I thought she was going to die. I wasn't quick enough to keep her from wounding herself, but it turned out to be a glancing shot. It gashed the scalp, bouncing off her skull. She only got a concussion, but it bled, my God, it bled. That was the most dangerous part of it. She eventually took three units of blood.

They couldn't risk sedating her much because of the concussion. It might have been kinder to her if they had. I stayed with her as much as possible. I flat refused to leave the emergency room, and I expect to hear about that somewhere down the line. That nurse was really pissed off.

Waiting for word is hard, but I think maybe it might have been easier than staying with her. They had to put her in restraints. Well, with the combination of what she'd done to her roommate, the suicide attempt, and the violent behavior when they brought her in... It broke my heart watching them treat her. Her strapped down, and that burley intern clamping her head in an arm lock so they could shave the patch around the wound and treat it.

She wasn't the Dana I knew. The threats and obscenities that she spewed would have made that Dana cringe. And the accusations she hurled at me... I kept telling myself that she wasn't in her right mind, that she didn't mean it.

I only left when I heard that they had the roommate down the hall, treating her. Again, they didn't want me there, but I was a part of this case, so they had a hard time denying me. When I got to the cubicle where they were treating her they were finishing up collecting evidence. A policewoman with a Polaroid camera was photographing her injuries.

Free patiently held out her arms, then lifted the hem of the hospital gown to expose the bruises on her thighs. The camera flashed and she started to sing softly, *"Kodachroooome. Give us the nice, bright colors. Give us the greens of summer. Make you think all the world is a sunny day, oh yeah. I got a Mikechrome camera, I love to take a photograph, so mama don't take my Kodachrome away..."*

I must have been gaping. She saw me, and smiled. "You know, they nominated that for class song when I graduated, but the teachers wouldn't allow it. I think it was because of that line 'When I look back on all the crap I learned in high school, it's a wonder I can even think at all.'" The smile faltered. "How is she?"

"She's going to have an awful sore head for awhile, but she'll live."

"Good."

I'm a little surprised by the simple, honest sincerity in that one word. "You're glad?"

"Of course. She's sick. She needs help."

"That's charitable of you. I would have thought you'd hate her."

She looked puzzled. "Dana was my friend. I hate what she did, and I hate what she became--I don't hate her."

A police detective (who had obeyed the admonition to stay outside) came in. "I need to take your statement now, Miss Littlefountain."

She smiles at him, too. "No, thank you."

He frowns. "I know this is difficult for you, but we need to get it while it's still fresh in your mind."

"Oh, I expect that the events of the past month are going to be fresh in my mind for a good, long time. But I don't care to discuss them with you."

"Miss, we need your statement to charge her."

"I know."

"Okay. Now, why don't you start with when you first noticed that something was... off."

"No." She stretches out on the examining table, covering her eyes with her arm, against the glare of the overhead lights. "Doctor, do you suppose they'll have a bed for me soon?"

"Just a few more minutes."

"Look," The policeman is getting irritated. "I can require you to cooperate."

She lifts her arm slightly, and peers at him with something akin to amused contempt. "Dear man, I know you're trying to do your job, but you've heard a little of what I've been through. What could you possibly threaten me with that would intimidate me? Incarceration? I don't think so. Just imagine the publicity. Now, do run along. I'm very tired."

When he leaves, I say, "They can charge her even if you don't file a complaint. They can call you as a hostile witness."

"And I can sit there and smile politely and say nothing."

"And go to jail."

"And do exactly what I threatened, start a media storm." She gave me a perfectly serious look. "I can be very pathetic when I want to. I won't try to prosecute her, Agent Mulder. She's in deep enough shit without my piling it any higher. She's lost her job, hasn't she?"

I shift. "Nothing's official."

"Well, even if by some miracle they keep her on, it'll be deeper in the bowels of the establishment than y'all ever thought about being." She's quiet a moment, then says. "I heard her, down the hall. She's... bad."

"Yeah."

"Are they going to get her help or are they just going to send her to regular jail?"

"She'll have to be committed for evaluation. They'll take it from there." But I was pretty sure I knew what was going to happen. If Dana didn't make a huge turn around, there was no way she'd be found competent to stand trial for what she did. She was going into a facility. I had no idea for how long. I hoped it wouldn't be long, but I just didn't know. The alternating frenzy and blankness scared me.

"Free, what brought all this on?"

She stares at me. "Do you mean, how did I ask for it?"

"God, no. Please, don't think that."

She shrugs. "Why not? I've thought it myself. I didn't, of course. Not... consciously, anyway. But I realize now that I was hungry for human contact, and Dana made me feel... special. At first. It... got out of hand. I think she was already moving toward the edge when I came along. Maybe if we'd met sooner." She shrugged again. "Maybe and might, we could go on all night."

I really didn't know what else to say. I didn't know the woman. For a time, I had believed very unflattering things about her. At last I said, "Do you have someplace to go when you leave here?"

"No."

The single word was so bleak I winced. "I think we'll be able to help you." Hell, I knew the Bureau would help her, up to and including finding her an apartment and getting her a job. It's called 'damage control'.

"I'd appreciate that."

A few days later, and Dana is in a psychiatric facility. The evaluation is finished. She's not going to trial, but she is committed indefinitely, mainly because she's violent when she isn't drugged. She keeps trying to get out--to find Free. There's no chance of her getting out as long as they think she might be a danger to the other woman.

Free has a job in the Bureau headquarters. Just housekeeping, but it pays a lot better than her old one did, and she's going to take secretarial courses. She's getting therapy. I think she'll be all right. I'm not so sure about Dana.

I went to visit her. It was sad and scary. She was wearing a cap, to cover the bald spot and stitches of her wound. She looked thin and pale, and she was doped, her pupils wide, her voice blurry. Apathetic. Yes, she was speaking to the doctor. He had said something about confronting her victim at some point. That caused the only spark of interest during the visit.

As I was leaving, she asked if I had seen Free. "Yes. She works at the office now."

"How is she?"

"She's... okay."

I went to the door. As I was leaving, she called out. "Mulder?" I turned back. There was a wistful expression in her eyes. "Does she sing? She used to sing all the time... before."

Pills and boredom and talking about things I don't want to talk about and thinking about Free and missing her and wanting her and why the hell are they trying to keep me away from her and her away from me because I know she wants to see me...

*Breathe, Dana. Slow.*

*Oh, God, what have I done?*

"I need to know that she forgives me."

The doctor studies me. "She has said that she does."

"I need to see her, so that I can believe it."

"You're not ready."

More days, more pills, more boredom, more talking and talking and talking and why did I do it? Because I needed someone outside the world and she was that someone, and she became the world.

"You've improved, Dana. I think, if she consents, it may be time."

I do not scream. I remain calm, and they make the arrangements.

That morning I take particular care with my appearance. The hair has grown in fairly well. I borrow lipstick from one of the neurotics. I am almost hyperventilating by the time they come for me.

I am carefully instructed. Stay on my side of the table. Do not get up. Do not attempt to touch her. Someone will be with us at all times. I am a little relieved to find out that the someone will be Mulder.

He is standing by the wall when I am brought in. She is sitting at the table. I tremble, but I sit down like a good girl, and the attendant leaves.

She looks at me solemnly. I drink her in. She looks so good. She's a little thinner, but the bruises are gone. I see the faint pinkish bands around her wrists, and feel guilt. They probably will not fade for a long time, if at all. At last she says, "Hello, Dana."

Her voice is kind. I feel tears begin to well up in my eyes. "I'm sorry," I whisper.

"I know."

"I was wrong."

"Yes."

"I hurt you."

"Yes." She pauses. Then says softly. "I hurt you, too."

"Free, no..."

"Yes. Not consciously, but I did. It didn't have to happen, though, Dana. I was never really going to leave you. I was just... startled. Confused. Unsure. If you had waited..."

I squeeze my eyes shut. "It might have been different."

"It might."

"Free, can you forgive me?"

I am startled when I feel her hands close over mine. And I hear her voice, warm and low.

"I don't like you, but I love you. Seems that I'm always thinking of you. Oh, oh, oh, you treat me badly. I love you madly. You've really got a hold on me. I said you've really got a hold on me. I need you and all I want you to do is just hold me, hold me, hold me..."

I feel the tears start to slip through my lashes, but I'm smiling.

The End