(Headers Disclaimers in Chapter One)

Chapter 10 of 20

The cafeteria was the noisiest place in the prison --high
ceilings, plastic and concrete, stainless steel and too many
people in too little space.

The prisoners ate in two sittings, perched on swinging stools that
fastened to the tables.  The inmates packed into the cafeteria
quickly since good seating was at a premium.  Dr. Otis released
Scully at just as lunchtime started.  The guard escorted her to the
cafeteria and watched until she took her place in the lunch line.
She waited, coiled and ready, her fists clenching and unclenching,
her muscles tensing and relaxing.

Scully accepted anything the workers wanted to put on her
plate and picked her seat carefully.  She walked to grab a seat
in the cafeteria that put her back against the rear wall.  She
sat there only a few minutes when she saw several of her pod
mates point at her and wave.  She ignored them.  As soon as they
got through the line, Bernice plopped down next to her, while
Angela claimed the seat across.  Zelda tried to sit in Scully's
line of vision, but Bernice shoved her aside.

"Girl, you sure look better," said Bernice.  "We were
startin' to figure you were gonna serve the rest of your time in
the infirmary."

Scully poked her Jello.  It wiggled obscenely on the plate.

"You gonna eat your cake?" said the woman next to Angela.

"Yeah, she gonna eat it," said Angela.  "Get your fat hands
off.  And she gonna eat your roll too." Angela reached over, took
the woman's roll and tossed it on Scully's plate.  It landed in
the gravy covering the mashed potatoes and splashed onto
Scully's shirt.  Everyone at the table broke into snickers and
giggles.  Scully's remained a blank as she cleaned the potatoes
and gravy off with a napkin.

"Look here, no hard feelings," Bernice said with a
chuckle.  "We'll have peace in the family.  You have any more
troubles, you come to me."

Scully stood up suddenly, knocking over her plastic water
glass.  She slammed her shoulder against Bernice's body, twirling
the woman's stool into the table and pinning one of her arms
between the table and wall.  Scully could scarcely see, scarcely
feel.  Her vision clouded around the edges, her skin flamed and
she felt as strong as a dozen men. 

Grabbing Bernice's free hand Scully wrenched Bernice's thumb and 
bent it back.  As the woman yelped in pain Scully said, "I handle 
my own trouble." She took Bernice chin in hand.  Scully's teeth clenched.  

She put a point on her words by speaking directly to the black woman's 
ear and twisting her thumb until it dislocated: "Don't do that to me
again.  Never! If there is a next time, you'd better kill me
because I will surely come after you." There was no mistaking
the venom in her voice.  Bernice continued to scream, but Scully
was too consumed by the power in her violence to hear her
victim, the whistles blowing, or the guard's orders to step
back.  "You aren't my girlfriend or my mother!" Scully said.

In a corner of her darkness she heard Mulder call out: "Scully!" She 
whirled in the direction of the voice but
couldn't find him.  She popped Bernice's thumb back into its
socket just as the two blue uniforms slammed into her.  Bernice
screamed once and fell to the floor crying and holding onto her
hand in pain.

Two lunchroom guards pulled Scully away - fists flying,
elbows slashing, and feet kicking -- while a third tended to
Bernice.  The women in the lunchroom erupted into whistles,
catcalls, screams, shouts, thrown food, milk, and tea.  Scully
caught a fleeting glimpse of her pod mates as the guards dragged
her away.  Two of the women looked at Scully with a new respect
but it was Zelda's expression of dismay that registered.  The
guards flipped her against the wall and wrenched her arms back
to cuff her.  She hardly felt it.
******************************
On her way into the director's office Dr. Otis passed
between Scully, sitting shackled on one bench between two
guards, and Bernice, shackled on the opposite bench next to
another guard.  She scowled at both prisoners, noting no physical
damage beyond cuts and bruises.  Bernice seemed subdued; Scully
appeared ready to go another round.  She tapped her fingers up
and down, her legs jiggled and she looked as though she might
jump out of her skin.

Clare nodded toward Bernice, "Anything broken, Dr. Scully?"
Scully shook her head.  She glared past Dr. Otis to Bernice.
"Nothing broken -- this time.  Dislocated thumb.  Severe
sprain.  Ice, aspirin, rest should do it."

"What about you?" she asked, noting Scully's dilated pupils.  But it
was the malice and aggression in the prisoner that struck her.  This
was not the woman she had seen in the surveillance videos, the woman 
she heard about from the in-take personnel, the woman brought into
her clinic, or the one described in such poignant detail by Agent Mulder.

"I'm fine."

"I think you should pee in a cup for me," said Clare.

Scully shrugged as though it were of no importance.  "Why not do a
blood test while you're at it?" "Good idea." Clare said.  "Maybe a
spinal tap?" She knocked once on the director's door.  The prison was
in lock-down.

After several moments the door opened and Bernice went into the
director's office.   Scully sighed and leaned back in her seat.  The
guards beside her shifted warily.  Scully's heart rate slowed
somewhat; but she kept feeling strong, invincible, justified.  And
she was going to get at least two weeks in solitary confinement.
Maybe when she came out she would be herself, or close to it.  

For now she allowed herself to enjoy this rush, the joy of savagely
attacking and hurting someone who had wronged her.  She felt none of
the remorse or self-incrimination that marked her murder of Donnie
Pfaster.  He deserved it too - why had she berated herself up all
this time?  She now had an inkling of why serial killers couldn't
resist another murder, why soldiers loved war, why boxers fought past
their prime.  Scully felt like beating her chest and hollering in
triumph.

In the back of her mind it all terrified her in some vague fashion.
When the prison director called Scully into his office, the guards
took hold of her upper arms and the restraint chains made a clanging
noise when she tried to throw off their hands.  The two men pulled
her into the office, nostrils flaring and her eyes drawn to menacing
slits.
***************

Dr. Otis leaned against the edge of the director's desk.
"You still seem a tad upset, Dr. Scully.  What if we just forgot the 
whole thing? You go on back to your cell."  Clare got a flash of 
panic from Scully that she'd thought she'd see.

"I think we'll give her two weeks minimum isolation until
we can get her arraigned for assault.  After the arraignment,
we'll see," said the director.  His mouth barely moved when he
spoke.  He leaned in to Scully's face.  "More time.  You're gonna
die in here, Scully, you don't watch out." He told Clare, "You
got to get a tougher hide, Clare.  You've got to learn to deal
decisively with violence.  We have to teach them that this kind
of behavior won't be tolerated.  You have to treat them like
children until they learn to behave."

Clare didn't pay attention to the director.  She was far too interested 
in Dr. Scully.  The prisoner reacted to the director's remarks with an 
involuntary shudder, a twinge of outrage, an undercurrent - a growl - 
of anger.  Where had all this come from in Dana Scully?

"I'm going to make certain you get what you need, Dr.
Scully," she said.  "However, it's not going to be a vacation."

"Don't be ridiculous," said the director.

"Unless we find out what caused this, all we've done is throw her in
the briar patch," Dr. Otis said.  "And the resultant expense of
hospitalization will not, down the road, improve our profit margin."

The director tossed the pen on his desk away from him.

"Dr. Scully, tell me what you would do for a patient who
behaved in a psychotic fashion - in a situation where a previous
patient had turn psychosis into suicide."

"I am not suicidal!"

"That doesn't answer the question," Dr. Otis said.

"I was defending myself!"

"You would order a suicide watch.  A jacket restraint-"

"No!"

"A sedative-"

"I'm not psychotic!"

"Then what the hell is going on with you?"

Scully blinked as though her vision had blurred, a red lapped up from her
neck to her face.  Clare heard a growl, then a scream, a primal yelp of rage and 
frustration.  Clare Otis jumped out of Scully's reach.

"Get this piece of trash out of here," the director to the guards.

"No!" Scully said, fighting against her captors.  "I'm not
suicidal! No!"

"Infirmary first." 

"Ah hell, Clare," the director said.  "She'll just tear it
apart.  You want to treat her in isolation, knock yourself out.
But I'm not risking her anywhere else."

Clare Otis watched sadly as the guards dragged a screaming, struggling
Scully down the hall.

"Where are you going now? We have to fill out paperwork-"

"Getta a kit.  I have a couple of tests to perform on those prisoners 
and I want to do it immediately," Dr. Otis said.

The director glared.  "It's a waste of time and money."

"I don't think so, George.  I'm convinced there is -
wrong here."

"You think that red-head is a psycho?"

"She is now  I want to know why."

George smiled patiently and scratched his head. "Lookee, Clare, not
everyone who becomes violent is suffering from a mental disorder."

"This prisoner has no history of violence.."

"Chrissake, she shot people!"

"And got a commendation for it!  She was an FBI agent!"

"All I'm saying is that she has a history of violence, even if she 
was on our side at the time," the director said.

"I have to run some tests," Clare said in a firm voice.

The director waved her away with a sigh.  "Do it then.  Just
take somebody with you.  Remember she's a special case.  She's
been trained to do some damage with her hands."

"Oh, George, you believe everything the FBI puts out?"

"I was warned about her.  I was warned to take extra security
precautions," said the director.

"Who? For heaven's sake-"

"Someone who is familiar with her FBI record.  Someone at
Justice.  A fellow stockholder who doesn't want his kid's
university to wind up being the local community college."  George
said with a touch of pride in his authority.  "Go look what she
did to the guards.  Then tell me I'm overreacting."

"She'll be in a jacket," Clare said.

"All the same..." The director stopped and rubbed his jaw.
"I don't want any more people hurt today.  I don't want you
hurt." His eyes softened. "You're too willing to believe, Clare. You're
too willing to think even these women are valuable."

She shrank back. "Don't you?"

George rubbed his forehead. "I've been in corrections 27 years.  My 
illusions are long gone."

"You don't believe someone can change her life around?" Clare knew she 
sounded like a college freshman.

"Well, maybe some of them. But that one -" George jerked his thumb in 
the direction the guards took Scully. "That one's not gonna make it."

Something flared in Clare; she recognized a gauntlet when one was 
thrown in her face. It stiffened her resolve not to let Scully go down.
"You could be right, George. All right.  I'll take someone with me.  
But I want those tests done ASAP."

"There's something else to consider here," George said.  "You're a 
stockholder just like I am.  We're under scrutiny here by the 
government and our fellow stockholders.  After that suicide and other 
unfortunate incidents - well, we can't afford any more trouble.  And 
we can't afford to let our head count go down.  Not if we want to 
remain profitable."

It should have made her angry.  Instead Clare nodded.  "I've got
to do this, George."


The work on Bernice was easy for Clare to do.  Bernice sat on her bunk in 
isolation quiet, compliant, defeated, almost dazed.  She provided a urine 
sample, which Dr. Otis labeled carefully, and submitted to a blood test with 
only a grunt when the needle slid in her vein.

Down the hall they could all hear Scully banging against
the cell walls and door.  She screamed and swore at the guards,
the restraints they were putting in place, God, Bernice, Clare,
and the uncomfortable bed - not necessary in that order.  Dr.
Otis put a band-aid on Bernice's arm and watched the prisoner
out of the corner of her eye.

"She still sounds a little unhappy," Clare said in a conversational
tone.

"Yeah," said Bernice, wetting her lips.  "She's freaked."

"Whatever you did to her- - I wouldn't do it again," Dr. Otis said.

Bernice shook her head.  "I didn't do nuthin'."

"Well, you're not the mama anymore." Bernice's look that told her she 
guessed correctly.  Pod 34 had a new leader.

"We're ready for you, Dr. Otis," said a guard.  She had a cut over one 
eye.  Clare frowned. As soon as the doctor and guard left, the cell 
plunged into darkness.

"I'll be happy to look at that for you," Dr. Otis said to the guard.

The woman dabbed at the cut.  "It's nothing.  A scratch.
Damn that Scully-she's little but she fights like a full grown
man-like somebody on PCP."

"Maybe she is," Dr. Otis said.  "That's what I'm hoping to
find out.  I need two, three guards.  Female only." The guard
opened Scully's cell and the light came on.

The woman in the cell made Dr. Otis gasp.  She didn't look
human; the eyes blinking against the light were those of a caged
beast.  The heaving and panting of her chest made Dr. Otis
fearful Scully might have a seizure.  With the jacket on and
her hair tangled and tossed, Scully seemed feral.

"Get out," she panted.  "Haven't you done enough?"

"I've got to have blood and urine samples.  I'd like to do
a spinal tap, just to check on--"

A smile curled around Scully's teeth.  "Try it."

"Is that what you want? Take a few deep breaths, Dr.
Scully, and listen to me.  Can you? Can you understand me?"

"Take this off," Scully growled.

Clare shook her head.  "I've seen this.  Before you do
yourself or anyone else any more damage, I'm going to stop it."
Scully appeared interested, but not mollified.  "Can you complain
about that?"

"Remove the restraints," Scully said between clenched
teeth.  The jacket had her arms laced in front of her.  She looked
small wrapped in the dirty white canvas.

"I can't.  As you know I can take the blood from a vein in
your leg or your scalp.  And I can catheterize you if necessary
to get the urine sample.  I'd rather not.  I want you to
cooperate.  But I have to have them now, Dr. Scully, before your
body processes whatever is causing this."

"Do it -- if you can," Scully said.  She used her bare feet
and her back against the wall to push herself into a defensive,
sitting position.

"I'm sorry.  I know you don't want this but I don't think
you can control it.  When we're done I'll give you a sedative,"

Dr. Otis said and motioned to the guards.  Three of them moved into the 
cell and held Scully in position on the mattress.  Dr. Otis cut away 
Scully's jeans and secured her samples.  It took all four women.  It 
took close to an hour.  As promised, Clare administered a sedative when 
she finished and after a few moments the guards released their hold.  
Scully turned on her side away from them and her body shook.  Clare 
pulled a blanket up to cover her prisoner.

"I'm sorry." Clare Otis touched Scully's shoulder, knowing how much she 
would have hated what had been done to Scully.

"I'll get you for this," Scully said, choking on her rage and humiliation.

"I'll come back to check on you."

"I will fucking get you!"

So what kind of results was she looking for? Clare Otis asked herself as 
she walked back down the isolation hallway.  She had no real expectation 
that drugs caused all this, yet it seemed chemical in nature, something 
that preyed on a human's more violent natural instincts.  She asked the 
lab for a full screen for drugs and alcohol and, as an afterthought, 
reserved some of the samples in hopes a night or two's reflection might
be inspirational.  George was going to kick at the cost of these tests.
**************
Henry Donaldson tried to stop, but the gravel under his feet gave him 
little traction.  He nearly fell on his ass.  While he was flaying his 
arms around trying to keep his footing it was easy for the man standing 
in the path to grab him by the tee-shirt and sling him into the bushes 
by the park trail.  His captor had shadowed Donaldson until he left the regular 
jogging path.  Branches from the bush he'd been tossed in now poked the thinner 
man and his bare legs had cuts and scratches on them.

"What the hell!"

Skinner twisted the front of his tee shirt and hauled Donaldson
to his feet.  "Call it off."

"Turn loose of me," Donaldson said.  "You friggin' ape!
Jesus Christ, Walter, have you lost your mind?"

"Word is Agent Scully's teetering on the brink of that
right now," Skinner said.  He had tried to warn Scully.  And it
hadn't taken long for him to discover he'd been right.  He
thought he had taken precautions to protect her, but he knew he
hadn't weeks ago when he discovered only blank videotape where
he expected eight hours of color picture and sound, and blank paper
where he expected signed documents from Justice.  When Donaldson
came to him with this idea, he should have refused to entertain
it, much less allow Scully to agree to it.  He'd been negligent.
He couldn't let her die for Donaldson's ambition as the men in
his platoon had.

Donaldson straightened his clothes.  "I don't know what you mean."

"I'm talking about one of my agents in trouble."

"Walter, I can't imagine what you're talking about." Donaldson took two 
or three steps back into the path.  Walkers came by this way. People 
would see them.

"There was a riot at the prison.  Scully's in isolation and she's 
nearly-" Skinner stumbled over his words."-she's nearly insane."

Donaldson looked horrified.  "Are you sure?" Skinner thought the man
might cry.   "Are you sure?"

"Not for a few more days.  But I'm not waiting to find out."

"I suggest you step back and take a deep breath."

"Get her out."

"Do you have any idea how much time, money and effort -
not to mention favors - went into this operation?" Donaldson
said.  "This is the best --I mean the best -- shot we have at
stopping these women and perhaps preventing a murder."

"Not at the cost of Scully's life," Skinner said.

Agent Scully was aware of the dangers," Donaldson said.
"FBI agents have always been prepared to make the ultimate sacrif-"

"Don't wave the flag in my face."

"She knew the risks."

"Not all of them."

"But you did, right? You knew I was a-a double-headed snake."

Skinner said nothing.  Donaldson forced a laugh. "Vietnam.  Christ, you 
never get over it.  I made a mistake.  You think I wouldn't change it if 
I could, if I could bring those men back? I didn't know my source was VC.
How could I?"

"This is not about Vietnam," Skinner said.  "It's about Agent Scully."

"Walter, I'm surprised at you.  Truly.  You are showing a
great deal of concern for someone who is merely a subordinate."

Skinner decided to let Donaldson think what he wanted.

"I've asked you before, now I'm telling you: call it off." He
pointed to his chest and leaned in close to Donaldson.  "You
forget.  I know the truth."

"Of what? You may think you know something, but you have
no proof.  I always knew you hated me, blamed me for that
massacre, but this -- accusing me of- of what?  No, wait.  Revenge
can't be the sole reason.  No -- you were very close to this
woman, weren't you? You and Agent Scully.  I'm shocked, Walter.
Yes, shocked that you would lie for Miss Scully.  Your career is
in jeopardy- you could go to prison too."

"This isn't about jeopardizing the operation, is it? You
have something else out there.  Not that I wouldn't put it past
you to sacrifice her life for your career.  But it's something
else too."

"I'm a man of facts.  Here are two big ones: First, there is more than 
sufficient documented evidence to convict your Agent Scully of the 
crimes with which she was charged.  Second, I did you a personal favor 
in engineering that plea bargain and sentence.  Saved the bureau some 
face.  I have a letter to you to that effect.  My secretary typed it, 
my aide delivered it personally."

"You get her out or I will." Skinner said.  His eyes shone dark and deep.

"Get her out? How?" Donaldson scoffed.  "She's a convicted felo--"

Skinner took him by the throat and choked off the last part of the 
word.  His expression didn't change the entire time he watched 
Donaldson turning red.  For a moment, a split second, Skinner thought 
about what it would be like to keep on squeezing until Donaldson choked 
to death.  In his mind that he saw himself in fatigues and Donaldson in 
an officer's uniform.  This is how he had pictured it would be when he 
learned of Donaldson's role in the Vietnam ambush.

None of that would help Scully.

Donaldson fell on the path gasping for air.  Skinner didn't
move for a long time.  He knew Donaldson was right.  His word
against his superior's - and all that evidence they had both
manufactured against Scully.  He still needed Henry Donaldson.  He
nudged Donaldson with his toe.

"You stupid sonovabitch," Donaldson gasped out.  He rubbed his throat.  
"When this is over, she'll be out! With honors! With everything she 
wants! I knew, I knew you..didn't have the guts-to tough it out."

Walter Skinner turned and walked back down the path.  He'd
listened to all the lies he intended to from Henry Donaldson.
He couldn't talk to Mulder.  Scully still needed a contact,
a support system.  He racked his brain for ways to open doors
that Mulder could walk through on his own.  He had one idea.

Scully's tape of the nightly meetings with Donaldson was blank.
His had been carefully erased and damaged, so much so that the
FBI lab had no luck pulling anything off it.  Maybe Mulder knew
of someone with greater skill.  He would make sure Mulder got the
tape.

Donaldson wanted to yell "asshole" after Skinner, but
couldn't find the breath or the nerve.  He sat on the gravel
pulling air in as fast as he could.  Finally he threw a fistful
of rocks in Skinner's direction.

He got to his feet and brushed away the pebbles embedded
in his skin.  Bad luck about Scully's mental state.  However, if
she didn't go crazy this operation was back on track.  Obviously
she'd been tested.  If she survived they would accept her.

When this was all over Donaldson would have to do something about 
Skinner.  That afternoon he told his secretary the marks on his neck 
came from a disagreement with AD Walter Skinner of the FBI and sloughed 
it off as a quick loss of temper soon forgotten.  On his way home 
Donaldson dropped an anonymous note in the mail threatening his life if 
he didn't arrange to release Dana Scully.  His secretary opened it the 
next morning, and he feigned shock before dismissing it.
*****************************
Scully slept.  Wrapped in her own arms she drifted in deep,
dreamless, bottomless sleep.  She would have gladly remained in
this warm darkness forever - in a peaceful sea of blue, a navy
black ocean broken only by people urging her to drink and
shining lights in her eyes.  At last she recognized one of the
faces beyond the lights.

"Hmmmm." Her mouth felt like cotton.  She lay flat on a
rough mattress that smelled of mildew - or maybe something
worse.  Her eyes, soft and bewildered, fell on Dr. Otis in a
question mark.

Clare slipped her hand under Scully's neck and helped
raise her up to drink.  The water ran cool on Scully's sore
throat - it felt as though she'd been screaming for hours.

"Still feel like killing me?" Clare said.

Scully's eyebrows knitted together.  She drank
again, recognizing two of the guards who stood poised behind the
doctor on the balls of their feet. 

"Look into the light." Clare examined Scully's pupils, noting they 
were now normal.  She listened to her chest, checked her reflexes, took 
her blood pressure, and looked into her ears and throat.  Nothing out of
the ordinary.

"Welcome back." Clare nodded to the two men behind her. "Yeah, it's okay." 
Clare began unbuckling the straps.

"Okay from what?" Scully asked, afraid of the answer, afraid Clare 
would change her mind about the restraining jacket. She was weak, 
a dull headache pounding like a drummer just behind her eyes.  She 
had a stale taste in her mouth.  Her muscles felt sore and crammed.  
And she was filthy.

"You went crazy, Dr. Scully.  No nice way to put it.  You popped your 
cork.  I kept you sedated and monitored you for the last 48 hours.  
That took the edge off.  Even so--" She whistled appreciatively.

The jacket slid off Scully's arms and shoulders to her relief.  She 
jerked it off the rest of the way, putting the guards on alert, then 
rolled her shoulders and stretched her arms.

"Pretty safe to say you've got a nasty temper." Clare
nodded to the guards to leave them alone.  They seemed reluctant
until Clare motioned them out again.

"I recall food all over the place and people screaming and -"

"Yeah, well, don't remember too much out loud until you talk to your 
lawyer.  You're going to be formally charged with several counts of 
assault."

"Blood test?"

Dr. Otis frowned  "I am sorry about that."
	
Scully rubbed her scalp.  "No, I don't believe -- I didn't
give you much choice.  Did you find any... ah,mm-m, any results back?"

"What do you think I'll find?"

"White blood cells..I-" Scully paused only a beat.  She remembered one 
extraordinary thing about her last round of tests.  "Increased hormone 
level.  My testosterone should be off the chart."

Dr. Otis looked shocked.  "And Bernice's?"

"I'm guessing.  Slightly elevated.  Test her today or tomorrow and
it's back to normal." 

Clare made a note.  "I'd better ask the lab for some hormone levels, then."

Scully leaned back against the wall and sighed.

"I've been trying to get you to help me with some mysterious cases I've 
had in the infirmary.  You didn't seem interested.  Are you now?"

Scully said nothing. She almost didn't care.

"This happen to you before?"

Scully looked away. She wanted Dr. Otis to leave her alone.

"What the hell is it?"

"I don't know," Scully said.  It came out a bit testier than she intended, though
not by much.

Clare thrust an official looking piece of paper into her hand.  When 
Scully opened it, all she could comprehend was the seal of the Justice 
Department.  She gave up trying to read and shoved the letter away in 
frustration.  She looked at Clare Otis, moistened her lips and said, 
"Are the letters on this paper..are there typos in this?"

Clare glanced at the letter.  "No more than usual.  Why?"

"I can't read it." Scully rubbed her eyes.  She drew her
knees up, clashed her hands together and chewed on her knuckles.

"Is there something wrong with your eyes?"

Scully forced herself to leave her eyes alone.  She blinked several 
times.  "No.  Just a - it's nothing."

"You're not a very good liar. You don't sound like you've had a lot
of practice at it," Dr. Otis said with a sigh. "You'll be out of 
here soon, Dr. Scully.  Back to the pod." Nothing registered so 
Clare went on.  "You'll be in charge there."

Scully blew out her disbelief.

"You have a real chance to do some good," Dr. Otis said.

"Why would you say that?" Scully said. "O-or even think it in the face 
of clear evidence to the contrary!"

"Oh, call it intuition," Dr. Otis said.

Scully studied Dr. Otis.  She looked embarrassed, as though she 
realized what a naïve thing she had said. In her place Scully knew she
would be thinking that no matter what her gut said, her intellect told
her that she wasn't dealing with an FBI agent but a convicted thief 
and shakedown artist - a violent one. 

"Or faith, Dr. Scully, call it the power of things unseen."

"You have power you never imagined.." Scully's knees dropped and she sat
up, her mouth a small O of understanding.

"Power?"

"I-I don't believe violence is power," Scully said.  She heard the 
words fall into the air. She was remembering - something. "Violence 
changes nothing fundamental - I can't believe that's it."

"I couldn't agree more," said Dr. Otis. But she was clearly puzzled.

"I want -- I need to speak with Agent Mulder."

"I'll bet you do." Clare shook her head.  "You don't seem to grasp the 
significance of all this.  That letter explains it.  You're in 
isolation for two weeks.  After that your privileges are restricted.  
You can call your attorney once a week - that's it.  No other visitors.
Sometime within the next few weeks you'll be taken back to federal court
for arraignment on assault.  We used to have arraignments here but so 
many lawyers objected we don't bother anymore.  There'll be a trial
and you'll have additional time to serve."

Scully absorbed the information without comment.

"Your mother's doing better.  Much better, I'm told."  Dr. Otis stood. 
"I'll bet you'd like a shower. I'll okay it." Scully rose with her, slowly
and painfully. Scully tried once, then twice to say something, but she 
couldn't seem to force the words out.  "You have to trust somebody," 
Clare said, trying to be encouraging.

"Agent Mulder," Scully said. 

Clare shook her head sadly.  "There has to be someone else."

"Not for me.  Not now.  Maybe never."

The doctor's jaw dropped in surprise. Clare seemed to think about it.  Then she 
nodded.  "I could call him.  Talk to me."

Instinct.  Intuition.  Scully plunged ahead using the measured tones 
of one accustomed to ticking off such items.  "I've experienced this 
two-three times.  Escalating symptoms with each incident. Strong 
physical reaction followed by mild psychotic episodes.  No drugs I 
could detect."

"Stimuli?"

"Unknown."

"Nothing?" 

"That's often the case with an X - with the work I do-did."  
Scully closed her eyes and swallowed against the headache and nausea 
she felt pushing against the blurriness of her mind.

Clare shook her head.  "I find that hard to believe."

"A perfectly logical reaction." Scully couldn't look at Clare, and her 
disappointment sounded more like impatience. "Beyond that I can't - 
won't - speculate."

Clare's shoulders fell.  She had already planned to contact
Agent Mulder before Dr. Scully went back to the pod.  She just
thought she might be able to have a better idea of the problem
before she saw him.  Without such information she could have to resort
to what she considered a rather cruel method of insuring Agent
Mulder's cooperation.