

It had been Scullyapos;s own insistence that she was fine, and her own change of heart that had put her into the driverapos;s seat of her car at two in the morning. Falling asleep hadnapos;t been impossible but avoiding what she saw behind her closed eyes and felt in the sense receptors of her mind was another matter entirely, and she was constantly struck with the realization that what she was feeling wasnapos;t real, that it was a psychological manipulation of past events she had experienced and -
- and that didnapos;t make her scream any less in pure, unadulterated terror every time.
She hadnapos;t bothered with socks, had only shoved her feet into the first pair of shoes she could find and wrapped herself in the fluffed comfort of her bathrobe before lifting her car keys and disappearing at a clipped pace down the walk. Pulling out in her car took half the time it should have and the drive to Mulderapos;s apartment building took a fraction of the time it normally would have. All regard for her own safety was placed somewhere in the back of her mind and Scully knew she should be angry with herself but now all she wanted was to get inside and shut the door on the darkness behind her. Every shadow seemed to be concealing a threat, and when hurried footsteps ran up behind her in the hallway Scully whipped her head around so quickly a sharp pain jolted through her neck.
Two minutes later she was knocking on Mulderapos;s apartment door.
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