From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 6 Oct 2003 23:56:26 -0000
Subject: Am Nothing (1/1) by ScamBeliever
Source: revision

Reply To: scambeliever@hotmail.com


TITLE: Am Nothing (1/1)
AUTHOR: ScamBeliever
EMAIL ADDRESS: scambeliever@hotmail.com
ARCHIVE: Sure.  Tell me where so I can come visit. 
RATING: PG
CLASSIFICATION: S, A
KEYWORDS: M/S UST
SPOILER WARNING: Redux
SUMMARY: How hard is it to choose between your soul and your heart?


Am Nothing
By ScamBeliever


Now I know how a suicidal feels.  The loss 
of hope.  The tempting prospect of death.  How 
it feels to slowly stroke the cold steel of a 
knife or that of a more accessible weapon for 
an FBI agent whose world is crashing to a 
hellhole-a Bureau issued Sig, contemplating his 
mortality.

As I drive back to the hospital, the thought of 
suddenly swerving towards a pair of approaching 
headlights, a lightpost, or anywhere that can 
end the bleeding of my soul by the bleeding of 
my body, has crossed my mind more than a few 
times.  But my sudden death would be an escape.  
A selfish route. And I owe her more than that.

Her.

The car jerks a little as I keep my hands from 
trembling at the thought of her.

And Samantha?

I blink through invisible tears for my tears I 
have shed for Sam have long since dried up.  
Have I not wept enough for her?  Having just 
seen her may bring fresh ones and I try hard to 
keep myself in check.

She is real.  She is alive.  She held my hand 
or I held hers.

She also pleaded for me to let go.

All of my life, I've looked for her, the 
obsession that drove me forward.  And when I 
finally found her, she begged for me to let her 
go.

That was the most painful moment of my life.  
When she tore away her hand, so did my soul.

I wanted to be angry and scream to her the hell 
I've been through searching for her, as much as 
I wanted to cry and beg for her to understand.  
To come with me.

But I knew it was futile as long as the black-
lunged,
seemingly immortal nemesis holds her firmly.  
And he holds her confidently, as a cigarette 
holds more of the smoker and expects to carry 
on its addiction.

I slow to a stop.  Red light.  I stare at it as 
I ponder the consequences of letting Sam go.  
Second thoughts pounded through reason almost 
commanding my arms to turn the wheel and speed 
back.  Even if it meant a second rejection.  
Even if it meant seeing her on a
smoke-leash held by the Cigarette Smoking 
bastard.  Even if it meant giving up on Scu...

BEEP.  BEEP.  BEEEEEEEEEEEP!

Green light.  I step on the gas and the car 
lurches forward.  Fear courses through my body. 
The fear that I've shoved, locked, nailed and 
bolted in the recesses of my wornout 
consciousness.  It hurt more than I realized 
that I've thought about it.  That I could
give up and leave her alone now that she needs 
me more than she'd ever admit.  Now that I need 
her more than I should, knowing that the 
possibility of her dea...gone...No!

No.

I will not accept that.

I park at the barely filled parking lot of the 
hospital.  
It's long past visiting hours and if the nurses 
are going to be a problem getting past to, I'll 
shoot them on the spot.  I had vowed not to 
miss a day to visit her, an unspoken promise 
more for myself than for
her.

I creep to her floor where she stays without a 
problem.  I feel like running towards her room.  
The need to see her battles with my need to 
breathe.  I stop and stare through the square 
glass on the door.

She is asleep.  Quiet.  Momentarily peaceful.

Finally I breathe and I'm almost contented.  
Almost.

I slip through, unable to tear my gaze from 
her.

I stand corrected.  THIS, is the most painful 
moment of my life.  I never thought this kind 
of pain even existed.

Until now.

She looks deceptively frail, so different from 
the person I know.  She looks weak, vulnerable, 
beaten.

So achingly beautiful.

I want to touch her so much just to reassure 
myself that she is real but I'm afraid that 
when I do, I might lose myself.

My body resists the persistent commands of my 
mind and I kneel by her outstretched arm almost 
dangling at the side of the bed.  I hold it as 
gently as I could, trying for the life of me to 
keep from clinging helplessly to her soft, 
small hand.

And as I'd known would happen, I break down.

One simple touch zeroed in on every kind of 
emotional trauma I went through when I made the 
decision to let my sister go.

Because one simple touch dawned on me the 
realization that I wouldn't be able to give 
Scully her silent plea.  To let nature take its 
course.  To let the disease take what it wants.

I cry uncontrollably but silently for the 
selfish person that I am.  Because I am 
confused and frightened and angry.  But most of 
all, because I am weak.

My tears flow rapidly, soaking her hand and I 
whisper my
apologies.  I wipe it carefully away and wish 
the tears could wash away the truth.  That I 
cannot accept the fate she is slowly believing.  
That even if it hurts me more to know that I'm 
the constant reminder of her suffering, I 
cannot bring myself to distance myself from 
her.

Because if I do, I am left with nothing.

I become nothing.


END

***************

Author's note:  Am I cancer fic fanatic or 
what?  Feed me please at scambeliever@hotmail.com. 

Thank you for taking time to see a bit of my X-
Files insanity. :)