From jcsp@netropolis.net Tue Feb 04 21:11:06 1997 Graceful Exit, Part 1/3 "Admittance" by Suzanne E. Corynadgh Pitcher 'Zanne This is my first posting on the X-Files list, so bear with me if I don't follow procedure perfectly. Disclaimers: Not my characters, not my show, but you knew that already. I promise to return them to their original, upright positions at the end of the flight. CC, 1013, and Fox - don't sue me, it's not like we're making money - just passing some time. Summary: Scully begins to make decisions about her life - and death - after she tells her partner that she has cancer. Spoilers: YESYESYESYES! Leonard Betts, Never Again, Pilot, etc... Category: V, MSR. Really sad. Rating: PG-13 for adult situations, no actual sex. A little bad language. Warning: Lead character dies. Scully, Mulder angst. Mild MSR, but no more than one would expect in the last episode. Okay, you're all going to hate me for this. But I just finished reading Sarah Kiley's "All The Little Pieces That She Left", and I can't stop thinking about this. I've been really morbid as of late, so much so that my roommate has mentioned my strange behaviour. Sitting through 4 ½ hours of Hamlet Sunday didn't help. I'm sure. Dedicated to my mother, who taught me so much about recovering from such a loss. You were so strong - too strong sometimes. The four of us remember. He's waiting for you in Alaska, Mom. Thanks to Deb for her humor yesterday when I needed it. I've got to stay away from the death stories for a while. ................................. Graceful Exit, Part 1/3 "Admittance" by Suzanne E. Corynadgh Pitcher, 1997 "Mulder, I have cancer," she'd told him. Zero percent chance of survival. A thousand emotions played on his face at that moment. Love was only one of them. She'd never spoken of it, and now she knew it was something he felt, too. She'd suspected it for a while, but their work had been too important. Too important for a life. No, nothing was so important that you didn't live. Now, it was too late. Too late for both of them. They might have months - six, maybe. Damn! She was a doctor, and didn't even know! Months of torture - pain, torment, mental anguish, guilt, searching for something. And that was just on Mulder's part. That said nothing of her own plight. Her pain seemed minimal at this point. She was going to die - big deal. He, on the other hand, would have to live. Live with losing her, feeling as though he caused her death. She knew how his mind works, although he would never admit it. Dana Scully wriggled in his arms, causing him to stir in his sleep. This was one of the first times she had seen him sleep peacefully. He looked so much younger without his brow set hard in pain. This was all it took. Making love to her. Telling her how he felt, although what good was it doing them now? She loved him, too. She always had. Since he held her while she cried on that first case. Mosquito bites, she snorted at herself. Spooky Mulder had set her on edge that first trip, but somehow, she had trusted him enough to come into his hotel room wearing nothing but her bra and panties, exposing herself to him in the dark. Knowing that he would make everything all right. He had a talent for that. But he couldn't make it all right this time. He wouldn't give up hope, though. She knew that. He would search until the end, when he was so exhausted that his own death would soon follow hers. She couldn't have that. She couldn't put him through that. This all seemed so surreal to her, to him. Something as ordinary as cancer shouldn't kill her. Tonight, she'd wanted to leave him with a beautiful memory. She wanted him to always remember her in his arms. Of course, that was selfish of her, she knew. It would make it that much harder for him to be with anyone else. She didn't want that. She wanted him to leave the Bureau, go to teach at some university somewhere, marry a beautiful woman who was an even match for his wit and sarcasm. Someone to make him forget this life. But she knew that would never happen. Fox Mulder never forgets anything, and he will take his feelings for her to the grave. She needed to make this as easy as possible for him. She couldn't bear to have him remember her dying in a hospital, breathing through a tube, a free reign on the morphine dispenser. No, she wanted him to remember her healthy, alive, loving him. Dana got up and took the cordless phone into the living room. She was at least glad that they were in her apartment, where it was relatively safe to walk around barefoot in the dark. For all his wonderful qualities, the man is a pig. Reservations made, she went back to the bedroom and cuddled back into his chest. They fit together perfectly. She'd noticed that the first time he'd held her - with the mosquitoes. There were changes to be made to her will. People to call and say goodbye to. No, that wasn't right. Just tell them that you love them. Goodbye in your eyes is enough. Don't leave them wondering. Things to get together. Her mother would help Fox. No matter how bad Margaret Scully's own pain was, she would help Fox through this. She was probably the only one who understood their relationship. She knew that what they had ran deeper than the love of lovers. ........................................... End Part 1. -- 'Zanne Suzanne E. Corynadgh Pitcher PWFC MFW MVFW CSMABF Clan MacLeod Society, USA, South Central Region, Houston Council Royal Scottish Country Dance Society, Houston Step We Ceilidh, Traditional & Original Folk Dancing of The British Isles Texas Association of Professional Legal Assistants "Being a Red-Head, you must simply accept having to perform a certain amount of Damage Control." - unknown From jcsp@netropolis.net Tue Feb 04 21:14:07 1997 Graceful Exit, Part 2/3 "Escape Route" by Suzanne E. Corynadgh Pitcher, 1997 Disclaimers in Part 1. Mild MSR, PG-13 only for emotional distress - I don't think anyone younger should read this. V. Scully reflects on her life - and Mulder's future. ............................ Vacation. Camping. Quiet woods, with no one but ourselves. Normally, I am not a big fan of truly "roughing it", but I'll trade the Port-A-Johns and primitive, icy showers of a campground for being alone this time. We don't need to be disturbed this week. Fox - now that he actually lets me call him that - is in better spirits today. He was very quiet when we arrived yesterday. The silence got to him, I think. He gets nervous in the mountains with me - and Alaska, no doubt. I didn't think about that. *Two points for stupidity, Dana Scully.* I've always wanted to go to Alaska for a vacation. I'd actually thought of retiring here. That's why I wanted to go. Not because of the bad memories it held for us both. It hadn't even crossed my mind. It's so beautiful here in the summer. It takes so long to get dark, even here in the shadows of Mt. McKinley. I'm glad I finally got to see this. With him. I admit to fantasizing on more than one occasion about retiring with him in a cabin somewhere near here. He knows, I'm sure. He must. *Mental Note: Let him know. Stop assuming so much, Dana.* We have a week, then I have to get to work. He keeps fussing over me. I try to hide the nosebleeds, but he's not blind. It's easier to play off the headaches. It's my turn to shelter him - to step between him and my own Roche. Not let him see the pain I'm in. I need to be strong for him. If he saw me break down, he couldn't handle it. Making love is one of the nicer things about all of this. No more boundaries. There's no time for them. No room. It's crowded enough in this tent. Fox is the tender lover I'd imagined all these years. Gentle, patient, showering her with tender kisses everywhere. I have to admit I was nervous about that. I'm not his physical type, I know, but it goes beyond that. Those movies he watches - I was afraid that I would be too reserved for him. Maybe he senses that and only goes so far with me. No, he's not holding anything back. This is Fox Mulder. When has this man beside me ever shown an ounce of self-restraint once his emotions get ahold of him? ........................................... This has to be done. I keep telling myself that's it not a sin. This is sparing so much pain to everyone around me. To Fox. He laughs at my religious beliefs, but I suspect that he envies my beliefs - my ability to have faith in something beyond. I wish he had it. Everything's in place. The note, my will is settled. Everything packed and organized. I'm a doctor. This is going to be easy. No sleeping pills, no razors and warm water. No, something much easier to deal with. No pain, no blood. But peace. I hope. No! I can't! Not yet! One more night. I need to be with him once more. I can't go before that. Tomorrow, after one more night in his arms. I hope I never forget that feeling. ........................................... Okay, I chickened out last night - drove to his apartment in the middle of the night like a lunatic, wearing my pajamas. He didn't seem disturbed by the sight of me. He was awake, I could tell. I knew it would be a long time before he slept again, but it's better this way. Someone will find me soon. Fox will be back from his mother's in the morning. If nothing else, there's the e-mail I sent Skinner. That was horrible, but delayed mailing was all I could think of. Skinner would take it better than Fox. The note. I want Fox to find it. I didn't want to mail it - I don't have much faith in the USPS. He'll find it. With my cross. I had to take it off for what I'm doing. This is easy, Dana. Just give yourself the shot. You'll go to sleep. One day, Fox will be with you. Hopefully, no time soon. It's not suicide, and your soul will not be condemned to Hell for wanting to spare her loved ones the pain of watching her lose her mind as the tumor ate her away. Just one shot... The syringe fell out of her tiny hand onto the floor, breaking the tip of the needle off and sending it across the floor. ............................................. End Part 2 -- 'Zanne Suzanne E. Corynadgh Pitcher PWFC MFW MVFW CSMABF Clan MacLeod Society, USA, South Central Region, Houston Council Royal Scottish Country Dance Society, Houston Step We Ceilidh, Traditional & Original Folk Dancing of The British Isles Texas Association of Professional Legal Assistants "Being a Red-Head, you must simply accept having to perform a certain amount of Damage Control." - unknown From jcsp@netropolis.net Tue Feb 04 21:16:01 1997 Graceful Exit, Part 3/3 "Solitude and Understanding" by Suzanne E. Corynadgh Pitcher, 1997 Disclaimers in Part 1. Mild MSR, PG-13 only for emotional distress - I don't think anyone younger should read this. V. Scully reflects on her life - and Mulder's future. *This part is being inspired in part by "My Dark Life" off of the CD "Songs in the Key of X", and by Geoffrey Oryema's "Solitude", off of the soundtrack to "The Red Shoe Diaries". ........................................ Mulder sat on the bed across from Dana's body. Dead. She had taken her own life. Why? For him. He knew that before he even asked the question. So he wouldn't suffer watching her grow weaker, dying slowly. She wanted to save him that pain. Two nights ago - she came to his apartment in the middle of the night, wearing her pajamas. Upset. Wanted nothing more than to make love to him. To be held. She must have been planning this for a long time. Alaska. The tiny tent that forced them into each other's arms all night. Why couldn't she have given him more time? He just wanted a little while longer with her. He needed her to live. Of all the places a dying woman wanted to visit - all the things she wanted to see and do, she chose to shack up in a tent in the middle of nowhere in Alaska with him for a week. That was what she wanted. Her life's dreams. Then he saw the note on her nightstand. His name in her familiar physician's scrawl. He thought he was the only person on earth able to read her handwriting. He climber further onto the bed, sitting next to her still body. She was so tiny. He'd always been amazed when he noticed just how small she actually was. Not much over five feet tall. Not much over a hundred pounds. But strong enough to keep him down when the need presented himself. "Dear Fox," he read, and began to cry. Just the sight of his name - his real name - in her writing, brought his world down. Not, "My Dearest Love, Fox", nothing fancy. Simple. Unassuming. That was their style. "Dear Fox," he read again. "If I know you, you're sitting or laying next to me right now, and you haven't even thought of calling the coroner yet. Don't wait too long. Please. Don't worry about calling my mother - Skinner will do that for you. Just take care of yourself right now. "Why? You've probably asked yourself already. You know why, though. I couldn't let you watch me get sick. I am dying. I am dead. I couldn't change that, but I could change how it happened. I don't see this as suicide, though. My religion teaches that taking your own life is wrong, I know. But my life wasn't mine to take. It had already been taken from me - from us. It doesn't matter how it was taken, or by whom. Don't go around trying to avenge my death. That's exactly what they want. They knew what they were doing. They wanted to destroy you. Killing you was too easy. Killing me would make you destroy yourself. "No, don't play into their hand. Let it go. Know that I'm waiting for you on the other side. I wish you believed that. Believed in something. It bothers me to think of you running your entire life. No one to love, to grow old with. I'd hoped that would have been me with you one day. Alaska, a small, remote cabin, going into town for supplies once a month. Relying on each other's company for the rest of our days. Peace. "A strange concept for you, I know. But it was my fantasy, and you can't deny me those. You never could. I had many, and you were in them all. "Don't dwell on what we didn't have. Think of what we did have. A beautiful friendship. A love that exceeded anything either of could have ever imagined, even if we were lovers for only a brief moment. That was enough, Fox. Enough for me. "Find solace in the fact that you gave me the most precious gift ever: yourself. Look in the drawer of the nightstand. I've had this for a week." Fox slid open the drawer, pulling out a plastic wand of some sort, securely wrapped in a clear plastic evidence bag - a plastic test of some sort, with a little pink line across a piece of litmus paper. He read on. "Yes, I know that it will die with my body. I only wish I could bring it to term. To leave her for you to raise. But as a doctor, I know I wouldn't have had enough time. The pain, the headaches, are getting worse. Not much longer. "Her? You're asking yourself. I know, it hasn't been long enough for me to know. But women know these things. She has red hair and dark hazel eyes. I've dreamt of her many times. Tall, like her father, towering over me before her 13th birthday. Her name is Samantha Katherine. Light freckles dust her nose and cheeks, and she has a birthmark on the small of her back. Like me. She has her father's passion, although she's a bit more well-grounded sometimes, being the product of both our genes. Finally, we've reached a happy medium. She's forever leading the kids in the neighborhood off on some wild adventure to discover the truth about the frogs in the creek that runs behind our house. They're not of this earth. She has to know the truth, as do you. "Never wonder what she looks like, what she would have been like. I've just told you. Take that as more than the ramblings of a dying woman. As I write this, I am a living woman. A mother, in love with the man of her dreams. The most beautiful man I've ever seen. "She'll have married someone you didn't think was good enough, although he loves her more than life - the way you love me. But it's your daughter, and you won't see that. Fathers never do. No one is good enough. I think my father would have had to eat his words on that one. You were good enough. "Go on, Fox. Live, don't spend your life dying, waiting until we see each other again. We will, I promise you that. I believe. I know that you want to believe, too." Once again, simple, she signed it, "Love Always, Dana." "P*S* - Look in the bottom of my closet. Behind my shoe rack. Wrapped in paper - I just had it framed for you last week when I found out about the baby. I love you." Fox began to cry, sobbing uncontrollably as he held Dana's body against his. He couldn't lose her. He couldn't believe that he would never kiss her, touch her again. He had to call the coroner. He knew. He couldn't even remember the address when he made the call, so he hung up and called Skinner. Skinner would handle it. Scully had known that. "P*S*," she had written, he remembered as the coroner examined her. Fox walked over to her walk-in closet, filled with her suits, still hanging in their dry-cleaning bags, her tiny little shoes all lined up along the bottom. There it was, behind the rack that held her pumps. A picture, he'd guessed. Of what? Of the two of them? Of her? He ripped into the paper and caught his breath at what he found. A portrait - of Dana, himself, and a little girl, with red hair and his eyes. Freckled lightly dusted her nose and cheeks. A hint of mischief in those eyes. He cried out without realizing, enough to make Skinner come into the closet. A family portrait. A familiar signature scrawled across one corner. Dana K. Scully. It was the date that caught his eye. March 1994. He looked down at his watch just to make sure - June 20, 1997. .......................................... The End Questions, comments, flames, please contact me at . This is my first posting, so I'd really appreciate anything feedback I get. -- 'Zanne Suzanne E. Corynadgh Pitcher PWFC MFW MVFW CSMABF Clan MacLeod Society, USA, South Central Region, Houston Council Royal Scottish Country Dance Society, Houston Step We Ceilidh, Traditional & Original Folk Dancing of The British Isles Texas Association of Professional Legal Assistants "Being a Red-Head, you must simply accept having to perform a certain amount of Damage Control." - unknown