathed deeply and tried not to cry.

"Was she on a case?"

"Yeah, I guess.  I don't understand.  Nobody
understands what happened."

"What do you mean?"

She shook her head.  "She named a guy that
shot her, but she's... she's not all there,
Steph.  She said that Doggett was hurt, too,
and he wasn't even with her this morning."

"It happened today?"

"Yeah.  I'm so freaked out."  She sighed.
"Doggett was out of town-"

"That's right," Stephanie interrupted,
remembering.  "You said he was going to be in
my neck of the woods this weekend."

"The weirdest, freakiest thing is that - I
swear to you - she was at my place this
morning.  She came by to see the loft, and I
was showing her around when the phone rang
and it was Brad telling me she'd been shot in
some alley across town."

Stephanie was quiet for a moment.  "Okay.
She was at your place, she was across town,
she says John was with her, and John was in
Louisiana.  Sounds like to me you've got
yourself an X file there."

"Tell me about it.  I'm so confused.  I don't
have a clue what's going on."

"Are you sure what you saw wasn't a vision?"

"I don't have frickin' visions that last
twenty minutes!  We were talking, I was
showing her that painting you did for me and
telling her the story.  She was wearing this
blue blouse and a black skirt and her chunky
shoes, and I wondered why she was so dressed
up for a Saturday."  She took a breath.

"I don't know what to tell you, babe, except
I'm sorry.  I know you think the world of
her."

"She didn't deserve this."

"No, she didn't." Stephanie sighed, and under
her breath murmured:  "Neither did you."

****
foUr

When she awoke again, she was alone in the
room.  The clock beamed red 12:47.  She
thought about all that had happened; about
the future and what it held for her and her
loved ones.  Her mother would have to raise
William.  She couldn't do it herself.

-No standing, walking, running-

She was horrified at being trapped in her
mangled body, furious that she couldn't care
for her son. Terrified that Mulder might risk
his life and come to her.  Angry that it was
a half-witted murderer that had maimed her,
after all the monsters she'd bested.

-No dancing, stretching, bending-

She couldn't rock William to sleep; she
couldn't protect him. She couldn't feed him,
clothe him, bathe him. She may never even
hold her child again.

-No freedom, no choices, no independence-

And she certainly couldn't be a lover to
Monica.

-No life-

She allowed herself to cry while no one was
in the room.

****

Monica wanted to stay with Scully at the
hospital, but it was all she could do to look
at her for just a few moments.  It was a
nightmare that she didn't understand.  She
needed to know what really happened so that
she'd have resolution, both for herself and
for Scully.

(Continued in part 3)