From: thalia@goodnet.com (Thalia D'Muse) Date: Thu, 12 Jun 1997 09:57:16 -0700 (MST) Subject: ************************** THE BEAST WITHIN (1/1) by Thalia D'Muse Completed: June 1997 ************************** DISTRIBUTION: Please archive. *DO NOT POST TO A.T.X.C.* SUMMARY: Scully contemplates her future as a battle rages inside her body. CLASSIFICATION/RATING: VA, mild R (for implied sexual situations) SPOILERS/WARNINGS: US4 Spoilers, up to and including Gethsemane. Hints of Mulder/Scully intimacy but this is *not* an MSR. DISCLAIMER: CC, 1013 and Fox own Mulder and Scully. Need I say more? AUTHOR'S NOTES: My humble contribution to the Summer of ScullyAngst. Big thanks to Amy for the quick read and good advice. FEEDBACK: Yes, please. Send it to thalia@goodnet.com. ******************** THE BEAST WITHIN by Thalia D'Muse ******************** There is a monster growing inside me. A creature more malevolent than any I have faced, real or imagined. The monster grows, expands, living a parasitic existence within the confines of my body. The monster consumes me from the inside out. I am but a shell of my former self. I had never understood that phrase, always brushing it off as a highbrow cliche'. Now I live those words. This last round of chemo invaded more of my body than any previous treatment. However, the one thing it failed to destroy was the one thing it was sent to seek out and kill. The beast within continues to grow and feed, mocking me each time it enlarges, thriving on my inability to battle it effectively. The new treatments are innovative, on the cutting edge of technology, or so I am told. Experimental treatments for an experiment gone awry. I honestly believe the cancer was an unfortunate side effect to whatever was done to me. An accident, something not planned. A mishap of science for which I will pay with my life. It is ironic that I will die at the hands of science. My precious science, always surrounding me in its quilt of logic and solidity, will be the weapon of my destruction. And with all of its infinite wisdom, science cannot save me. It cannot even manage to prolong the inevitable. The irony leaves a taste in my mouth far more bitter than the chemo. Only two weeks after being called to identify the body of my partner and best friend, I began the new treatments. My body already emotionally devastated, I subjected it to its physical destruction as well. All food turns my stomach. Even a simple saltine can send me running for the nearest bathroom. My hair, though not falling out in handfuls, is thinning, its lustrous auburn replaced with dulling orange. My body is thin, worn, tired. So tired. Half of my days are spent praying that I will slay this evil beast and survive. The rest of my days I pray that I won't, that I will find freedom in another form, and will see Mulder again. Mulder. He is dead because of me. Because of what was done to me. Both of us pawns in a twisted game of chess, the king of the board being a man who reeks of cigarettes and death. It is his game played by his rules. Whenever we get too close to exposing the king and his court, he slants the board and we fall helplessly into his clutches. King takes pawn. The scene playing in my head comes from a science fiction movie. A chess board of holographic images, the game pieces taking the form of creatures of all sizes and shapes. The game nears an end and two pieces remain. The victor's game piece, a repulsive beast, takes the opponent's creature into its large paws and heaves it overhead, then violently slams it to the board. Checkmate. The beast laughs. His opponent is destroyed. His victory is unchallenged. Mulder was my Dragonslayer, my Beastmaster. He risked his life challenging the beast, trying to find ways to bring about its destruction, trying to find ways to free me from its strong grip. Mulder, my handsome knight in Armani blue. He loved me. I know he did. He wasn't the Prince Charming I used to spend nights dreaming about when I was a little girl. Mulder showered me not with flowers and professions of love but with his undying loyalty and respect. Far from romantic, but no less a precious gift. In a way, Mulder *was* the man of my dreams. He frequented my dreams more than I care to admit. Some of the dreams good, many bad, and still more of them so vividly erotic I blush just thinking about them. In those dreams he would make love to me, filling me with his life, his love, and I fed off him like a baby nurses from its mother's breast, my hunger insatiable, my passion immeasurable, my need endless. In those dreams, I welcomed his hard intrusion into my body. I welcomed it with open arms and open mind. I would awaken from those dreams alone, shaken, empty. A love unrequited, a need unfulfilled. I need you, Mulder. How could you leave me now? You promised to slay this beast, but instead, by your own hand, you have slain my only hope. After your death, a perverted side of me thought *they* would cure me, trading your life for mine. One pawn for another. I am disgusted with myself for thinking that, for thinking I could profit from your demise. I hope you can forgive me. I hope I can forgive myself. We will be together soon, Mulder. I can feel it. I am in my sixth week of the treatments and they have not stopped the monster. It continues to grow, latching onto my very essence with poison-dipped claws. It will not let go. I can hear the beast's laughter echoing in my ears as it throws back its hideous head in maniacal snorts of fire and death. Claiming me as its conquest. Victory is near. Soon it will begin to force its way into my thought processes. I will not let it get that far. I will take away its source of food, starving it to death as it starves me of life. I would rather face the wrath of a god I barely believe in anymore than let this monster rape my mind. One way or another, I will be free. THE END