Title: Last Words (Part 1 of a three-part series.)
Author: Julia duMais
Rating: Hmm. This is a problem. Let's see, character's about to die, 
MAJOR ANGST, MSR, I'd say R. 
Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance, LOTS AND LOTS OF ANGST,
Character Dies.
Summary: Scully's cancer is getting the best of her, and this is the
last few hours of her life.
Spoilers: So far, Redux and Gethsemane.

   You are holding my hand, you have been holding it for the
last...eternity. You have not left my side for days. You have not     
slept, 
you 
will not eat until I do, you have never even had coffee. Maybe you
don't want to waste the precious time I have left. I don't want to. 
  As I stir, your eyes drift to mine. I stare into them again, seeing
them for the first time. Your eyes are so deep, so dark, and yet so
bright. Your eyes are a deep grey-green. I can see the pain in them, the
anger, the sadness, and yet, there is something in them that I cannot
place, almost a joy, that is strange, but that I am glad to see there. I
am glad that this is almost over, that I will not bear this any longer. 
   But that is a selfish thought. What about you? You must now carry the
burden yourself. I do not want to leave you, do not want you to blame
yourself. But I know you will. I know that nothing I say can change
that. I know that every glimpse of me, every time I strain to blink, to
nod or shake my head, to eat, you are torn apart. I want to take that
pain away from you, want you to bury it with me. But you will not. You
are too proud, too noble to do that. No, you will carry the burden, you
will smash your mirrors. I know you, Mulder. 
   Mulder, I hope that you will let me take some of your pain with me
when 
I leave you. If I must leave you, I want to leave you happy. As
close to happy as you can ever be, anyway.
   I hope that you can forgive yourself, Mulder. If I had ever blamed
you, I would have forgiven you already. I hope that you can forgive the
world, and God, and expose the men who did this. I hope you can forgive 
them for taking the most important people to you.
   Mulder, I know that this will be a powerful blow to your spirit.
Those men took your sister, your father and mother, and now, they've
taken your partner. I know, though, that you will continue, and you will
expose those men. Expose the hundreds of coldblooded murders they've
performed. Expose the lives they've destroyed. Expose the pain they've 
brought to so many people. I hope that you can continue on without me. I
hope you will see the strength that I know is there and you will go on. 
You can, Mulder. I know you can. I just hope you know you can.

   I have closed my eyes, but I do not sleep. Not until this is over 
will I sleep. I will continue my vigil until you are gone. Now, I am 
alone
with my thoughts. With my pain, my anger, my hatred of myself, myself 
and the world. The hatred of the people who did this burns bright inside 
me. The sons-of-bitches took everything that mattered in my life.
They took Samantha, they took my father, they took my mother. They 
wouldn't let me alone. 
   And now, they take you.
   But what they gave me I do not welcome. They gave me guilt. They gave 
you this cancer because it would keep me in line. Your life was fucked
because of me. You are here, in this bed now, because you did not leave 
me. And, although before this if you had left me I would have been 
crushed, this is worse. You would have lived had you left. But, a 
selfish 
part of me is glad you didn't leave. I am glad that you did not leave me 
to continue my pursuit alone, but not at this price. I cannot stand 
myself now, because you stayed. You followed me, you led me, you helped
me stand. I found myself at my brightest when you were with me. It was 
as though I was performing for you, or perhaps you inspired me. When you 
first joined me I wondered how I would continue my career with a spy 
watching my every move. Now, I wonder how I 
lived
without you as my partner. 
   My mind races back to that time, a few months ago, when you were 
healthy. We were called to my mother's home to identify two bodies that 
had been found. Two woman. You could see the family resemblance in them. 
When I pulled back the 
sheet 
on the first, it was bad enough. Mom lay there, under the sheet. She had 
a bullet hole in the middle of her forehead. I then reached for the 
second sheet. It was a woman on her stomach. I couldn't see her 
face,
but I saw the stab wound at the base of her neck. And I saw the red 
blood that soaked the carpet, the sheet, and her clothes. 
   And I knew. 
   Even without being turned over, I knew who it was. But they turned 
her over anyway. 
   It was her. The one from which all the Samantha clones were formed. 
Her eyes, a dark-chocolate-brown, were the same. It was her. It was my
sister.
They took her from me, did God-knows-what to her, they took her who 
knows how many times, and then they killed her. Her corpse is an image 
forever imprinted on my mind. 
   You are stirring now, and I open my eyes. I look into your eyes, the 
only part that is the same, that I can still see. They are the same 
ice-blue. Your hair is gone, but you do not hide the dome of your scalp 
with a scarf. I finger the lock of bright red gossamer threads, tied 
with a green ribbon, that I 
carry 
with me all the time. It is all that I will soon have left of you. 
   You have lost your sweet voice, too. One day, you were in the middle 
of an argument on a case we were remembering. "Mulder, if those girls 
really were witches, then why-" Suddenly you cut off. Your eyes went 
wide, and 
you
seemed to freeze. I thought you were dying. I'm glad you weren't. But I 
miss your voice. I miss your arguments, your jokes, your sarcastic 
comments about me. But now, we speak through our eyes. That is enough.
   I failed you, Scully. I thought I'd found a cure two years ago, but 
it was that damned deionized water. I played into their hands. They used 
me. I was part of the hoax, the false impression that they had found a 
cure. I'm sorry. I can never forgive them. But I can never forgive 
myself, either. You lied for me. You covered my ass with that story that 
I was dead. And I couldn't find the 
cure. 
It was there, I know it. And I couldn't find it. I found a damn vial of 
water. I'm sorry. I've failed you. And I've failed myself.

   I stare at the man in front of me. He is heavy, greying, but he is 
younger than 
me. 
And he does not smoke. I reach into my pocket as he reads the report I 
have written and pull out a packet of 
Morley's.
   Finally he speaks. "There is only one step left."  He reaches into 
his pocket and pulls out a 
vial. 
It is filled with bright blue liquid that seems to glow. I know what it 
is, and I do not want to use it on her. "No." I say.
   He looks at me in mild surprise. "No?"
   "No," I repeat, "no."
   "Why not?" He is 
suspicious 
now, and angry. But his feelings do not show. "It is the final step."    
"Because she will be gone in a few hours anyway. We shouldn't do it."
   "But-"
   "No. She is in pain, but this will be worse. Besides, it will make 
him angry. His religion will be a crusade."
   "Fine." He puts the vial away. "You have a choice. You will give her 
the poison, or you will leave the project."
   I stare at him for a moment, then turn and walk out of the room.

   I stand by my daughter's bed. "Dana? Are you feeling okay, honey?" 
It's a silly 
question, 
of course. How could my daughter feel okay when she's about to die?
   But, nonetheless, she nods, and I try to smile, and hide the 
tears 
from her.
   I turn to Fox. "Fox?" 
   He looks up at me. It's as though he cannot bear to 
talk 
around my daughter.
   "May I speak to you outside?" 
   He stares at me, then looks back at Dana. For the first 
time 
in a few days, he unclasps his hand from hers. He pats her arm 
reassuringly, and she smiles a tiny smile back.
   I, the doctor, and Fox stand in the hall.
   "Fox, we need to tell you something." I say.
   He looks at the doctor. He still has not spoken. 
   The doctor starts to speak. I know what he will say, and I don't like 
it. But I know that Fox will respect it. It is my 
daughter's 
last wish. 
   "Mr. Mulder, Agent Scully has asked that you do something for her. 
You know that she does not wish to live like this. It is stated in her 
living will."
   He nods.
   "What she may not have told you is that she took something, a drug, 
that will kill her, when the time comes. Allow me to explain. Upon her 
hospitalization, we gave her an injection of a new drug. This drug has 
been developed for terminally ill patients. When she feels it is 
necessary, she will be injected with another typr of drug, that goes 
along with this one. These two counteract to form a combination that 
will bring her down in about one half-hour. However, it is not a simple 
in her case. She has requested that, in case she were in a coma at that 
time, it be you who injected it."

   I stare at this doctor. I cannot believe this. Scully asked me to 
kill her? I am sad that she would give me the 
responsibility, 
and, in fact, almost angry. I don't want this burden. It's not enough 
that she's dying because of me in the first place, I have to finish the 
job?
   "I-I can't do it. Please, don't make me."
   Mrs. Scully looks up at me. I see the 
tears 
in her eyes. "Fox," she responds, "I won't make you do this. I can't. No 
one can make you do this. But please, please, do it for Dana. When I 
look into her eyes, I can see her pain, her sadness. I want to take that 
away from her. Fox, you must believe me, if there was another way to 
make my baby girl better, I would take it, immediately, no matter what 
it cost. But, Fox, this is the only way. Please, Fox. For Dana. If you 
love her." Now she is 
crying,
and I know that I must. I know that I love Dana. Love her more than 
anything. I feel a hot tear run down my cheek, followed by three others. 
I am alone, and faced with the hardest decision I have ever made, will 
ever make. I know that I must, but I am selfish, too. I think that maybe 
I can keep her alive by my love. But I cannot. I must do this. For
Dana. 
For my love. 

   I enter her room, holding the small IV bag behind me. She looks at 
me, questioningly. I blink back my tears and hold up the bag. I tell 
her.
   "This is the other half. Are you-are you sure?"
   She looks down, swallows. I see a small drop fall onto her bed. I 
want to take her in my arms, cuddle her like a small 
child, 
kiss her tears away. But she looks up at me, and nods slowly. 
   I move to the IV pole beside her bed, and unscrew the half-empty bag 
already there. I replace it with the bag of emerald-green syrupy liquid. 
The
poison
oozes slowly down the tube. I watch it, then turn and sit next to her on 
the bed. She puts an arm around me, as do I. We are both crying.