Subject: New: You've Got Something I Need (1/1) From: Debbie Newton Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative 1 December 1997 From: debbienewt@g-woman.demon.co.uk Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the television program "The X Files" are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, and Ten-Thirteen Productions, and have been used without permission. I have used a line or two of dialogue from the episode, purely for authenticity. No copyright infringement is intended. Rating: PG for a curse or two. Spoilers: Leonard Betts, Nisei/731, Irresistible and brief References to Ascension and Revelations. Category: V Keywords: Scully Angst. Perhaps some Mulder Angst too Summary: Towards the end of the episode Scully contemplates the words Leonard Betts said to her. Author's note: This is my first attempt at fanfic, a month ago I didn't even know there was such a thing as fanfic. I have been devouring X-Files stories for the last month and have decided to test the waters myself. Here in the UK, Leonard Betts has just aired and it seemed like a good starting point for me to begin to explore the characters a little, whilst flexing my writing muscles...something I haven't done for a couple of years at least. I am aware of the way the whole cancer story has evolved and this tale should slip into it. I apologise for being so behind in the story arc, but I was born in the wrong country. Writing it has been a sort of 'welcome back' for me, and a practise run. I would welcome any form of feedback...pleeeaase :) YOU'VE GOT SOMETHING I NEED (1/1) Debbie Newton Mulder was concerned. He had returned to the car to see Scully sitting in the passenger seat staring blankly into space. He thought he had seen every expression, every nuance his partner's face could hold, but he had never seen this before and it worried him. His usually sharp brain could not justify why she should look this way To a casual observer she actually looked expressionless, but to him she looked as though she were holding something back, something more than tears. Much as she still hated to show any sign of what she considered to be 'weakness', after four years as his partner, he knew that Scully would shed a tear or two in his company...if she needed to. This was something deeper than her sadness at having taken a life, it wasn't even the first time she'd been forced to do so. He knew that she had killed purely in self-defence, she was completely blameless in the death, again, of Leonard Betts. Hell, this was his third death to *their* knowledge, who knew if it would be a permanent thing. He rested one arm on the roof of the car and the other on the open door, leaning in slightly, wanting a closer look at her. They had a brief conversation about Betts and his mother. He almost flinched at the way Scully said the word "cancer" as she enquired after the older woman. There was something going on with her and he could not read from her expression what it was. He pulled out his notebook to read what he had written, for some reason it seemed important to Scully to know the correct diagnoses. The blank look was back and he tried to reassure her. "You did a good job Scully." This at least got her to look at him, but he didn't like what he saw. He had never seen such pain and torment in her face, not even when Donnie Pfaster had scared her so badly. He mistook her expression for some kind of misplaced guilt at having killed a man, perhaps some inner conflict with the Hippocratic Oath she had taken to save lives wherever possible. He remembered when she'd had to take a man's life before, in order to protect the young boy, Kevin, there had been something going on with her back then too. he thought, but he knew that *wasn't* it. "You should be proud." If anything, his intended words of comfort seemed to cause her even more pain. "I want to go home." Her voice was flat. To an untrained ear it was devoid of emotion, but to Mulder, who had spent years studying this woman and was fluent in every inflection of her voice, it held just a hint of fear. He nodded, feeling cold tendrils of fear invade his own heart. Scully was the most courageous woman he had ever known. They had been in more terrifying situations in four years than anyone ever should have had to endure in a hundred lifetimes. They had seen things that no one ever should have had to see. He had heard fear in her voice before. Her "MULDER, I NEED HELP" screamed into his answering machine two years earlier was forever imprinted on his brain, but this was different. He was about to ask her if she was alright, opened his mouth to say the words, but closed it again, knowing already what her answer would be. He shut the door carefully, not wanting to hurt her anymore than she had already been hurt that evening.He was slightly reassured to see her move to put on her seat belt as he walked around to his side of the car. For a minute he thought she had slipped into some kind of catatonic state. He drove her home in complete silence, stealing glances at her all the way. He was unsure whether she was even blinking, she had remained so still and quiet, that same blank expression on her face, completely unfocussed. It was as though she was looking inward, at something only she could see. His anxiety increased with every silent mile, but he could think of nothing to say to her, convinced that she was so withdrawn she would not even hear him. He pulled up outside her apartment building, the parking space right outside a mixed blessing. He was grateful that she didn't have to walk any distance, but also knew that it left him with no excuse to accompany her from the car to her door, perhaps inveigling an invitation in for a coffee and an opportunity to watch her a while longer. He decided to offer his services as an escort anyway and reached to undo his seatbelt. "No, Mulder." Her voice was faint, but firm, as she released her own seatbelt and reached for the door. "Scully I..." I'm fine, Mulder. I..I..I'm just tired, really, just..." She wanted to say "Just leave me alone", but she knew how hurtful this would sound and she had no desire to hurt him. She merely wanted to escape his concern, his anxiety, his questions. She had barely been able to contain her own mounting terror on the way home and now wanted to get inside, to be on her own, before the already loosening grip on her control gave out completely. He shifted in his seat to get a better look at her. She refused to meet his eyes, silently pleading with him not to raise her chin with his finger. This loving gesture had been the undoing of her before, she knew she could not resist the power of his eyes, that "Talk to me, Scully" look. That "I'm your friend, I care about you, let me in" look. She turned her head away from him, rendering him incapable of using that weapon to destroy her defences. "I'm fine, Mulder" she repeated, carefully pronouncing each word with her usual clear voice, not even a trace of the emotional turmoil taking place inside her. she thought. Unconvinced, Mulder conceded. "Well, if you're sure Scully". He respected her judgement, even though he knew that if he were to follow her into her apartment anyway, to take on her wrath at his over-protectiveness, to force her into making eye contact, he could breach her defences. He had done it before, when that bastard Pfaster had terrorised his partner. He had never regretted forcing Scully into vulnerability that night, she had needed the release of tears, needed to have someone she trusted to hold onto. They had never spoken of it since, they had discussed only the details of the case, but they both knew that Mulder had found a way in. They also both knew that he would not wield this power unnecessarily. Scully trusted him to not invade her emotional space. Mulder felt honoured by her trust and had vowed an oath to himself to never abuse it. Her trust was worth more to him than his own life. As desperate as he had been at times to hold a tearful, trembling Scully in his arms again, to recreate that moment when he had almost been overwhelmed by how deeply he felt for his partner, he always questioned his motives. If he were to reach out to her when *he* perceived her to need his comfort, would he be doing it for her - or for himself. Tonight, for the umpteenth time in their years together as partners, he questioned his motives and was again disappointed to find that it was *he* who needed comfort. His partner, his best friend, his Scully, had been assaulted again. She had been hit, punched in the face, and like any man, 'new' or otherwise, he wanted to kill the bastard who had hurt his friend. Unfortunately for him, Scully had already done just that and now he wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her closely to him. It was *he* who wanted the reassurance that she was okay, it was *he* who wanted to wrap her in a protective embrace and never again let anyone hurt her. It was the realisation that it was as much his own need for comfort which pulled his arms towards his partner that gave him the strength to let her go. At times like these, the invisible line drawn between them was palpable. It was clear that the bond between them was indefinably strong and would survive the occasional crossing of boundaries, but he could see that his attentions, tonight, would be unwelcome, so he made his decision to back away...for now. He turned the key in the ignition, starting the engine, as if to prevent himself from changing his mind. Nodding slightly he murmured, "Get some sleep Scully, I'll see you tomorrow". Scully knew exactly what Mulder had been contemplating for the last few minutes, she had watched him go through the same thought process countless times before, sometimes harbouring the hope that he *would* cross the line, but always with immense respect for him that he didn't. She had sat patiently with the door half open, knowing that he would not force his attentions upon her, knowing that he *was* there for her...always...even when she needed to be alone. Her pride in him as once again he made the right decision, knowing how hard it was for him to back away when he felt she needed him, brought a lump to her throat. "Goodnight Mulder" she almost whispered, her throat tightening against the words, her resolve crumbling, her desire to throw herself into his arms and have him make it all better growing stronger by the second. In spite of her aching limbs she practically ran from the car and into the building. She did not want to wait for the lift and so ran up the stairs to her apartment, fumbling for her key as she went, desperately hoping that no one would be around to witness the falling apart of Dr Dana Scully, Special Agent Dana Scully, frightened Dana Scully. She made it to her door. After three unsuccessful attempts to get the key to turn in the lock, her impatience caused her to push the door open with enough force to send it crashing back into the wall behind it, gouging the wall. Angry at not even being able to control her own front door, she lunged for it and slammed it shut, collapsing back against it, sinking gradually down the door into a crouch. Sinking further still, her bottom connected with the floor and she brought her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Burying her head in her arms, powerless against the force of the ice cold terror flooding her body, she could at last allow the cry which had been building up over the past hour to surface. "Noooo." She pleaded "Noooo...oh my God...please...nooo..." Ever since Leonard Betts had quietly, sorrowfully, uttered those words to her, Scully had felt frozen inside. She had refused to allow her brain to repeat them. She had mechanically recited her part of the story as she had given her statement, from feeling the wetness of the iodine as it dripped from the roof of the ambulance into her hair, to frying Leonard Betts' brain with the defibrillators. She had left out his words to her, adamant in her decision to wipe them from her memory. After giving her statement she had returned to the car to wait for Mulder. As she sat in the car she had filled her head with black nothingness and had stared into it all the way home. And now here she was, alone, in the dark, with the words "I'm sorry, but you've got something I need" forcing their way into her soul like a mantra. Burning their way into her brain. "No. No. No..." she begged quietly as she rocked herself back and forth, as if this one small word could undo the damage that those other words had caused to her. She did not cry, she did not tremble, the luxury of actually releasing any of the confusion of emotions that coursed through her body was denied her whilst, against her will, her brain began to process the information she had done her utmost to disbelieve or to forget. She had known for some time that a group of women who, like herself, had been 'missing' for a period of time had developed cancer. The down to earth, pragmatic, Dr Dana Scully MD had all but convinced herself that her disappearance was in no way connected to the 'MUFON women' as she had come to label them. For whatever reasons the MUFON women had been missing, for whatever reasons they had developed their cancers, it had nothing whatsoever to do with her. She did not believe in Mulder's 'Little Grey Men'. She did not believe in 'Alien Abductions'. And, until two hours ago, she had convinced herself that she would not develop cancer as a result of her 'missing time' and consequent 'illness'. Words like 'abduction' and 'coma' and 'branched DNA' were all emotive, hysterical words which belonged only in Mulder's vocabulary - not hers. And yet here they all were, rolling around inside her head, unbidden, but unstoppable...along with vague images of white light and 'tests' and the most damning piece of evidence which *did* link her to those other women - the tiny metal microchip removed from the base of her neck. Those few words "I'm sorry, but you've got something I need" had shattered her life. "Damn you Leonard Betts - or whatever your name was" she cursed. "Damn you to hell. Why couldn't you have just killed me, why did you have to say what you did?" A sudden thought crossed her mind, bringing brief respite from the turmoil. She stopped rocking. What if he just wanted to get away and said what he did to scare me?> "Well, it worked" she mumbled into her arms. She almost laughed at the image she saw of the cool, demure, Special Agent Dana Scully curled in a ball on the floor, in the dark, mumbling to herself. Almost, except the thought which brought her some breathing space was followed too closely by another one. "...As if I had something he needed". By speaking the words aloud, she had no option but to acknowledge them, and to acknowledge all the fear and dread that they brought to her. She tightened her arms around her knees, gripping her wrists, as though doing so would stop the inevitable. She was falling apart. She could feel it. She could feel the sobs rising from somewhere deep within her breast. She could feel the tears rising from somewhere deep within her heart. She tightly squeezed her eyes shut until she could see brightly coloured spots behind her eyelids. She pressed her face into her arms, but still the tears forced their way through, staining the sleeves of her jacket as they absorbed the dampness. She bit down hard on her bottom lip, but she was powerless against the rising tide of her fear, her anguish, her grief, all of which were about to erupt from her soul. Dana Scully had no option but to relinquish her much prized control. She could no longer keep herself tightly coiled, she sprang up and ran into her bedroom, throwing herself face down on the bed, something she had not done since her magnificent tantrums as a toddler. She buried her face in a pillow to mask the sound of the sobs she could no longer stop. She cried as she had never before cried as an adult. She howled into her pillow, wrapping her arms around it as though it could comfort her. She wanted her mother, she wanted Mulder, but she could not share this with them right now, not until she was sure...and maybe not even then. This thought brought on another series of howls. For the first time in her life, she felt utterly, completely, alone. "Daddy, I'm so scared" she sobbed. "Have I got cancer? Am I going to die? Will it hurt? She felt shamed by these questions, shamed by her lack of control. In trying to live up to her beloved Ahab's expectations of her, she had set her own expectations way beyond anything reasonable. Had it been anyone else in this terrified state, she would have completely understood and done her best to be of some comfort to them, but it was not someone else, it was Dana Scully, and she expected better of herself, nothing less than complete control. "Oh Daddy, please don't be ashamed of me, I'm so sorry, I don't know why I'm like this". Thoughts of her father led to thoughts of her sister. "Missy, oh Missy, I don't know what to do". She wasn't sure what was scaring her the most, the thought of dying like Betsy Hagopian, or her complete loss of control. Melissa had been the 'emotional one'. She had seen Missy crying thousands of times, noisily, not trying to hide, even actually *encouraging* an audience. This thought calmed her a little, enough to realise that she wasn't only crying because she was afraid of having cancer, she knew that finally her grief for the loss of her father and sister had found an outlet. She cried for every hurt that she had ever felt, for every loss that she had ever suffered. She had never been one for giving in to storms of tears and her subconscious was seizing the moment to release years of locked away sorrow and pain. The doctor in her reassured her that this was fine, that she *would* stop crying eventually, though the sceptic in her doubted this fact. The doctor was right of course; eventually the howls were replaced by sobs, then the sobs by whimpers. Finally, she sat up and reached for the box of tissues on the nightstand, at last allowing herself to turn on a light. Her sore, swollen eyes protested against the invasion as she focussed on the pretty box of genteel, pastel coloured little squares of soft paper. She managed a small chuckle as she scrambled stiffly off the bed and rummaged through the linen basket for an old towel. Finding what she wanted she returned to her bed, sitting cross-legged, resting her aching back against the headboard. She buried her head in the soft towel and blew her nose hard. She had to do this four times before she could breath through her nose. She folded the towel in her hands, looking for a dry part to wipe over her face. As she did so she caught sight of herself in the dresser mirror. Even to herself she looked bedraggled. Her suit was crumpled almost beyond redemption, her normally sleek, shiny hair hung from her head like rats tails and her face was more red than she could ever remember seeing it. On the very rare occasions that Dana Scully succumbed to tears she did so in private and for as short a time as possible, stopping way before her face became discoloured and her eyes became puffy. The last time she had looked like this was when she had broken her heart over shooting that snake twenty years ago. Even though she was a grown woman now, she couldn't help but notice how small she looked sitting atop the king-sized bed. She looked lonely and lost. She bowed her head as fresh tears fell silently from her eyes, splashing onto her hands. She turned her hands palm up and caught them, fascinated by how big these tears were. Sitting there catching her own tears as they fell into her hands, she felt sorry for herself in a way she had not experienced before. This was not self-pity, but an acknowledgement of what she had been through since joining Mulder in his quest for the truth, of what it had cost her, and him. She sat that way for a long time, quietly watching her own tears fall. Thinking of Mulder had at last suffused her body with warmth. She was *not* alone, never alone, not whilst she had the best partner in the world, the best friend in the world. She knew that the confines of their working relationship meant they could never become involved romantically, but never was a long time and whatever Mulder thought, she *did* occasionally allow herself to ponder about 'extreme possibilities'. Even without his physical presence she could feel his arms around her, feel the warmth of his embrace, feel his breath in her hair as he whispered sweet, calming words to her. As she thought of Mulder she felt very close to him and drew comfort from this. If she really did have cancer, then she knew he would be there for her, if she could only find a way to let him in. She reached for the towel again, drying her hands and blowing her nose a few more times. Her head, surprisingly since she had been crying for two hours (her previous record being twenty minutes) felt more clear than it had for a long time. She began to collect her thoughts. "So, Dana, it looks as though a visit to the doctor is called for." she thought, feeling vaguely positive. "You have *no* symptoms of cancer, no sudden weight loss, no unexplained bleeding from any orifices, no fatigue" She laughed aloud at this thought, wondering if there actually *was* anyone else out there chasing down flukemen and liver-eating mutants. "Not forgetting a walking mass of cancerous cells which could grow a new head, *and* a headless corpse that could break out of the mortuary, get dressed and then walk home". She laughed a little louder, aware that her laughter was growing vaguely hysterical, but it felt good after all the tears. She laughed her way into the bathroom and all through a hot, relaxing shower. She was delighted to notice that though it must be at least 1am, even after a full and exhausting day, a fight in the back of an ambulance, and a couple of hours of hysterical sobbing, she was still up to having a shower. "I'm not even unwell, let alone dying from some unknown cancer". She wondered if perhaps there was some truth in the old saying about 'having a good cry' being refreshing, not that she was about to take this up on a regular basis. "You'd be proud of me Missy, getting in touch with my innermost feelings". As she sank gratefully into bed she promised herself to make an appointment with her physician, just to reassure herself that she was fit and in good shape. She sank easily into sleep, exhausted, both physically and emotionally, but feeling ready to face the world again. Ready to face Mulder, his concern, his love, even, if it should prove necessary, his 'finger-under-the-chin' method of reducing her to a quivering wreck in his arms...his 'lethal weapon'. This thought brought a rather lewd smile to her face as she sank into unconsciousness. ************************* It was 2:08am and she woke up suddenly, choking. She had a vaguely familiar metallic taste in her throat, She scrambled for the lamp, noticing the two bright red droplets on the pillow as her eyes became accustomed to the light. She reached out to touch the droplets with her fingers, bringing them into the light to examine them, *her* blood. She felt a warm stickiness above her top lip. she already knew what she would find as she pressed the same fingers into the stream of blood coming from her nose. Far from being over, the nightmare had only just begun. As much as she tried to convince herself that she had simply blown her nose too hard earlier, she somehow knew, she could feel it, "I *have* got cancer". As she became aware of the dull, throbbing ache between her eyes, once more the words of Leonard Betts returned to haunt her. "I'm sorry, but you've got something I need". End (1/1)