"She's dying. That's perfectly natural.  We hide people in these rooms because we don't want to look at death.  We have machines prolong a life that should end.  That's a much more unnatural circumstance than any cause of her death."
 --Melissa Scully, "One Breath"
 

WITNESS
by: Jennifer Maurer

No matter how much time you have to prepare yourself for the loss of a loved one, it is never enough.  Watching someone slowly waste away creates a terrible conflict.

On the one hand, you almost hope for the end to come soon, so they can be released from their suffering.  You see their shame and anger at watching themselves deteriorate.  You know that they have reached the point where only death can make them whole again.  They long for it.  They may even beg you to help them achieve it.  If you're lucky they are unaware the battle is continuing at all.

Of course, you also can't help but think of yourself, as selfish as that seems at such a time.  You love this person, you don't want to lose them.  They have become an important part of your life, and their absence is going to leave an empty space.  You don't want them to continue suffering.  You want them to get better, but you know this is impossible.

As the end approaches, all you can do is resign yourself as best you can.

Sometimes you don't get off that easily.  Sometimes you must play a special role in this person's departure from life.  You made a promise, even though you hoped the day would never come when you had to keep it.

Then the day arrives.  You are told that you do still have a choice, but you know it's not true.  You made the promise.  You signed your name on the line marked "witness."  Now it's time to stand behind your signature, and all that entails.

Scully had been in the hospital for almost two months.  Visiting her never got any easier.  For awhile she was herself, if somewhat weaker.  The treatments were a joke at this point but for a time we pretended they might actually help.

Gradually, however, they were set aside in favor of "pain management."  A phrase of modern medicine that tries to disguise with bureaucratic language what it's really about: helping someone to die.  You fill them with enough morphine, and eventually nothing is going to bother them.  The people left behind to watch...well, that's another story.  Nothing can take away that pain, not all the wishes in the world.

God knows, I didn't want to help Scully die.  I would have done anything to keep her alive.  But our options were exhausted and her time had run out.  She had given up and for a short time I continued the quest on my own.  Eventually I came to see that what Scully really needed me to do was surrender with her.  My battle was only prolonging her own agony.  So I gave up my quest and tried to support Scully with the same dignity and respect she had always shown me.

I would walk her to the threshold and then let her go.  That was all she wanted from me now.  My strength was to be put to another use, one I didn't want to expend it on.

But I had promised her, and so I did it well, if not gladly.

I had forgotten, or allowed myself to forget, just how much she was depending on me.

The cancer reminded me long before I was ready to live up to my words.

I heard the two angry voices halfway down the hall and my heart fell before I even rounded the corner.

"I said, take it out!"

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, hospital policy..."

"I don't give a damn about your hospital policy!  This is my daughter we're talking about!"

I almost walked right into Mrs. Scully, who was squared off outside Dana's door with a nurse.  The door was left open a crack and in the dim light I could see Dana lying in bed, her face turned towards the window.  She could hear everything, no doubt, and I was surprised at Mrs. Scully for talking about her daughter like she wasn't even there.  Even as Dana deteriorated, she continued to demand that we include her in the decisions.  We had both respected it, even encouraged it, knowing that it gave her some small semblance of control over her dwindling life.

I came up behind them and deftly maneuvered them down the hall, away from Dana's door.

"Mrs. Scully?  What the hell is going on here?" I asked, fixing the nurse with an angry glare.

"Fox, they've put a feeding tube into Dana's nose," she said, her voice thick with tears.

I turned angrily to the nurse.

"Why?"

"It's common practice, sir, that when a patient cannot eat, other means of nourishment are administered.  Ms. Scully is unable to take anything by mouth and the doctor felt this would be less painful than an IV."

"Her living will," Mrs. Scully said in an icy voice, "Specifically prohibits such measures."

"We don't have Ms. Scully's living will in her chart.  In the absence of any knowledge of the patient's wishes, medical ethics require that we go ahead with whatever steps are necessary to prolong life."

"Even when she's *dying*?  There's nothing left to prolong except her death!"  Mrs. Scully said angrily, finally breaking down.  She turned to me, barely able to finish her sentence around her sobs.

"Fox, you signed Dana's living will as her witness.  You tell them.  This isn't what she wanted."

Mrs. Scully left to return to Dana and I found that all my fighting spirit left with her.  God knows I didn't want to see Scully suffer any more either, but the feeding tube would keep her with me a little longer.

I was immediately ashamed of the thought.  It wasn't even about buying time to find a cure anymore.  I just didn't want to let Scully go.  People often say they can't remember what life was like before a certain person came along.  Well, I remembered what my life was like before Scully.  I never wanted to go back there.

I could credit myself with all the noble motives in the world, but the truth was I wanted Dana Scully in my life just a little bit longer.

But at what cost to her?

"Look," I said to the nurse, "I realize that you didn't have the living will.  I have it, I can bring it to you.  Notarized, whatever you want.  Once the doctor sees that, he'll take the feeding tube out, right?"

She shook her head slowly.  "Once the tube is put in, it's rarely removed.  The hospital can't be held responsible for starving a patient, Mr. Mulder, no matter how grave their condition.  It's our obligation to do everything we can for Ms. Scully to keep her comfortable, and that includes supplying nutrients."

I balled my hands into fists, struggling to keep my temper.  I didn't give a damn about covering the hospital's ass.  Did they honestly think the family would sue them for not feeding Dana at her own dying request?

"I know Dana can't talk, but she does understand enough to be able to communicate her wishes to her mother and me.  Didn't she indicate to the staff that she didn't want the tube put in?"

The nurse shrugged.  "Oh, none of the patients like having them put in.  It is an unpleasant procedure.  We had to sedate Ms. Scully to keep her calm."

"For whose benefit, yours or hers?" I asked coldly.

The nurse sighed.  "Mr. Mulder, please try and understand..."

"Oh, I understand all right," I shot back, "I understand that you people care more about running a business than treating people with respect.  This isn't over," I finished as I turned to walk away.

"Mr. Mulder," she said sharply, "I'd just like to remind you that should you take it upon yourself to remove Ms. Scully's feeding tube, you would be assisting a suicide.  Which, as I'm sure you know, is illegal.  This hospital would not hesitate to press charges."

I kept walking, determined not to show her that I was paying any attention to her.  But her words did hit home.

How far was I willing to go to keep my promise to Dana?

I had done everything else for her.  I could do this for her too.

Couldn't I?

I was getting ahead of myself, I decided.  There was no use in playing guessing games like this until I had seen Dana, and tried to communicate with her.  Deep down I knew what she wanted.  I'd read her living will very carefully before signing it, and later became more familiar with its terms than I ever wanted to be.  Still, I wanted to hear it from her, if I could.

I wanted her reassurance that this was a truth that had not changed.  That being stubborn was the *right* thing for me to do this time.

I walked into her room quietly, not wanting to wake her (and, I admit, face the issue) if she was asleep.  She had turned her head back towards the door and was listening to her mother talk to her in soothing tones.

Since there wasn't much equipment left in her room, it was easy to spot the feeding tube.  It ran up one of her nostrils and the liquid flowing through it was bright green.  I hid a shudder of disgust; whatever they were pumping into her didn't look good.

Her eyes opened a bit wider when she saw me, and she reached up in a weak attempt to remove the oxygen mask from her face.  Mrs. Scully helped her, easing the elastic band over her head.  It was a ritual whenever I came to visit; I would lean over and give her a quick peck on her mouth.  I think the contact was as much for my benefit as hers.  There wasn't much of her left to touch.  She had no need of my hand on the small of her back anymore.  This small gesture was our new way of saying we cared without saying anything at all.

"Mmmmmm," she said, the only way she could speak my name anymore.  I smiled and made my usual joke.

"Look good enough to eat, do I?" I asked her, the ache in my heart easing a little at the small smile she managed.  My momentary relief vanished as she raised one thin hand to gesture at her face.

"Oh, the feeding tube," I said, as casually as I could.  "The nurse told me about that."

Dana frowned, her look clearly indicating her anger.

"I know it's uncomfortable," I said softly, reaching over to stroke the red fuzz that was all that remained of her hair, "But it's there to help you."

She shook her head, the lines between her eyes deepening, and I heard Mrs. Scully make a small sound of distress behind me.  I felt as though my heart were being torn in half, leaving nothing but a ragged wound in its place.  The guilt at letting them do this to her was just as great as my desire
to hold on to her just a little longer.

"Scully," I called softly, and I saw the hope in her face as I fought to continue, "I'm sure the doctors wouldn't have done this if they didn't think it would make you more comfortable."

It was a lie.  We both knew it.  Something inside me broke as Dana let her eyes close and turned her face away from me.  In the watery sun that came in the window I could see the tears slide down her cheeks.

She wouldn't look at me any more that day.

Mrs. Scully dragged me away when visiting hours were over, insisting that I needed to go home and get some rest.  I could sense her disappointment in me.  The last time I was faced with a choice like this, she had asked me to respect her daughter.  This time she had no words for me at all.

I reached out and touched her arm.

"Mrs. Scully," I said, "I know...I know what Dana wants.  I'm sorry that..."

"I understand, Fox," she interrupted me, "None of us are ready to lose her.  We never will be.  But it's not fair of us to ask Dana to wait until we are."

I nodded, seeing the truth in her words.  I left, knowing that something was going to have to be done.  Knowing that I was the one who would have to do it, and dreading the thought.

My phone was ringing as I walked in the door, and I reluctantly answered it.  I had become the source for everyone else's updates on Scully's condition, since she would allow no one else in to see her.  I was touched and mildly surprised at the number of people who contacted me.  It was reassuring that I hadn't made Dana into a total pariah.

"Mulder."

"How's she doing?"

Frohike.  I could set my watch by him.  He sent her flowers every week.  They had even talked on the phone until she lost the ability to speak.  We had known for some time that Frohike had a soft spot for Scully, but his devotion surprised even me.

"Not good."

"It's almost over, isn't it?"

"Yes."

He sighed.  "Thank God."

I was taken aback.  Why was it that everyone seemed to welcome the thought of Dana's death except me?  Frohike correctly took my silence as surprise and spoke again.

"She's ready to go, Mulder.  You know that.  She doesn't want to live this way."

How ironic.  The same words I had said to Dana's mother, when Dana lay in a coma after her abduction, were now being thrown back at me.  Of *course* I knew that.  But was it so wrong for me to want to avoid that thought?

And the answer came to me: yes, it was.  Because, as Dana's mother had said, my friendship with her was built on respect.  I might be able to keep her with me for a little longer, but after she was gone, I would have to live with the fact that I had let her down.

I squeezed my eyes shut and pinched the bridge of my nose.

"I know, Frohike."

"Our thoughts are with both of you."

"Thanks."

I hung up and flopped back to spend another sleepless night on my couch.

I rose reluctantly the next morning, not wanting to face what I knew lay ahead of me.  I pulled Dana's living will from it's hiding place and sat back down on the couch to read over it.  Her handwriting, so strong and flowing in those days, filled the page.  I could hear her gentle, reasonable voice reading the words to me.  Before I signed it, we sat down together and went over everything.  She explained the medical terminology to me, and the reasons behind her choices.  I think I learned more about her in that one afternoon than I had in all the time we'd spent together previously.

Scully had half-hoped for a quick death, like her father's.  The cancer deprived her of that, forced her to watch the slow destruction of everything she prized: her dignity, her strength, her independence.

Only her courage remained.

Far be it from me to deprive her of those things, too.

I walked through the hospital doors at 9:00 on the dot, when visiting hours began.  No more stalling.  This had to be done, and the sooner I got it over with, the sooner everyone could find some peace.

I wanted to see Dana before anyone else, to tell her that I hadn't forgotten.  To reassure her that I was going to help her.  It had tormented me all night, worrying that she thought I'd let her down.  Years ago, she had told me how guilty she felt after letting me go on ahead to the boxcar in New Mexico, and what she thought at the time was a fiery death.  Now it was my turn to save her from the kind of death she feared the most: a lingering one.

Save her.  I blinked back tears at the idea.  In all my dreams, I never thought this would be my method of rescue.

The hallway was quiet, much to my relief.  Hopefully we could get through this without another confrontation.  As I rounded the corner, I heard inarticulate moans coming from Dana's room.  Fearful of what I might find, I pushed open the door and then froze, stunned by the sight.

Scully had pulled the tube out of her nose.  It hung limply from her hand, the green ooze dripping on the floor.  A trickle of blood ran from her nostril.  I could see that she was sobbing weakly.  The same nurse from the day before was standing over her, adjusting the stand by the bed.

"Now, ma'am, we told you that if you pulled this out again, the doctor would have your hands restrained..."

"Again?" I said, furiously storming into the room.  "How many times has she pulled it out?"

The nurse turned around to regard me with impatience.  "This is the third time."

"And it's going to be the last.  Leave her alone."

"Mr. Mulder..."

"GET OUT!" I screamed, shoving her away from Dana, towards the door.  The nurse pressed her lips together in a thin line, obviously deciding she'd had enough of me.

"No changes can be made to a patient's care without the express permission of their doctor," she sniffed.

"Fine," I snarled, "Then why don't you page *Ms. Scully's* doctor and get him up here.  I will not allow her wishes to be ignored any longer.  I am a federal agent, and as such I am fully authorized to *arrest* you for assaulting another officer if you touch her again."

The nurse backed away, annoyed that she was allowing herself to be intimidated by me.

"This is absurd.  I'm getting the head nurse."

"Do that," I spat out, turning my back on her.

I gently pulled the tube from Dana's hand and put it aside.  I took my handkerchief and carefully wiped away the blood that stained her upper lip.

"Think she took me seriously?" I asked her, trying to smile as I cleaned up the rest of the mess and made her comfortable again.  She grabbed my hand with surprising strength and held on until I met her gaze.

"You're welcome," I replied.

I pulled a chair up next to her bed and sat down without letting go of her hand.  She was skin and bones now but her grip was still warm and firm.  One of the few ways she had left to show me that she really was in there somewhere.

"Dana, I have your living will with me.  I'll give it to the doctor when he gets here.  More importantly, I'm going to make sure that this doesn't happen again.  I don't care if I have to get Skinner to post agents outside your door.  I just want to make sure...that this is still what you want.  I *need* to be sure."

Slowly, painfully, she nodded.

"Okay," I said, swallowing the lump in my throat.  "Consider it done."

Before I could say anything else the door swung open and another nurse came in.  She was plump with straight brown hair that framed her face in a pageboy.  I assumed this was the head nurse and braced myself for another battle.

"Dana, how are you doing today?" she asked gently, standing next to me to bend over Scully and stroke her head.

Scully's eyes widened and she looked up at the nurse gratefully.

"Hiii," she breathed, the first word she'd spoken in two weeks.  My jaw dropped.  The nurse rested one hand on my shoulder.

"Is he the one you told me about?" she asked Scully, indicating me.  Scully nodded again, gesturing towards me.

"Mmmmm," she said, struggling to say my name.  I half-turned in my seat and held out my hand.

"I'm Fox Mulder, Dana's partner from the FBI," I said.  She shook my hand.  She had a wonderfully gentle smile.

"Nurse Owens," she said.  "Dana's told me so much about you.  I'm sorry we had to meet under such circumstances."

I noticed she didn't say "sad."

"Dana, I heard you had a little trouble this morning?" Nurse Owens asked gently.  Dana nodded and mimed pulling the tube out of her nose.  I winced at the gesture, wondering how she had managed to accomplish it three times.

"I have her living will right here," I interjected, pulling it from my pocket.  "She doesn't want the tube."

"Yes, I know," Nurse Owens answered, taking the paper.  "Dana and I talked about this.  I apologize for the mistake, Dana.  We won't bother you with this again."

Scully murmured something inarticulate and closed her eyes.  Her face looked peaceful for the first time since she'd been admitted.

Nurse Owens leaned over her again and surprised me by kissing Dana softly on her bare head.

"It's all right, sweetheart.  You can rest now.  Fox and I are going to look after you.  Your mother will be here soon, too.  We'll all be here with you for as long as you need us.  We'll be strong for you, and keep you safe."

I choked back a sob.  I *hadn't* been able to keep Scully safe.  I considered it my greatest failure, greater even than losing Samantha.  Staying with her until the end wasn't enough, but it was all I could do for her now.

Mrs. Scully arrived later that morning, and I told her everything that had happened.  Dana woke up briefly during our conversation, patting my arm with a small, proud smile.  Mrs. Scully thanked me for everything I had done for her daughter.

As the afternoon wore on, Dana became weaker.  She wore the oxygen mask all the time, only trying to communicate with hand gestures.  I felt the room begin to empty out; it's the only way I could explain it.  It was almost as though I could feel Dana gathering herself together, waiting to leave.  I think Mrs. Scully also sensed this and we sat unmoving on either side of the bed, each holding one of Dana's hands.  I felt something was keeping her back.

I remembered Nurse Owens' words, and I knew what it was.

"Scully," I said softly, needing to call her that one more time, "It's okay.  Nurse Owens is right, you should rest now."

She turned her head slowly to look at me with those huge blue eyes, searching my face for the truth.

"I'll be fine," I managed, tasting the bitterness of her words on my lips.  One tear escaped her eye and trickled down her cheek.  I reached out to wipe it away, stroking her hollow face.  She looked at me a minute more, then turned to look at her mother.

"I love you, sweetheart," Mrs. Scully said, her voice tight from trying not to break down.  "You go on, now.  I'll take care of Fox for you."

Dana turned her head back to look at me once more, then closed her eyes with a sigh.

Mrs. Scully and I sat at her bedside long after she was gone.  We looked at each other, and joined hands across Dana's body, making a circle that could never be broken.

I had kept my promise, and Dana knew it.  Nothing else was important.
 

*****
End 1/1

"[He] could not even say again: 'make an effort to live.'  [He] must let her go easily, without a struggle, without tears, without sorrow...[he] felt [his] courage and self-confidence ooze from [him] as [he] realized that the sword which had flashed between [him] and the world was sheathed forever."
 --Margaret Mitchell, "Gone With the Wind"

Now, before all you X-Philes employed in the medical field get out your flame-throwers for my portrayal of hospital staff, hear me out.

In 1994, my family was put in the same position Mulder is in when my grandmother was dying of cancer.  The hospital disregarded her living will, for whatever reason, and put a feeding tube in her nose.

My mother asked to have it taken out, and was informed that once the tube went in, they wouldn't remove it.  After my grandmother pulled it out herself, *three* times, the hospital had the unmitigated gall to call my mother and request permission to surgically insert a tube right into my grandmother's stomach.  My mother denied permission for the surgery, pointing out once again that they were ignoring my grandmother's wishes, and the hospital finally left her alone.  In the end, we moved my grandmother back to the medical center of her retirement home to die in peace.

I didn't want my grandmother to die.  I loved her very much and I didn't want to lose her.  I also didn't want her to suffer anymore, and perhaps more importantly, I didn't want to see *her* wishes cast aside as if they didn't matter.  It was the hardest thing I ever had to do, but I let her go, because it was what she wanted.

I have dedicated many stories to my grandmother Marjorie, but this one is, in all ways, for her.  And for myself, because I am still finding the words to say goodbye.

"I would have traded every medal, every commendation, every promotion, for one more second with you." --Captain William Scully, "One Breath"