From: "Copper Ashley" Date: Tue, 25 Mar 2003 14:48:59 +0000 Subject: On the inside by Copper Ashley Source: direct Author: Copper Ashley E-mail:copperashley:hotmail.com Title: On The Inside (1/1) Rating: PG Disclaimer: Scully and Mulder are not mine and never will be, they belong to the tremendous imagination of Chris Carter etc. Category: Scully angst, MSR Spoilers: None directly, S4 mainly, touches on Memento Mori and Elegy but is pre Redux Archieve: ANYWHERE but please keep my name and e-mail attached Summary: Scully discovers that it really is good to talk. Authors note: This story deals with the real impact of terminal or long-term illness which is something I am personally acquainted with. The way Scully describes herself has been largely influenced by my own experience but I think it still reflects her character. For anyone who may be learning to live with, or coping with long term illness or terminal disease talking about it to people you love can be a real struggle, but I hope this helps if only in a small way. Feedback: Of course, you really need to ask? If this has helped anyone then I have fulfilled my life purpose and would love to hear from you.Tell me if you think it warrants a sequel. Special thanks to Basil, Anna, Larry, Kingston and Suz for inspiring me to write, for getting ME talking and for providing numerous shoulders to cry on. Love you all very much and will repay the favour any time. On the Inside Prologue I am scared. I am scared and that is the bottom line. This fear is what drives me to act the way I act, to say the things I say and to hurt you despite my best intentions. I cannot admit to you the despair I feel and yet it tears me apart every waking moment. I breath and my lungs burn, I try to run but every muscle of my being aches for release. I am trapped so I do the only thing that I am able. I drop to my knees in the dead of the night, when I know there is nobody to hear my screams but the teddy bear you gave me for my birthday who sits on my pillow and God, and I vent my anger for all I am worth. I am in agony. Angry at myself for being this way and angry at God for ignoring me as I lay on the dirty floor crying tears of blood and praying for forgiveness for sins I can not account for but which I know I must have committed. And you wonder why I keep this from you? I am protecting you from me, and in doing so protecting myself from you. I can not carry us both through this and I feel the greatest sense of guilt imaginable because I know you want to be with me, but I don't have the patience to deal with your pain. I am sorry. Please for give me. Scully's apartment "Thank you for coming" "I came as soon as I got you message...You gonna let me in?" "Sorry, yeah. Please come in." This is it. It is crunch time. I know you are going to pale when I tell you all the things I've been avoiding for such a long time. This is going to hurt you so much, and yet you have no idea. You walk past me, brushing against my arm as you go, and I watch you remove your jacket and throw it heavily down on the sofa. My blood is starting to boil under the weight of my condition. My throat begins to tighten and I fear that no words will escape my lips if I try and speak. So I say nothing, merely stare at you with distant eyes that mask so many emotions that I have yet to face. You turn and look at me directly. I know you are nervous, but please be strong for just a little longer. "So what's going on Scully? Everything alright?" No everything is not all right, far from it in fact. "Can I get you a drink or anything?" I know this is merely delaying the inevitable but I am only human. "I'd rather have an explanation." Point blank. Straight to the point. Thanks Mulder, thanks a lot. I start to panic. I need more time. I'm not ready to spill my soul just yet. Oh God, what to say, how to start it's all a blur. I planned this so well but as usual you came in and blew it all to hell. You can see my agitation increasing. I'm clicking my fingers at my sides just trying to kill more time. How ironic, killing the one thing I'm desperately trying to hold on to. I can't do this. I'm sorry. The silence is broken. "What is it Scully?" You move painfully slowly in my direction and the thought of physical contact right now terrifies me, so I do what comes naturally -- turn and walk away. I know what will happen next, and you do not disappoint me, your hand catches my wrist. Fire on ice. I am frozen but your words begin to melt me. This is what I feared the most, breakdown. I will not do it. Come on girl, take a deep breath, stand up straight do whatever it takes but do not cry. You do not turn me, instead you walk in front of me essentially blocking my escape root. Your other hand comes to rest on my shoulder and it burns. What will you think of me when I'm done? How will you take this? Oh God, please be strong for just a little longer. "Talk to me Scully. Please." Sad eyes meet my own when I finally look up at you. You are so cruel without even trying. If you offer me sympathy you might just as well take out your gun and shoot me where I stand. If you cry for me you might just as well rip my heart out with the very hand that comforts me. That said, you have a right to know now, so here it is. "Mulder, sit down." II. "I never realised how much I loved my life until now. But at the same time there are so many things I'd do differently if I had the chance," you are refusing to look at me choosing to stare at the coffee table instead. I am somewhat glad as seeing your eyes right now would destroy the last shred of resolve I have left. I continue. "I never expected this, Mulder. Nobody could have predicted this. But it's happened. I've tried so hard to ignore it. I wake up in the morning and for a few seconds I forget that I have...I forget that I'm sick. And then I see blood on my pillow and it hits me square in the chest." You turn your face further from me and I know I have to try harder to find words that will soothe the inner turmoil I know you are experiencing, but there are none. Believe me if there were I would use them, but nothing can make this easier so I struggle on regardless. "I've learnt to accept that this is the way things are now, but you, Mulder you haven't. Mulder I want you to stop looking for answers, for miracle cures that don't exist. This is hard, I know, but ..." "Is it? Is it really?" I was not expecting an interjection, especially one like this. Caught off guard I flap around looking for something constructive to say. Unfortunately I fail. "Excuse me?" "You think I don't know that it's hard? You can be so full of yourself sometimes." "I beg your pardon?" I try to stay calm when my body is racked with revulsion. This is difficult, you knew it would be, don't take this personally. Don't take it personally my ass, it is personal, very personal and I find myself shocked and amazed at what he is saying. "Why do you keep pushing Scully? Do I repulse you that much?" "What? Mulder..." "I know you're a strong person, I know you can look after yourself, but I also know that what you're trying to do is wrong." I do not understand you. What you're saying makes no sense, none at all. Bile rises in my throat and I fight to contain it. I am shaking but can not recall for how long. I know I didn't want sympathy or compassion but this cuts too deep. You are too close to the bone and for once you seem completely unaware of that fact. I need an explanation, but suddenly feel extremely foolish for having to ask, so I don't pose my response as a question, "Mulder, I don't understand." "Suicide Scully. You've already given up on me...On us... Do I mean that little to you?" Your tone has lowered, it is soft and void of any accusation. Child-like you look up at me and I see for the first time real pain. "Scully?" you stab me once and I tremble, "Scully, please," twice and I stifle a whimper, "Don't leave me, not yet," three times and I'm finally brought quite literally to my knees. The power you have over me is frightening, from the outside it would be awe-inspiring, but from here it is overwhelming. I will not cry, I will not cry. A single tear that cascades down my cheek without permission betrays me. I double over, arms wrapped tightly around my stomach, I start to rock back and forth on my knees. Never in my life have I felt so lonely. Never have I wanted to die more. I have spent my life caring for other people's pain, being as gentle as I can, treading carefully as I do so. When the world seemingly fell apart I tried my best to restore it. I know I am strong, but now in the face of my own anguish I have lost my healing powers. I never wanted this for you. I never wanted for you to have to see me fall apart, it was so important that you didn't. I adopted the role you gave me graciously, the role of your rock and I never stopped trying. But now, when it comes to myself, I have no energy left to give. Everything now is black and white, not the blinding technicolour I have come to adore that follows you wherever you go. I guess I have realised, for the first time, that I am not impenetrable. I am, as most, susceptible to sickness, pain and suffering but I have no rock on which to lean. I feel warm, strong arms envelope me pulling me back from the precipice. Could I do it, could I really let you in? Would it make me weak? So many questions that remain unanswered, and yet here we are me building walls; you trying desperately to break them down. Some things never change. But maybe now its time. III. I have never been good at self-expression. I was brought up to believe that the good take the hand their dealt and get on with it. They do not argue, nor do they complain they merely exist in spite of their suffering. This is how it has been for as long as I can remember and I have paid dearly for my submission. I am self-retentive, emotionally undernourished and seriously lacking in self- confidence. Not that you would know it to look at me. From the outside I am stoic, strong and in need of nothing. I have always been a pillar of both my family and my friends, holding everything together in a delicate balance. Such dependency made my responsibility great. Failure was not an option. So now I am completely out of my depth. I don't know what I'm supposed to say, how I'm supposed to act in this type of situation because I've never been here before. I'm scared, but not just because of what lies ahead, but because of what I might find in the here and now. That I may turn out to be the thing I fear most, a disappointment. He hands me a steaming cup of coffee and deposits himself firmly on the other end of the sofa, his back against the armrest. His right knee is drawn up, his left foot remains on the floor. There is a strange silence that passes between us before he begins his emotional interrogation. I sense you watching me, watching the steam floating up from my cup. I am paralysed, unable to either speak or turn to look at you. I know what you want from me but it's a tall order for me to deliver. So many things I need for you to hear, and yet no words with which to give you my message. The message itself is complex. So many lines of thought all choosing this moment to charge through my consciousness; and trying to get them into any sort of order is well beyond me. It is a message about fear, about pain, about loneliness and broken dreams, but it is so much more than that. It has taken me so long to discover, and even longer for me to admit. The core of my trouble stems out of simple love. Love for you, of you, of you unshakeable faith in me, which I consider a blessing but do not fully understand. I am amazed at you, by you and I know that I pale in comparison. "Scully." I look at you trying to hide behind my hair -- I haven't done that since high school, just look what you do to me. "I'm sorry, Mulder." You inch towards me and it makes me shiver. "Sorry for what?" Silence. "I'm not sure exactly," I confess. "Well, that's a start." I can't help but smile and I see you relax at my show of emotion, you so rarely see any it must be a relief. I pick up a cushion and hug it against my chest. I feel like a teenager, so insecure of myself I know I am openly vulnerable and I don't like it. I need my armour back, even if only in the form of reasonably squashed pillow. I draw in a deep breath trying to do it quietly so as not to worry you more. What happens next is almost automatic. I am no longer thinking, just reacting to the sound of my inner self. I let her out and she starts to run for her life. "I envy you Mulder." You laugh loudly and I must look stricken because you stop short. "Why would you envy me? You've seen what a mess I've gotten myself into, what's to like about that?" The floodgates have been officially opened and the tide is high. "You can talk," it really is that simple, "scream, shout, break things if the mood takes you. You have a passion for life that is insatiable and you're not afraid of it. You show it and you shine." You look a little embarrassed, ever so slightly flushed, I find it endearing. "It makes you human, animated," I have run out of steam temporarily and my voice drops to a whisper, "I wish I could be like that, like you." "You don't think you have those things?" "I know I don't. I was never allowed." "How do you mean?" I really did not intend to delve into my family closet, knowing the many skeletons that are likely to fall on top of me as soon as I open the door. There are some things that should be left in the past. You push a little harder, "You mean in you family, your strict upbringing? Is that it?" No, not going there, can't cope with that right now. But if only you knew. If only I could guarantee that you wouldn't look at me differently if I told you how I've come to be the person you are currently starring at. I try to be succinct, "That's just the way it was." End discussion. No more questions. Who am I kidding, here it comes. "Tell me." "What?" "Tell me how it was for you." "Mulder, that's not why I asked you here..." "I know, but the beginning is as good a place to start as any right? Go on Scully. I won't judge you if that's what you're worried about. God knows my past ain't so crash hot in the family stakes so who am I to judge you?" I am thinking, this is dangerous territory and my instincts tell me to run from it, but there is something powerful pulling me towards you. I can't explain what it is, but I have a sudden need, an urge to get it all out and wipe the slate clean. Hold on girl, just keep breathing. "I'm not the person you think I am." "Then who are you?" You seem nothing but genuine so I continue. "I am the rock that holds everything together. Or at least, that's how I grew up." One major admission and suddenly I feel a weight lifting. It's bizarre. Your face is nonchalant, but your eyes sparkle telling me you want more, but reassuring me you haven't change your opinion, yet. "There was so much expectation on me to be the dutiful daughter. The family already had one...unorthodox girl, they didn't need another. It would have been easier if I was a boy, I could have hidden from their constant scrutiny, but I wasn't so I couldn't." "You sound bitter." "Do I? May be I am. I don't know. All I know is that every foot I put wrong, every time I tried to rebel and stop towing the line I was punished for it." I pause to catch my breath. I feel my stomach start to turn and the gentle tremble of my hands has escalated into quite a sever tremor. I squeeze them between my knees and pray that you did not see it, even though I know you did. "Punished how?" "All I ever wanted was their approval. They knew it and they used it against me." "They took it from you." Not a question a realisation. "They thought it was their parental prerogative. They never expected I would look else where." I can almost hear the cogs turning in your beautiful mind, mulling all this new information over. This must be a revelation for you, it certainly is for me. "You looked elsewhere for the approval?" "I was so naïve. I wanted unconditional love. I thought that's what parents were supposed to give their children. I guess I forgot that they're only human." You want to ask, but you're afraid I'll crawl back into my shell. I stopped looking at you when I knew my eyes would betray me. There is so much there, flashing before them that for you to see it would be for you to see all the demons, and I'm not ready for that yet. Instead I look down. Head hung low, and I realise I'm reliving my past. "What did you do?" I am brought gently back to you. "I found myself another 'father.'" I hope that explains enough. The details are too coarse and the shame attached to them too great. They do not need exposing. You pause momentarily, then continue cautiously. "A man?" "Yes." "Who was he?" "It doesn't matter. The point is that it didn't matter who they were it always ended up the same." I've slipped and I know you heard it. Please don't ask, please just move on. "They?" Oh God, how to answer that one. I think for a while but can't formulate a plausible response other than the truth and I realise that I can no longer go back. You wouldn't let me even if I wanted to. You're so much like my father in that way. "There were a few." "How many?" I could get angry with you, shout at you, ask you to leave. This is none of your business and yet I'm making it that way. I shoot it back at you, buying for time. "How many women have you had sex with?" Your head snaps up, your eyes wide. Perhaps I've touched a nerve. "Why?" "Just curious." "I don't know...I guess, well I'm not sure." You're not getting off the hook that easily. If I'm going to sit here pouring my heart out this has to be quid pro quo. "Ballpark estimate." You stop, I guess you're tallying up your grand total. "I think five, may be six," you are quiet, as if you're somehow ashamed, "Why? What about you?" I admit I am a little stunned. "Out of those how many do you consider to be making love?" you look a little tense so I try and put you at ease, "please, it's important. I'm trying you make you understand where I'm coming from and I don't know how else to do it." You seem satisfied with this and start contemplating your answer. "Three, I think. I guess that would be about right. Why?" "I lost my virginity at sixteen," another revelation, "and since then I've had sex with thirteen men, but that's all it was, nothing more. You could say I was a slut, a lot of people did." I look at you directly, eye to eye, I need to know that my admission has not soured your opinion of me, but what I see in your face makes me want to fall through the floor. I can't read you, and that is definitely not normal. After a horrendous pause you utter faintly, barely audible, "I never realised approval was such an issue for you... Do you still want to be loved that badly?" I know your concern, there is a hint of jealously present in your voice that I'm sure you're unaware of and I get a strange guilty feeling that I don't understand, but I persevere. "No. Not any more. I've done a lot of growing up since then. I've been burnt too may times to make the same mistake." "Were you ever raped." Deadpan, the question hangs in the air but I know you only ask because you care. "No, not in any widely understood sense of the term." "But it felt like it at times, didn't it." It wasn't a question, it was a statement, and I have no response to give you other than to look away once more and hope the time passes quickly, which I know it will not. IV. It is dark outside now. I can not recall what time you arrived at my door, head spinning at the unexpectedly morose message I left on your machine. I had not anticipated that I would be here now, sitting opposite you in semidarkness, dragging up the past in order to present you with the future in a way that you might come to understand when I am gone. It was never my intention to let you in this way. I wanted so badly to forget to erase everything, the past, present and to look to the future, but that too is now bleaker than I had hoped. So where am I? How far have I come in my life? You bore you heart and soul to me the moment we met, hoping that I would repay the favour in kind. Were you disappointed when I did not? Well, although the circumstances are far from agreeable, the setting grim and the atmosphere too still to be comfortable, here I am Mulder. This is me. Do with this information what you will, but please do not think that I am deliberately trying to hurt you. I am only telling you the truth, my truth, that through your patience and perseverance you have earned the right to hear. "So, what about me, how do I fit in to your life? How do you see me?" "Honestly?" you nod and I bite my bottom lip, trying to think of a way to put this tactfully, the last thing I want is to give you the wrong impression, to give you less credit than you rightfully deserve. This will take courage. This will test the self-belief of us both. Are you ready to hear this? Am I ready to admit this more importantly? I know that if the moment passes and this remains unspoken I will regret it at the end. Now is the time to be brave, very brave. You can do this Dana, you can. Your eyes catch the dimming light and I hold them with my own. I need to see your first reaction, before you have time to catch yourself. Slowly, painfully I formulate my response and I give it no more than it deserves. In a soft voice that I would not recognise were it not for the fact that I know it is I who is speaking "You are father number fourteen." I knew this would happen. I knew it would hurt you. I'm sorry, I'm so truly sorry. You look more defeated than I have ever seen you. I could not have got this kind of reaction from you if I had punched you, screamed at you or told you I was leaving you. This goes far deeper than that. This is an epiphany for you. A realisation of the way you make me feel, the control you have over me. You tried so hard to treat me as an equal, you prided yourself on never placing me on a lower ground. In everything you do you have my utmost interest at heart, and yet you are no different to all the others. You see it now, clearly for the first time. I would do anything you asked if it meant I would receive your approval. The only reason I haven't is because you are a gentleman, you had no expectations in that way and therefore my pattern has been altered but not yet destroyed. "Why are you telling me this Scully?" "Because you need to know. I've spent the whole of my life fighting. I thought I was invincible. But now, I know I am not because the challenge that is in front of me now is one that ultimately I can't win." "I still don't understand why you're telling me this." "You asked, so I told you. I will not lie to you any more," here comes the crunch, the thing that has frightened me more than anything I have ever experienced, "and I needed to explain this to you so that you might understand why I have to leave." Stunned silence. "You're quitting?" "I have no choice. I am dying Mulder, of that there is no question, and I do not intend to take you with me." There is nothing left to be said. My concern has been addressed and now all that is left for you to do is the task of rebuilding your life. This is nearly over, be brave Mulder, not long now. If you have to cry please shed silent tears, I can't carry us both. I wish I could. I must keep myself together and you must do the same. You are strong. I know you are, you can do this as can I. "You're not a quitter Scully, you never have been so I can't understand why when you need me the most you refuse to let me stay with you." Your voice breaks, and with it breaks my heart. I can no longer take this pain. The ache is too deep to be contained within me, and I am not able to protect myself any longer. I need you now more than I have ever needed anyone in my life and so I divulge to you, just this once, the true horror of how I feel. "I'm scared," and with that the tears that I have hidden from you, that I have tried so desperately to contain since the day my diagnosis was delivered, well behind my eyes and spill over in unrelenting waves of grief. My momentary shame of such a displayed relieved as I feel your hand gently lift my chin and I look at you in complete, the perfect reflection of my being in every sense. And from here I learn a second truth that sanctifies the first and cleanses my inner spirit of all negativity. You lower your head to touch mine and through the pluses of grief that wrack your body and soul you cleanse yourself. "So am I." Three small words that cause the walls around us to disappear, everything melts, nothing exists in that instant but you and I and we are united in our fear, pain and loneliness. I was wrong, and I admit it. I was never alone. You were always there and you had more strength than I ever thought you were capable of possessing. I apologise for doubting you. But still, this is one battle that must be fought alone. For all your love, all your good intentions and soft words there is nothing you can say or do that can turn the clock back. Nor is there a miracle cure for which I have spent so long praying. And further still there is nothing on this sweet earth that can describe the true enormity of the despair I feel every time I look at my own reflection. I despise what this has done to me, to my spirit that was once so vibrant, and thus despise myself for inflicting it on you. I know you try to understand, you try to encourage and advise but the hopeless truth still remains. This is why I internalise my experience. This is why I fight you. I need control over something, and this is all I have left. I love you, so I must cut you off for fear that you may walk the same dark path before your time. I refuse to let this break you the way I fear it is breaking me. From my reverie you pull me back, once again the voice of comfort "I love you Scully, and I'm not going to let you do this on your own." "There is no need, I can do this on my own." "Yeah, you could if you had to, but you don't have to, not now, not ever." A thought strikes me and I pull away. "I don't live any more Mulder, I just cope." This has been bothering me for a while. It has become the way I view my life. I know it sounds pessimistic, but it's the way I feel. This disease has taken everything out of me to the point where getting out of bed in the morning has become an achievement. It is sad, but true. You smile, obviously not surprised by my admission. You are so warm, your heat is like a blanket of affection that wraps around me. I suddenly feel cold, longing for the comfort and safety I know your arms can offer. You smile again and I lean back into you in the place where I finally feel like I belong. I feel your lips gently brush against my cheek and come to rest above my ear. I feel your breath and it fills me with an enormous sense of ease. There is no judgement here, I know that now. Quietly you relay you thoughts; "You live because you cope. You have so much strength, so much courage. Did you ever stop to think that I am the way I am because of you?" I listen and perhaps for the first time I hear the meaning behind the words. "You are my passion. You gave it to me, allowed me to use it and praised me for doing it. You make me complete. You are, without doubt the strong one here again Scully, but you have a chance to do things differently. You can fall apart and I won't be disappointed in you. You can ask for help and I won't think any less of you, " I close my eyes as the tears continue to fall, "and you can cry in front of me, I won't think you are weak." "Thank you." "Don't thank me Scully, use me, however you need to." V. I am drained. Completely and utterly exhausted. Time has ticked away from us so unexpectedly and now it is just past midnight. Sleep does not come easy to me of late, and I know that we are alike in that way. I no longer like to dream because I have no control over the images that play out their sinful theatre in my unconsciousness. But tonight, for the first time in months I feel like sleeping. I have been soothed by your own calm and now the darkness no longer seems so daunting. I sit, curled like a cat, my legs pulled up leaning against you. A firm arm keeps me from slipping away and I cannot help but revel in the sensation it creates. I am no longer alone. I will not have a heated fight with God on this night, nor will I crumble like ashes on the floor beside my bed. Tonight I do not feel the need. The despair is not overpowering like it normally is, but I am aware that it cannot be erased with one meaningful conversation on a bleak night. That does not matter now. In this moment all that matters is that I can feel you breathing, feel the steady rise and fall of your chest under my head, a constant reminder that you are here and you are real. "Go to bed Scully," so soft I almost didn't hear it. "I don't want to. Not yet." "You're exhausted. Go get some sleep." You begin to move, trying to lift me ever so gently off you, but I am stubborn, as always, and do not assist you in your efforts. "Scully, you're gonna have to move some time. It's getting cold out here. Besides you gotta let me up. I gotta go home at some point." I am filled with agonising dread at the prospect of being left here. Being separated from the one thing that is providing me with comfort. I will not let you leave, not tonight. "Stay," I tried to pose my comment as an option but my tone tells you instinctively that it is a plea. Your hand massages my shoulder and again I am reassured, it amazes me how you are able to calm the storm of emotion that fills me. "O.k. if that's what you want I'll stay. Now you're going to have to get up and find me a blanket." If only you knew the chaos you have just unleashed in my mind. I want you closer than that but am too afraid to ask. I can not leave myself completely defenceless. So I do as told and find you some bedding, make you a bed on the sofa and say goodnight. I lie awake in my bed and can't help but feel cold. Granted there have been no tears tonight, no insults directed at the mirror, no hopeless pleading for some divine intervention. It feels strange. I hear you move, turn in your sleep outside my door and I know then that I have to be closer to you. I get up, not bothering to dress myself to an appropriate standard, merely tip toe out in my, well, your shirt that I found in the bottom draw of my dresser. You look so peaceful. So serene. I know that you have many more questions for me, and I know that eventually you will begin to ask them. What I do not know is how I will answer you, or more correctly if I can. I surprised myself tonight with both my frankness and the depth at which I let you delve, but tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow is a new battle, a new challenge and I can offer you no guarantee that I will be successful in meeting its demands. For now though I am content just to watch you sleep, safe in the knowledge that I am no longer alone. End FEEDBACK PLEASE What do you think? It's a difficult topic to cover without trivialising the enormity of it therefore personal experience is the name of this particular game so no flames please -- I just say it as I see it.