From: Shaarra@aol.com Date: Sat, 24 Jun 2000 17:51:50 EDT Subject: The Longest Night (1/2) by Sharon Weisenborn Source: direct TITLE: The Longest Night, Part 1 AUTHOR: Sharon Weisenborn E-MAIL ADDRESS: Shaarra@aol.com SPOILER: Redux I RATING: G CLASSIFICATION: S A SUMMARY: Scully's anguish after she identifies Mulder's body. DISCLAIMER: Chris Carter is the lucky keeper of these wonderful characters. I just borrowed them for a short time. No harm or infringement was intended. Fun was my only motive. Thank you CC. THANKS: To Heather, for being the first to read this story and (as any dutiful daughter should) telling me it was worth trying to post (even if it probably is a lie). Also to Charlotte Unsworth for her help as editor. FEEDBACK: I would love to hear what you think, but please be gentle. I am a fanfic virgin. This is my first time. THE LONGEST NIGHT, PART 1 This had been the longest night of Dana Scully's life. Like Ebenezer Scrooge, she was visited by her ghosts of the past, present and the future, yet to be... The room was dark, except for the glow of the moon through the open window. Scully sat on the bed, starring at the wall with unseeing eyes, the events of the past two weeks replaying in her mind. -X- The sheet covered body on the floor beside the couch. A hand pulling it back to show the face, or what was left of it, "It him?" -X- Skinner stepping from the elevator, "Agent Scully. Is it true?" -X- Shoving her revolver into that Cigarette Smoking Bastard's face. "I should kill you right now for what you have done." His denial, "I had no hand in Agent Mulder's death. His decision to cut his losses, so to speak, was purely his own. He was, after all, just a man. One apparently unable to live with himself and the fact he was being used all this time." -X- Starring Skinner down, over the top of his desk, her face mere inches from his. "You can NOT take me off this investigation!" His weary reply, "Agent Scully, there is NO investigation. The case is closed. Mulder's official cause of death is suicide." "I WILL NOT ACCEPT THAT. I will NEVER believe that he would kill himself. Mulder was murdered, and I WILL prove it, even if you won't help me." Skinner's quiet sigh, "Agent Scully, you're distraught, in denial, and your health... You are not up to this." He shakes his head; "I am ordering you to take some time off. You need time to adjust and you need to rest. You are not well. I am placing you on indefinite medical leave as of now." -X- She and the Gunmen, sitting silently in Mulder's apartment, after the memorial service, each lost in their own thoughts. From where she is seated on the couch she can see the blood stain on the carpet. Frohike handing a beer to each, then standing to his feet and raising his drink to the ceiling in a salute, the others following suit. "To Fox Mulder, a great man, and an even greater friend. We miss you, buddy." Taking a long drink of the bitter brew, self-consciously wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. They sit in silence again, for a time. Byers clearing his throat, "Agent Scully, the guys and I want you to know that we will do anything that we can to help you find Mulder's killer. You will continue with the X-Files, won't you? Carry on Mulder's quest?" Shaking her head, "No. I can't. The X-Files are gone, closed. I have been removed from duty. I won't be going back. You will have to continue the work for me, for us, for Mulder and I." She can feel their eyes upon her, the unspoken questions. "Something I was not able to tell Mulder before... My cancer has spread. I have a month, maybe more," and with a bitter laugh, "maybe less." Byers kneels before her, gently taking her hand. "Oh God, Scully, I am so sorry. I didn't know." Frohike takes her other hand, tears in his eyes, "I promise you, Agent Scully, we will find Mulder's killer. And no matter how long it takes, we will find who did this to you." She bows her head, "Thank you," she whispers, "I'm counting on that." -X- Byers calls every day to update her on their investigation. They discuss leads and possible suspects. Frohike appears, every day, to escort her to the hospital for the radiation treatments. He tries hard to raise her spirits, keeping up a light banter, as Mulder would, no doubt, have done. And every day the only thing she wants to talk about is Mulder. Every day she needs to take more pain medication then the day before and every day she grows weaker. -X- "Her guardian angels" she smiled sadly to herself. Scully suddenly realized that it had become quite chilly. She crossed the bedroom to stand by the open window. The night was quiet and there was little traffic on the street down below. "Empty, just like my life," she said in a hushed voice. She closed the window and drew the blinds tight. She turned back toward the bed, but paused beside the bedside table. She studied the pill bottles for a moment, then opened them, one by one, until she had a handful of tablets and capsules in a variety of colors. "If I have to continue to increase my pain medication at this rate, I won't have to wait for the cancer to kill me," she mussed, "I'll just die in my sleep from an overdose." With her fist full of pills, Scully headed for the kitchen. She had to pause several times on the way to rest and catch her breath. She was still amazed at how rapidly her illness had progressed and how weak she had become in such a short period of time. Finally reaching the kitchen, she opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of water. Glancing at the shelves neatly arranged with juices, yogurt, and fruits, she smiled slightly to herself. The sight reminded her of her other guardian angel. -X- On that day, nearly 2 weeks ago, when Skinner had removed her from duty, Scully had returned to her apartment feeling both frustrated and hurt. She could not believe that he would do that to her. She thought he had known Mulder better than that. He had backed them up many times in the past, and now, when she really needed him, he was not even willing to give her a chance to prove that Mulder's suicide was a sham. Before she had left the Hoover Building, Scully had taken the closed case file on MULDER, FOX WILLIAM, and stuffed it into her briefcase under a stack of expense reports. She spent the afternoon rereading the account of Mulder's death and the subsequent investigation, if you could call it that. The Bureau had not really even tried to find out what had happened. The report stated that Agent Mulder was moody and unpredictable, and often employed unorthodox methods in his investigations. He was labeled a loner, and was known to have frequently ditched his partner at crucial points in his investigations. His investigations into the paranormal, alien abductions, and unexplained phenomena, added to the speculation that at times he had shown unstable tendencies, described him as a deeply troubled man. He had been arrested several times, and on one occasion had even assaulted his superior. With a report like this, it was no surprise that the Bureau accepted his death as self-destruction. The autopsy report gave only minimal information: fingerprints, toxicology results, and DNA analysis. She had been prevented from viewing the autopsy. The body, -*his body*-, had been cremated immediately afterward, at Mrs. Mulder's request. She had not even been allowed to see him again. A knock at her door shook her from her depressing thoughts, and she was surprised to see that it was already 4:00 in the afternoon. Not expecting company, she cautiously approached the door, weapon in hand. The ones that killed Mulder might have finally decided to come after her. "Who is it?" she called. A moment's silence, then, "It's Walter Skinner, Agent Scully. Please, I need to speak to you." Scully jerked the door open and stood glaring at her boss. Skinner swallowed hard, hoping that the murder he saw in her eyes would not cause her to use that weapon clutched in her hand, on him. "Please, Scully!" His voice was low, sounding almost desperate. "I know I am the last person you want to see right now, but I have to talk to you." Scully stepped back out of the doorway, allowing Skinner to enter her apartment, then closed and locked the door behind him. She sat on the couch, motioning for him to take the seat across from her, Mulder's case file spread out on top of the table between them. She still held her weapon. "What do you want?" she asked bitterly. "Did you come here to finish the job? To eliminate the other half of your problem?" "My God, Scully," Skinner gasped. "You really think I came here to kill you?" He took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. she thought to herself. "I've done a lot of things in my career that I am not proud of, Scully," he continued, "but I would never harm you. I had no choice in relieving you from duty, that order came from 'higher up' the chain of command. Someone, up there, doesn't want you investigating Mulder's death through official FBI channels. I think we both know who that is." Scully nodded slowly. She knew whom he meant. She had already confronted that cigarette smoking bastard about Mulder's death. Of course, he denied everything. She had nearly blown his head off. That would have given her a great deal of satisfaction, knowing that he had died by her hand, but then she would have been no better than him, becoming a monster in her need for revenge. In the end, she had resisted. Again Scully asked, "What do you want?" Skinner took a deep breath, and then exhaled loudly. With conviction in his voice, he said, "I don't believe Mulder committed suicide, no matter what the Bureau says. And I will do anything I can to prove that. Even though getting you out of the Bureau was not my idea, I hope that will keep you out of danger. I'm worried about you, Scully. I have already lost Mulder, I don't want to lose you too." Scully sat with her mouth agape as Skinner spoke, her eyes filling with tears. He hadn't abandoned her. -X- From that day on, every afternoon at 4:00, Walter Skinner would arrive at Scully's door. He usually arrived carrying a bag of groceries, her mail, or her medication from the pharmacy. He would go directly to the kitchen and prepare her a light meal. While she tried to eat he personally delivered a report on the progress of his investigation. Over the next few weeks, Skinner had exhausted all of his resources, legal and otherwise, in his attempt to track down Mulder's killer. In the end they knew nothing more than they had at the beginning. Everything indicated that Mulder had died by his own hand, but still, Scully refused to believe. -X- Today had been a particularly bad day for Scully. She was extremely weak. Frohike had to get a wheelchair to take her from the car to her treatments. Half the way home she became violently ill, and they had to pull off onto the shoulder of the road. Frohike gently held her hair back out of her face as she leaned out the door retching. When she whispered her gratitude she could see the tears in his eyes. Back at home, she had to lean heavily upon him just to make the walk to her apartment. Once settled on the couch, Frohike removed her shoes, fetched a blanket and pillow, then a cold washcloth and a glass of water. Hovering over her, anxiety written all over his face, he felt helpless. He did not know what to do to help her. He finally just sat with her as she rested. She was finally able to persuade him to go home after assuring him that Skinner would be there in just a few hours and that she was actually feeling much better. They both knew that last part was a lie. He made her promise to call him if she needing anything, then reluctantly he left. Shortly after that, her doctor called. "I'm sorry, Ms. Scullly, but the results of your most recent blood tests are not encouraging. Your treatments, so far, appear to have had no effect upon your form of cancer. It is unclear, at this time, whether continued treatments will be beneficial. I'm so sorry." Scully didn't remember the rest o f the conversation. She lost it then. She cried and screamed in anguish. She threw the phone across the room, and in futility, beat her fists against the couch. She was too weak to do anything else. And then her mind began to shut down, closing in upon its-self, trying to insulate her from the inevitability of her death. She began to withdraw from reality. Hours later a dazed and disoriented Scully opened the door to admit Skinner. He was concerned that it had taken her so long to answer his knock, and one look at Scully's face told him that she was in serious trouble. As Skinner closed the door behind him, he saw Scully's eyes roll back. He was able to catch her limp body before she hit the floor. Quickly placing her on the couch, he knelt beside her. He grasped her wrist, his fingers frantically searching for a pulse. He was flooded with relief when he finally found the steady rhyme. He brushed the hair back from her forehead, and as she opened her eyes, he pleaded with her, "Please, Scully. Please let me take you to the hospital." She shook her head. "No. No hospital. The only thing they can do is keep me comfortable, give me drugs. I can do that here myself." She could see the look of doubt on his face. "I know that I am running out of time," she said. "I have made arrangements to go into a hospice facility when I am no longer able to care for myself. They provide care for cancer patients in the end stages of their disease. I promise you that I will go there soon." He cleared his throat, "You need to get some rest." He helped her to her room and into bed. He got her a glass of water and the morphine. "I'll stay for a while, if that is alright. You might need something." Scully could only nod. Skinner could see that she was drifting away again, withdrawing into herself. With a sigh he drew a chair close to the bedside and sat down to begin his vigil. He spent the night watching Scully breath and wondered how many times Mulder had done so before him. Her life was coming to an end and that fact deeply saddened him. As the sky began to lighten with the first touch of dawn, he quietly slipped from the room. He thought about stretching out on the couch, then opted for another chair instead. He took off his glasses and rubbed at his tired eyes. Then he put his face in his hands and quietly cried for his friends: the one he had already lost and the one that he was about to lose. He had not meant to fall asleep, but was awakened by the touch of a small hand upon his arm. He looked up to see a tired smile on Scully's face. "You didn't have to stay all night", she said. "I didn't think you should be alone," he replied. They both recognized the unspoken concern. If she had died alone in the night, who would have known? "I'll stay with you until Frohike gets here," said Skinner. "He's not coming," replied Scully. "I have made some decisions. I called the hospital and cancelled my treatments. The doctor said they weren't working anyway. I also called hospice and told them I'm ready. It's time now," she said with a small shrug. "They can take me tomorrow." "Do you want me to call your mother?" Skinner asked quietly. "No. Not yet", she replied. "I'll call her later, after I get sett led in there. It was so hard for her to watch Missy die. I want to spare her as much of this as I can", she said sadly. Then I will stay with you until then," he replied, "and take you there when you are ready to go." "Why are you doing all this for me?" she suddenly asked. "Because I care about you, Scully, and it's what Mulder would do if he were here," he said before he realized it. He saw the pained expression on her face and silently cursed himself for mentioning Mulder at that particular moment. "I'm sorry", he whispered, as he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I am so sorry." She placed a tiny hand over his, squeezing it gently. "Thank you, I would appreciate you going with me tomorrow. But you don't need to stay with me until then. You are needed at the Bureau, and I need some time alone before I have to leave," she whispered. "Are you sure it's wise for you to be alone?" he asked quietly. "I'll be fine," she said in a hushed whisper. "But, I promise to ca ll you if I need anything." Scully spent the rest of the day drifting in and out of sleep. She dreamed about Mulder and the years they had spent together. Sometimes her dreams were about the future together that they would never have. Then she would wake up crying. Toward evening the pain had become really bad. She knew that she had already taken too much pain medicine, but it really didn't matter anymore. She briefly worried that the excessive amount of drugs she was taking might cause hallucinations, then she drifted off back into the past again: to Mulder and a time when there was no cancer. END OF PART 1 THE LONGEST NIGHT, PART 2 Scully sat on the bed, her eyes squeezed shut against the hot tears, willing herself not to cry. All through the long night her ghosts and demons had haunted her. She relived the events of the last few weeks over and over again, in her mind, until she thought she would go crazy. Clutched to her chest was the photograph of Mulder that she had removed from his FBI Personnel File. Skinner had known that she had taken it, but she did not care. They didn't need it anymore, but she did. This photo, her grief stricken mind had reasoned, was a way to keep him close to her. She could look upon this image, even though his earthly body was gone. Not that she needed the photo to remind herself of his features. She had long ago committed every line and curve, every shadow, to her memory. At just the thought of Mulder, his image would instantly spring to life within her mind's eye. Perhaps a little of Mulder's photographic memory had rubbed off on her after working together for so long, she thought ruefully. "Wouldn't he have found that amusing", she sighed, and with that thought, the hot tears threatened once again. How could he have left her like this, she wondered again for the ten thousandth time. Sick, dying actually, and now, dying alone. He had tried so hard to be there for her, to be strong for her, and she had kept pushing him away. The last time she had pushed too hard, telling him that he was the reason she had been given this incurable disease. That time, the rejection and guilt had been more than he could bear, and in despair he had ended his own life. "Oh God, Mulder," her heart cried out, "I'm so sorry. I miss you so much." The incredible anger that she had felt toward him, immediately after his suicide, had finally given way to other emotions. Hurt, that he could have done such a terrible thing to himself. Guilt, that she could have been the cause of his self-destruction. Denial, that all this was a horrible dream from which she would soon awaken. Pity, for herself and Mulder. For all that they had lost, all that they would never have. And then, finally, acceptance. He was gone. Really and truly gone. And she was alone, dying alone. She sighed again. She didn't want to be here anymore; not without Mulder. There was nothing left to do. The X-Files was closed. After Mulder's death, Skinner had pulled her off of the investigation into his death, and put her on indefinite medical leave. He had told her she could not come back to work until she was "up to it". , she thought sarcastically. With the cancer raging through her body, devouring her from the inside, both she and Skinner knew she would never return. , thought Scully. But death by a bullet, in the line of duty, would have been easier to accept. Rather then a slow, agony filled cancer death. Days of pain, puking her guts out from the chemo and radiation treatments, living in a narcotic induced stupor. In the end struggling for each breath. Dying by inches. Death by a bullet would be easier. . ? Scully wondered. Then after a minute, ? She supposed that there must have been some pain, however brief, as the bullet tore through bone and brain, before he found his release in.....Where? "Wherever you are, Mulder, it has to be better than here" she whispered. "I want to be with you." Scully rose from the bed and opened the drawer of the nightstand. She had kept her service revolver there since being placed on medical leave. She seemed to spend all her time in the bedroom these days. The narcotics made her sleep a lot, when the chemo and radiation weren't making her throw up. It seemed to be a good place to keep her weapon. As good as any, and it was close by, incase she needed it. She found that she needed it now. She returned to the bed, clutching the photo of Mulder to her chest with her left hand, the service revolver in her right. It felt good to hold the cold metal in her hand. It had been such a normal part of her life. She was so tired. Tired of living and even more tired of dying. She closed her eyes and there before her was Mulder's beautiful smiling face. Her heart ached. She wished that she could hold him in her arms and tell him just how much he really meant to her. She had always been afraid to take the chance, now she would never have the chance again. "I love you, Mulder," she whispered, "wait for me" and slowly raised the revolver to her head. -X- Scully's bedroom door was open. The only illumination was a faint glow from the moonlight that managed to penetrate the tightly closed blinds that covered the window. Mulder paused in the doorway, the sight greeting him causing his heart to freeze in terror. Scully sat on the bed, her back to the door. In her right hand she held her service revolver, the barrel firmly pressed against her right temple. Mulder could not breathe. He was terrified. The fear he felt for Scully had him paralyzed. Afraid that if he startled her she would die before his eyes. Afraid that if he did not stop her she would die before his eyes anyway. Afraid to do anything, he could only utter a hoarse whisper, "Scully, don't." It was so soft, she only heard it at the very fringes of awareness, "Scully, don't." She gasped and her eyes flew open. , she thought, her rational Dr. Scully mind surfacing. , she wondered. Then she heard it again, "No, Scully. Please". Her head whipped around, scanning the room. Probing the darkness for....what? Then her eyes fell on the open doorway. She gasped again. In the dim light she could see a figure, a very familiar figure. He seemed so hazy and indistinct. Was he a ghost, or was it just the narcotics at work? she thought. The figure took a tentative step forward and spoke again, "Scully?" The revolver slipped unnoticed from her numb fingers. Scully bowed her head and wept. She was afraid that he had come back from the dead to save her from herself, but she didn't want to be saved. "Please, let me die" she begged. Mulder knelt before her, his heart breaking. Saw the crumpled photo still clutched in her hand; recognized his-self. These were his anguished thoughts. "How can you be here? Am I dreaming?" she whispered, between sobs. "I've prayed that we would spend eternity together, but never dared to hope that it would be true. Have you come to take me with you?" Tears were running down Mulder's face as he reached out with a hesitating hand and placed it against her left cheek. Her head jerked up, her eyes widening in shock and disbelief. "I'm real, Scully" he whispered as he caressed her face. "I'm here to help you, Scully, but not to help you die." His voice broke, and the last word came out as a sob. Then she was in his arms, burying her face against him. They knelt together on the floor. He held her close and gently rocked her as all her grief and anguish poured out in hot, bitter tears. They ran down her face onto his neck, mingling with his own tears. Her body shook with great, racking sobs. She cried out as all her fear and pain resurfaced, hitting her almost like a physical blow. The storm of her emotions broke with hurricane force. The depths of her suffering horrified Mulder, but he held her tightly, and they rode out the violent storm together. After what seemed like a very long time, her heart wrenching cries began to abate. Her tears had run dry long ago. Mulder stroked her hair and rubbed her back as her shuddering, gasping breaths began to quiet. He kissed her forehead and whispered soft words of comfort. He did not know how long they had spent kneeling on the floor, clutching each other, but after a time he gathered her small form to his chest and stood, cradling Scully in his arms. She was exhausted, having cried herself to sleep. He gently laid her on the bed, then lay down be side her, once again cradling her fragile body in his arms. Mulder's feelings of guilt were monumental. He cringed inwardly knowing full well that he was the cause of Scully's condition. Her cancer, this "breakdown" (it was the only thing he could think to call it) that he had just witnessed. How could he ever face her again. What he had put her through was inexcusable. Hours passed, but Scully never stirred. She was physically and emotionally exhausted, but her present state was one more of unconsciousness rather than sleep. Mulder was worried. He gently eased himself away from Scully and sat up on the edge of the bed. It was then that he noticed the medication bottles on the nightstand. He switched on the bedside lamp and read each label carefully: narcotics, sedatives, tranquilizers and drugs to stop nausea and vomiting. He knelt beside the bed, brushing silken strands of flame red hair from her cheeks. He noticed then how extremely pale she was. Her lips were gray, her eyes were sunken and there were deep purple smudges beneath them. He bowed his head as a new wave of tears began to run down his cheeks. He took a shaky breath and steadied himself against the bed. He called her by name. "Scully. Scully, can you hear me? Please, you have to wake up." She moaned, and it was his name that he heard. She heard someone calling her from far away. The voice reached through the blackness that surrounded her and she recognized it as Mulder. Even in her foggy, heavily drugged awareness, she knew that it was a dream. Mulder was dead. , she thought and her mourning began again. She wanted to curl her mind into a tight little ball, and hide in the dark where nothing could find her, especially the grief. But Mulder's voice kept calling her, insistent, demanding her attention. Slowly her mind drifted toward the voice, back to consciousness, like a swimmer rising toward the surface from the depths of the ocean. She lay still, not wanting to open her eyes, not wanting to face another day without him. Then her eyes fluttered open briefly and Mulder's anxious face flashed before her. She sighed and quickly shut her eyes against the tears. She knew that she would see visions of that face every waking or sleeping moment, every day, for whatever time she had left to live her life. Then she heard him call her name again, and the memories of what had happened during this long night came flooding back to her. She sat up abruptly and threw her arms around his neck. She could not believe it. She ran her hands through his hair, caressed his face, held his hands, all the while repeating, "You're here. You're really here." He held her close, allowing her to fulfill the need to just feel his arms around her and feel the beat of his heart. "You're alive!" she said, confusion evident in her voice. "Mulder, how can this be? " Her eyes searched his face for the answers. This was the moment Mulder had dreaded. Could she ever forgive him? Would she hate him? "Scully," he began. "The last thing that you said to me was that you were given this cancer to make me believe the lie. 'They' were killing you because of me. The knowledge of that made me sick. I had failed you in so many ways already, I didn't think I could live with myself knowing I was the cause of your death. I thought that if I was dead, maybe there would be a chance that they would save you." He paused, trying to find the best way to tell her. "I..... I had decided to commit suicide that night." "My God, Mulder" she gasped. "I didn't know. I didn't know that I had hurt you so badly. I was shocked when Kritschgau told me those things. I wanted you to see what they were doing to you, to see how they were using you. I blamed myself for your death; that I had driven you to kill yourself" the anguish evident in her voice. Then in a small hurt whisper "How could you have allowed me to go on believing that?" He still held her close, but could not bring himself to look at her. He knew in his heart that she must hate him. "I'm so sorry, Scully. I never thought you would take my death so hard. I thought that it would be a relief to you that I was gone. I deserved to die because of what I had done to you." "No, don't you ever say that Fox Mulder" she said fiercely. "Don 't you ever say that you deserve to die. How dare you believe that your death would mean so little to me? It was as if my heart had been ripped out. I thought I would die too." She began to cry again softly. "I wanted to die." She shook her head, "Right now I am so angry with you that I can hardly see straight, but, my God, I am so glad that you are alive" she said as she hugged him fiercely to her. Scully shook her head again, still finding it hard to believe that he was alive and here with her. "Mulder, I don't understand what happened. Who was the dead man in your apartment; the body I identified as you?" Mulder was shocked. He was not used to Scully revealing so much of her emotions and was unsure how to respond. He took a deep breath. She deserved the truth, all of it. He had withheld it from her long enough, and would never be able to forgive himself for that. "I got a call that night, just before... I was sitting there trying to think of a reason not to pull the trigger, and then the phone rang. I hoped maybe it was you," he said in a hushed voice. "The caller told me not to do anything stupid. That I still might have a chance to save you. Scully, don't you see?" he said, tenderly lifting her chin so that he could look into her eyes. "I would do anything to save you. I would sell my soul to the devil, or Cancerman, if it meant keeping you alive. I agreed to meet with the man on the phone and within minutes he was at my apartment. He told me he was a member of the Consortium. That he had become disenchanted with their plans and horrified by the continued experimentation on human subjects. He knew everything that had been done to you, Scully, everything. He even had documents and photos to prove it." He shuddered, remembering the photos, pausing to collect his thoughts. "He wanted to make a deal. He wanted my help to expose their plot and arrange for he and his family to be protected. He was prepared to fake my death so that I could go underground with him, until all the plans were ready. In exchange he would give me the treatment to reverse your cancer caused by the experimentation." She abruptly pulled away from him, burying her face in her hands. "No, Mulder, please. Please don't do this to me." Her shoulders slumped. "No more false hopes. I don't have time to pretend anymore." She sighed and took his hands in hers. "I didn't get to tell you before," she shook her head sadly, "but my cancer has spread. It's in my blood, traveling all through my body now. There is no cure and I am going to die. You have to accept that, as I have." "No!" he shouted, pulling his hands free, gripping her shoulders. "No, I will not accept that. I will not let you die, Scully." Scully slowly stood, forcing him to let go of her. She stood with her back toward him, her head bowed. "You have no choice," she said with sadness in her voice, then unsteadily walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Mulder rubbed his hands across his tired eyes. This was harder than he had ever imagined. He believed that he was doing the right thing. That his contact within the Consortium had provided him with a legitimate cure for Scully's cancer, but convincing Scully of that was another matter. He knew she would fight him on this, with her logic and need for scientific proof, but he had never expected the resignation and helplessness that he saw in her expression, heard in her voice. It was even evident in the way that she moved. She had given up. She had quit fighting the cancer, and it was all his fault. Mulder stood up and stretched, working the muscles in his shoulders and neck. He was tired, worried, and frustrated, and he did not know how he was going to convince Scully to go with him tonight. He starred at the bathroom door for several long minutes, lost in deep thought, than shook his head. He walked to the bedroom door, paused to glance back for a moment, then headed for the kitchen. -X- Scully leaned back against the bathroom door, her eyes closed. She was trembling, her legs weak. Suddenly she did not have the strength to take another step. Her body slowly slid down the door until she rested on the cold tile floor. She wrapped her arms around her chest, gasping for breath. The pain was bad this time. Her skull felt ready to explode. The stabbing pains in her chest and abdomen kept time with her breathing. It had been hours since she had taken any of the morphine that helped her to tolerate the increasing intensity of the cancer induced pain. Trying to swallow back the sobs threatening to escape, she drew her knees against her chest and toppled to the side. "Oh, dear God" she prayed, as she pressed her forehead against the cold tiles, "Please, don't let Mulder see me like this." Remaining as still as possible, Scully concentrated on slowing her breathing. She needed to be in control. She needed to push the pain away, distance herself from it before it overwhelmed her. After several minutes she was able get to her knees, then grasping the edge of the sink she pulled herself to her feet. Leaning heavily on the sink, she turned on the tap, splashing cold water on her face and the back of her neck. Scully lifted her head and looked into the mirror. She gasped as she saw the face that starred back at her. The pasty color of the skin, sunken eyes, and gaunt cheeks were those of a dead woman. She closed her eyes against the sight. "Not yet, please," she begged. "I need more time. Just a little more time, to help Mulder through this." Wearily she pushed the damp hair from her face, straightened her shoulders, then turned and opened the door. -X- When Mulder returned to the bedroom he found Scully, standing beside the nightstand, holding the pill bottles and the revolver. She looked up with a guilty expression, as if she had been caught doing something illegal. He came around the bed quickly, taking the revolver from her. "Scully, what were you doing with this tonight, when I arrived?" he said, dreading the answer even as he asked the question. She slowly sank onto the bed. He sat be side her, gently taking her tiny hand in his. She tried to speak, stopped and cleared her throat. Her voice was scratchy, hoarse from fatigue, pain, and hours of crying. She spoke barely above a whisper. "I have 10 days, maybe a couple of weeks, at the most." Mulder moaned softly and closed his eyes. "You were dead. I had no reason left to fight. Nothing left to live for. I missed you so much. I just wanted it to be over. I wanted the pain to end. I just wanted to be with you," she said, gazing at him with haunted eyes. Mulder's hands shook as he reached up to cradle her face, brushing his long fingers over her cheekbones, feeling the tears that dampened her skin there. "You were going to end your life because of me," he said, the words heavy with his pain and guilt. He bowed his head and wept. "You were going to end your life because of me," her words echoed his, and she wept with him He clutched at her hands, "Please, Scully. Please, listen to me," he pleaded. "You don't have to die. I know that you don't believe it, but it's true. I have seen the proof, the cure for your cancer. Come with me now. I can take you to someone who can cure you. You have always trusted me before. Please, Scully, trust me now. Your life depends on it." Scully was silent for a long time. She thought about her future, the pain and death that awaited her. She thought about Skinner, who would arrive, in a few short hours, to take her to the hospice facility where she had planned to spend the few remaining days of her life. The place she had chosen for her death. She could have a quite death, in a strange place, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, or she could fight to live. She saw the fear in Mulder's face, and suddenly knew that she could not deny him. She did trust him, and she would follow him anywhere. She had done it many times before. She had sought to follow him into death just a few short hours ago. Why would she not now follow him, if it meant a chance that she might live, a chance that she would be with him? "Yes," she whispered softly, looking deep into his eyes. "I will go with you. As long as I have the strength, I will follow you." A look of relief replaced the fear in his eyes. He took her gently into his arms. "And when your strength is gone, I will carry you." he replied as her kissed her on the forehead. He helped her stand, then supporting her with his arm firmly around her waist, Mulder lead Scully out into the night. THE END