Evident Need
by Leigh Alexander
leigh_xf@geocities.com

First posted: July 12th, 1997

RATING: PG
CATEGORY: SA
SPOILERS: Memento Mori
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully friendship
SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully must finally confront the issues
that were raised in the episode. The importance of trust and
the impact of mortality are two of the things they have to
deal with.

DISCLAIMERS:
1) Dana and Fox belong to Chris and Ten Thirteen Productions
and the other Fox. Absolutely *no* copyright infringement is
intended - I'm not doing this for money, I'm doing it for
love. I *love* these characters, I wouldn't want to hurt
them! :)
2) OK to archive, but if it's going anywhere other than
Gossamer, please drop me a line just so I can keep track.
3) Feel free to distribute and discuss this, as long as my
name and addy remain attached.
4) I know *nothing* about medicine, so excuse my poor grasp
of it in this story. I kept it to a minimum because of my
ignorance.

INTRO:

I actually started writing this story not long after I first
saw "Memento Mori". It's taken a while to get finished (what
a surprise!), so much of it has now been completely
contradicted by the events of all the post-"Tempus Fugit"
eps. So please read this as coming after "Unrequited" (not
that it has any relevance to that particular ep, but that's
just where it fits best) and ignore what happened in all of
the episodes that followed that one.

It's also become increasingly difficult to write any kind of
fanfic that doesn't touch upon the same ideas as at least
twenty other stories have done. In my own reading, I have
noticed similarities between certain elements of this story
Kelli Rocherolle's "What Remains" (which I *highly*
recommend!) and I'm sure there are a million other stories
out there that will bear some kind of resemblance to this one. All I
can say is that it is completely coincidental and unintentional and I 
hope that none of those fantastic writers thinks that I am trying to 
plagiarise their work.

I owe huge thanks to Melissa for her wonderful editing,
because she really made me think about this story in its
early stage and pushed me to explain my meaning a lot better.
It's because of her great questions and suggestions that this
story isn't an utter mess. :)

As usual, my main aim is to keep Mulder and Scully as *in*
character as possible, and I would love any kind of feedback
on that, or any other, aspect of this story.

-------------------------------------------------------------
Evident Need
-------------------------------------------------------------

They had somehow managed to forget. Amongst the drama of a
case, the intensity of their working relationship, the
constant fear of closure or exposure, they had been able to
push the issue away. Both of them had relegated it to a
small, dusty corner in their mind where it remained
unacknowledged and undiscussed. If Scully ever had to excuse
herself in the middle of questioning a suspect, she would
keep her head lowered in the time it took for her to reach
the restroom. Mulder would soon hear the sound of running
water, but he always forced himself to ignore it. He couldn't
afford to think of the significance of those absences; if he
did, he would be overwhelmed and unable to function. She
would return after a few minutes and the slightest of looks
would pass between them - "Are you...?" his eyes would
question, "Fine" hers replied - and things would continue as
before. A rhythm developed between them - if they didn't talk
about it, it didn't exist. That was the path they followed.

Until the day when it became impossible to stick to that
steady beat. The day when Scully felt the small explosion,
and the world as they knew it collapsed around them.

They were in their office discussing a case. Scully had been
short-tempered all day, sniping at Mulder intolerantly
whenever he launched into one of his classically ridiculous
theories, even though she had no ideas herself to explain
away the phenomenon they were discussing. She was treating
him unfairly, and she knew it. She also knew that if she just
told him that she had a pounding headache he would understand
her behaviour and probably encourage her to go home. Which
was why she didn't tell him. Even as it steadily grew worse -
the pounding turned into a hammering that felt like someone
on the inside was trying to break out through her forehead -
she remained stoically silent.

So when it happened, Mulder was completely unprepared. In
retrospect, he realised that the signs of her ill-health had
been evident in her pale, drawn face and her uncharacteristic
irritability but at the time the warning signals had
completely escaped his notice. He had been so caught up in
his argument, in his need to be right, and in his arrogant
desire to shoot down her feeble theories that the thought
that something beyond the realm of their debate might
actually be troubling her - that something might be wrong -
didn't even enter his head.

In retrospect, it was easy to be aware of so many things.

It wasn't until his partner collapsed in front of him that
her health, or lack of it, once more became cause for his
concern. Her illness abruptly shot back into the forefront of
his mind the instant her legs gave way, the soft cry that
escaped her as she fell echoing in his head for hours
afterwards.

"Scully!" As he instinctively dropped to his knees, he was
just able to break her fall with his arms. He looked down and
saw that her eyes were closed, and a rivulet of blood was
oozing rapidly out of her nose. For a split second he was
unable to react, he simply clung to her while staring blankly
at her face, willing her eyes to open. Then his mind snapped
back into gear, and as one arm continued to support her
weight the other pulled out his cell phone and dialled 911.

            ********************

In the ambulance he watched mutely as the EMTs scurried about
her body like ants. To his stricken mind, her body appeared
lifeless. The absence of spirit, of movement, of all those
nebulous things which combined with the body's shell to
create the woman he knew as Dana Scully struck an all-
consuming fear into him. It wasn't the first time he'd felt
that terror - in fact, the previous occasions were too
numerous to collate in his mind - but there was no
reassurance in its familiarity. Its intensity was equally
recognisable, yet new all the same.

With one swift movement, the EMTs sliced through Scully's
grey, fitted top and attached electrodes to her pale skin.
Mulder had to look away. The unconcern demonstrated by the
men wielding the scissors underscored their view of Scully as
nothing more than a patient, a body to be repaired. They
didn't know how rigidly she maintained control in her life,
how ashamed she would be to find herself in this position of
weakness. But Mulder knew. And he knew that she would be
horrified at having herself revealed to him in this way. More
than that, the sight of her plain white bra and exposed torso
*did* alter his perception of her; vulnerability was not a
word that he would ever have associated with his partner
until now, when the strength and independance that defined
her was gone - stolen from her by a sweeping pair of
scissors. Tough, independant, invincible, warm, caring,
intelligent Dana Scully had been replaced by an empty body. A
body that was now laid bare to him in a way that she would
never have allowed in life. His eyes turned to her face,
tracing over her familiar features. Ignoring the oxygen mask
which fed life into Scully's body, Mulder found there the
reassurance and solace that he so desperately needed.

As if sensing his stare, Scully's eyes chose that moment to
slowly flutter open. Mulder felt a surge of adrenelin course
through him at the sight of her re-awakening. He leaned
forward so that she could see him and in doing so, caught the
instinctive look of terror that leapt into her eyes upon
awakening in unfamiliar surroundings. Almost immediately she
reined the emotion in, replacing it with a more controlled
look of curiosity. Mulder placed his hand soothingly on the
top of her head, smoothing the hair away from her face with a
small thumb movement. Her eyes flicked in his direction and
he smiled reassuringly.

"You're in the ambulance, Scully. We're taking you to the
hospital."

She nodded slightly to show she'd heard, and then winced as
the pain jarred through her. Mulder pretended not to see her
reaction knowing that fussing over her would only underline
the seriousness of what they were now facing. Instead, his
usual defence mechanism kicked into action and he joked to
her, "If you wanted a free ride to the hospital, you only had
to ask, Scully."

The remark made her smile, and Mulder felt relief shoot
through him. Nothing had changed. They could get through this
without needing to make any adjustments. Things could go on
as before, which was all he wanted. He smiled back at her and
continued stroking her hair.

            ********************

The coffee was weak and tasteless but Mulder didn't notice.
He blew on it distractedly, even though it was already cold,
while studying the two doors in front of him. They still
swung slightly on their hinges, although it was at least five
minutes since Scully had been wheeled through and set them in
motion. He knew there was no point in waiting here - the
doctor had said it would take at least an hour before she
would be brought back - but the thought of waiting in her
hospital room was no more comforting. At least if he was here
he would know the instant they brought her back.

"Fox?" The voice carried down the hallway. He turned to see
Mrs. Scully walking quickly towards him, her anxious
expression readily apparent from where he stood. He put the
polystyrene cup down on a nearby table and moved in the
direction of Scully's mother. Before she'd even had a chance
to voice her worry, Mulder had answered her question, "She's
OK, Mrs. Scully. They're just running a few tests on her."

Margaret swallowed and her eye was quickly attracted to the
doors that had been the object of Mulder's attention. Without
looking at him, she asked in a calm, yet shaky, voice, "Is it
the tumour?"

Mulder couldn't reply. If he answered her, the disease that
Scully and he had mostly managed to avoid talking about would
become a concrete reality. Death would cease to be a stranger
and Scully's life would be dominated by its shadow. But Mrs.
Scully didn't need a verbal reply. As his silence grew
longer, her attention moved from the doors to his face. There
she saw the confirmation of her fear.

"Oh God."

Her hands flew to her mouth and Mulder heard the tears in her
voice. He felt her pain, and yet he was unable to comfort
her. He couldn't grieve with her because his mind still
refused to accept the truth of her fear. Instead he returned
his gaze to the double doors, murmuring softly - whether it
was to her or himself he didn't know - "They said she'd be
back in an hour."

            ********************

The whirls and grooves spun out in his imagination in the
shapes of cows, faces and objects. Mulder had had his gaze
rooted to his fair share of hospital ceilings, but this time
the floor was proving to be just as fascinating a source of
Freudian images. He had been staring fixedly at the ground
for the past two hours as he and Mrs. Scully maintained a
silent vigil by Scully's side. She had been sleeping when
they brought her back from the tests and neither of them had
dared disturb her, appreciating the unacknowledged fact that
in sleep she was at peace. Her partner, her mother, her
doctor and even her nurses knew that when she awoke she was
going to be greeted with the harshness of reality. So they
let her sleep.

Mulder felt his stomach tighten in hunger and, glancing at
Scully to reassure himself that she was still in her restful
state, he stood up from his chair.

"Mrs. Scully, I'm just going to get something from the
cafeteria. Do you want anything?"

Margaret looked up briefly from her contemplation of her
daughter's sleeping face, and smiled politely. "No, I'm fine
thank you, Fox." As soon as the words were out of her mouth,
her attention returned to Dana. All the while, her fingers
had continued their gentle caress on the IV-studded arm that
lay slackly in front of her.

Mulder left the room silently.

By the time he returned - only ten minutes later - Scully was
awake. A generous smile cracked across his face as he entered
the room and saw her sitting up in the bed, her back propped
up by pillows. She heard his entry and turned to face him,
mimicking his grin with her own wide smile.

"Mulder." Her voice was a warm murmuring welcome.

He stood next to her bed and fidgeted with her blanket, as he
tried to control the wave of childlike excitement that was
rising in him. After a moment's pause, he looked at her
intensely and asked, "How are you feeling?"

She shrugged dismissively. "Just a little tired, I suppose.
Nothing to worry about."

Mulder nodded and sank back into his seat. He was just about
to say something more when a knock at the door interrupted
him. It was Dr. Rabey - the young oncologist who had been on
call when Scully was brought in. In his hands were a thick
wad of documents which they all immediately knew to be the
results of the various tests that had been run on Scully upon
her arrival.

"Hi Dana." His smile was genuine although it was infused with
an undercurrent of anxiety. "How are you feeling?"

Mulder and Scully exchanged a quick grin as Scully replied,
"Fine. I really feel just fine."

The doctor nodded and studied his patient intently before
continuing. "Dana, I have the results of your test here and
I'd like to speak to you about them." He paused and allowed
his eyes to flicker from Mulder to Margaret and then asked
Scully, "Would you like this to be in private?"

Mulder felt the silence invade his head like a gunshot. The
significance of Dr. Rabey's question had not gone unnoticed
by any of them, and three sets of minds automatically leapt
ahead to the worst possible assumption.

Scully's voice was measured and calm when she replied. "No,
that's all right. I'd rather they stayed."

"OK, that's fine." He pulled a third chair over from the
corner of the room and sat down gently, resting his notes on
his lap. Unopened. Looking her directly in the eye, he began
to speak.

"Dana, you're a doctor so I'm sure you know how hard it is to
have to deliver this kind of news to a patient..."

A hand being squeezed so tightly that it was turning red was
the only image that Mulder's mind absorbed over the next few
minutes. The medical terms that the doctor spouted out were
drowned out by the ringing in his ears and the rising wave of
nausea. Mrs. Scully had gripped her only daughter's hand as
the compassionate voice had begun to speak and Mulder found
his eyes rooted to the sight of their interwoven fingers. The
voice grew loud again...

"... tumour has increased, and will keep increasing..."

Mulder tried in vain not to register the meaning of those
words but the voice droned on, pounding the facts into his
brain.

"... we can only estimate, but you could have as little as
two weeks, or as long as a year. However, a year is
unlikely..."

No. No. No. This couldn't be happening. It was a dream, a
nightmare. It was impossible. People didn't die like that. A
life couldn't end with two weeks notice, like a bad job that
someone wants to get rid of. It was impossible.

"BULLSHIT!" The word exploded out of his mouth, its force
bringing him out of his chair, which toppled backwards and
provided the only noise in the thick silence. Dr. Rabey
stared at him in shock, which only made Mulder angrier.

"That is a load of *bull*! Who are you working for?!! Who's
put you in here to infiltrate the staff and make up these
lies?!! I refuse to believe you!!! Scully is *NOT* going to
die--"

"Mulder!" It was Scully's voice cutting through his angry
assault, but he didn't hear her.

"Get another doctor in here *NOW*! I want another doctor from
another hospital right here!!! There is *no* way that you
assholes are going to get away with this this time - you're
going to pay, I promise you--"

"MULDER!" This time he heard her, and felt her. Her hand was
gripping his arm with a vice-like hold. When he turned his
head to face her, anger was burning in her eyes, which were
clear and tearless. "Mulder, stop it!"

He looked at her in shock and pleaded, "Scully, you don't
believe him, do you? You know that it's Cancerman who's
behind all this?"

"Mulder, don't do this. Please." Her voice descended to a
whisper, "Don't make this any worse than it already is."

He couldn't stand it any longer. The pain and anger were
unbearable, pummelling him on the inside while his partner's
steely eyes attacked him on the outside. Casting her a final
look of incomprehension and stubbornness, Mulder pulled his
arm out of Scully's grasp and marched out of the room. He
couldn't stand around listening to those lies...

He couldn't stand by and watch her die.

            ********************

A moment of silence passed while Scully's gaze was affixed to
the doorway that Mulder had just stormed through. She was
shaken by his rage and with her face averted from the keen
eyes of her mother and doctor, she struggled to bring her
wayward emotions under control. Mulder's outburst had almost
managed to destroy the precious distance she had put between
herself and the doctor's words and it was with a stern
resoluteness that she submerged herself back into that state
before returning her attention to the pair seated next to
her.

With a husky voice she murmured to Dr. Rabey, "I'm sorry
about that. Go on..."

He looked at her with unconcealed surprise and his silent
concern was expressed almost immediately by Mrs. Scully with
nothing more than a word. "Dana...?"

Scully turned to look at her mother and at the sight of the
tears which fell unashamedly down the older woman's face, she
felt her throat constrict. Without a word, she nodded her
head tightly - she was OK - and then quickly looked back at
the doctor. Her eyes begged him to keep talking. If he spoke,
she could lose herself in the words. She could grab onto them
with her mind and push away the pitiful, yet strong, feelings
which continued to threaten her.

Hearing her plea, Dr. Rabey started speaking. Opening the
folder that still rested on his lap, he began to detail in
utter clarity the progress of her disease and the state of
her future. Once his voice had recommenced, Scully felt her
tears melt away as her brain was able to concentrate on the
scientific facts being laid out in front of her.

The litany of facts had the opposite effect on Margaret
Scully. The sobs rose in her throat with a steady ebb and
flow. Loss was something that she had had to deal with
throughout her life, but every time it struck again like a
new and increasingly more painful blow. She had felt cheated
when both her husband and first daughter had been taken from
her without warning but it now dawned on her that being
prepared didn't make it any better. Death was death,
regardless of its warning.

The doctor had almost finished now. He looked up from his
notes and said softly to Scully, "Dana, you know that there
are no certainties in science. These are simply the
conclusions that we have drawn from the data - the most
logical conclusions - but as such, they are only guidelines.
I can't tell you how much longer you have. I can't tell you
exactly how it will happen when it does." Scully nodded her
head in understanding, absorbing the information with as
little feeling as possible. "I must, however, recommend that
you avoid driving a car, or being in control of any other
machinery. I would also recommend that you find a non-
stressful work assignment--"

"A desk job?" She interrupted sharply, her voice showing the
first sign of significant emotion since Mulder's departure.

"Of course, that would be your decision. These are simply
suggestions. I leave it to your discretion to follow through
with them." He countered gently. She accepted his reply with
a nod and he stood up, preparing to leave.

Scully indicated the folder in his hand and with a calm voice
asked, "May I look at the test results, doctor?"

"Certainly." He passed her the folder, adding as he did so,
"Dana, if you need anything at all - advice, prescriptions,
counselling - just contact me and I'll try and help." His
smile was sad as he said good-bye and left the room.

Scully put the folder down on the bedside table and brought
her hand across to cover her mother's. Feeling the wrinkles
of skin under her fingers, Scully imagined she could feel the
blood that flowed steadily through her mother's body.
Mother's blood that would continue to flow after her
daughter's death. Scully's fingers slid over and under
Margaret's hand, wrapping the older woman's hand in her own
grasp.

"I'm sorry, mom." Scully whispered as she lifted their
entwined hands to her lips and softly kissed her mother's
white knuckles. "I'm so sorry..." The rest of what she had
been going to say was lost as she found herself engulfed in
the tight, warm embrace that she remembered from childhood.
In the cocoon of motherly comfort, reality was pushed aside
for a timeless moment. Scully hovered within - her arms
wrapped themselves around the body that held her so close -
not wanting to escape from this protective shell. Not ever.

            ********************

He stood alone at the end of the hallway; in front of a large
window which looked out over the city, providing a
breathtaking view whose therapeutic value could not have been
overlooked by the hospital's counselling staff. But Mulder
saw nothing. His gaze was fixed on the Washington Monument,
but its image never registered in his brain. He had been
standing there for over an hour, but he felt no physical
discomfort. The only pain he felt was emotional.

That was where she found him. It didn't take her long, as he
hadn't ventured far from her room. The hallway was nearly
empty as she made her way towards him. Her feet were encased
in soft hospital-issue slippers, yet her approach was not
completely noiseless. He heard her, and he saw her reflection
in the window, but he remained in the same position, even as
he saw her hesitate, looking at him, waiting for a sign that
he was willing to talk to her. He didn't turn around, but he
allowed his eyes to focus on her reflection as she lowered
herself into the row of seats a few feet away.

Aware of each other's presence, yet deliberately not
acknowledging it, the silence between them was palpable.
Scully studied the ground as a million different thoughts
flew around in her head. Although her anger had ebbed away,
it was still there underneath all the other emotions - the
fear, sorrow, despair, compassion and understanding - which
twisted inside of her, forming a glisteningly sharp array of
feelings that scratched away at her soul.

Finally she had to break the silence. Her eyes continued to
stare blankly at the floor beneath her as she spoke, her
voice not much stronger than a whisper. "I checked the
results myself, Mulder. Everything Dr. Rabey said is
accurate."

Mulder's eyes closed. He didn't want to hear this. Pressing
his forehead against the icy glass he answered, "There must
be something they can do?" The desperation in his voice
mostly concealed through sheer effort.

"No." Her reply was typically blunt. "There's nothing that
can be done, Mulder." Taking a deep breath she lifted her
head and their eyes met in the glass, "I'm going to die."

Staring at each other's reflected eyes each of them felt a
loosening of the feelings which usually bound them so
tightly. It was a mere image that was being captured in the
window; an ethereal embodiment of the corporeal being - the
absence of substance giving them licence to drop their
shields. In this form, it was so much easier to distance
themselves from the facts which were inexorably weighing them
down and as their gazes were exchanged in the Washington sky
a moment passed between them notable for its brevity as much
as for its power.
Emotions which could never be verbalised were conveyed in an
instant.

It was Scully who broke the contact first, feeling the hot,
prickly rise of tears that she had so far managed to keep at
bay. She had to lower her head, not wanting Mulder to see her
crumble.

Again there was silence. Mulder watched Scully steadily as
she took a deep breath and surreptitiously wiped the corners
of her eyes. After a moment, she rose to her feet. Despite
himself, Mulder couldn't help noticing the shakiness of her
arm as she pushed herself out of the chair, then pulled her
robe tightly around her body as if cold in the warm hallway.
Once more she raised her eyes so that they connected with his
in the window. He felt a great heaviness descend on him; a
sense of futility, coupled with worthlessness, filled him to
his very core, even as she smiled shakily - forgivingly - at
him and made a move as if to go.

He turned around and took a step towards her. "Scully..." his
voice croaked her name and she turned back to face him.
"Don't..." he started, then faltered as the next word refused
to leave his lips. "... leave," he euphemistically concluded.

Not understanding him, Scully gestured back down the hallway
and softly replied, "I'm just going back to my room."

He shook his head. "That's not what I meant."

Indentations appeared on Scully's forehead as her brow
furrowed in confusion.

His voice was a hoarse whisper as he shakily continued, "You
can't die, Scully." Her eyes jumped away from his gaze, the
starkness of the words spearing her with their realism.
Mulder placed his hand on her neck, his thumb grazing her jaw-
bone. His body inclined towards hers as he added in a raw and
desperate tone of voice, "I need you." The sentiment was a
useless band-aid stupidly trying to cover up a gaping wound,
but it had to be expressed regardless of its ineffectualness.
He needed to say it for all the times when he hadn't said it.
For all the occasions when he'd taken her for granted,
treated her like an object, not respected her, dismissed her
ideas, not trusted her...

When she lifted her face up to look at him, her expression
was ambiguous. Behind her clear, tearless eyes a gamut of
emotions were duelling in her head. Emotions that even she
couldn't yet decipher. So it was with an understanding yet
faintly patronising tone of voice that she replied, "I know
you do, Mulder." He was disconcerted by her reply, and even
more so when she added warmly, "Thank you," before turning
around to head back in the direction of her room. His hand
slid from her neck as she moved away, trailing numbly down
her shoulder as he watched her leave. His eyes remained
affixed to her disappearing back as her words repeated
themselves in his head, and his brain tried to decipher her
meaning.

Scully's head was also filled with the echo of her own voice.
The note of discord that had crept into her words had
surprised her as much as it had Mulder. As she continued down
the hallway, she found herself contemplating the significance
of her reaction. What was it about his admission that had
rankled her? She couldn't answer that question immediately;
examining her feelings about Mulder wasn't something that she
had any experience in doing, and it wasn't until she'd
returned to the quiet of her room that the pieces began to
shift cannily into place.

<I need you> The admission was a rare one from Mulder and it
should have pleased her. But instead it had only served to
shine a potent spotlight on the one facet of Mulder's
personality that had teasingly alternated between inspiring
and frustrating her over the past four years. His inability
to see beyond that which concerned him had served him well in
his pursuit of the truth; but it had also cost him - and her
- so much more.

She had once told him how much she admired him for his
passion and dedication towards his work, but that had been
over three years ago and in the passing time the passion had
turned into an obsession that had slowly engulfed her, even
as it enraptured her. In the beginning there had been
multifarious reasons for her wanting to stick to his side.
For someone coming off two-years "forensic duty" at Quantico,
it had been a welcome relief to be tackling problems out in
the field rather than in the morgue; she had enjoyed the
challenge, and had appreciated the intellectual stimulation
that he and the X-Files offered. But for the last year or
two, subtle annoyances had begun to push their way into her
consciousness. What had previously been confidence became
arrogance, gentle teasing turned into dismissive barbs,
suggestions were now orders, closeness became intimacy and
with that came pain, dependance and fear...

Scully couldn't contemplate that thought in any more depth.
Instead, she turned her mind to the one solid conclusion that
she had reached in her ruminations. With his words still
echoing persistently in her head like a tape-recorded
message, she now realised what it was that had sent the
liquid flame of anger coursing through her in response to his
admission of need.

Why he hadn't asked her what *she* needed?

            ********************

In less than a week she was back at work. For five minutes at
least.

No sooner had she startled Mulder by appearing in the doorway
to their office than the phone rang, causing them both to
jump slightly and glare at the offending interruption
angrily.

His hand reached out and picked up the handset. "Mulder."
When the voice on the other line started speaking, Mulder
quickly glanced at Scully who had started to move towards her
desk. He shook his head at her, indicating that she needn't
get any more settled, as he curtly said into the phone,
"We'll be right up," and hung up.

Scully lifted her eyebrow questioningly. Mulder's response
was immediate, "Skinner wants to see us." He stood up and
pulled his jacket off the back of his chair.

Scully dumped her briefcase on her desk and asked curiously,
"Now?"

He nodded without a word then stopped directly in front of
her and fixed her with an intense gaze. "How are you feeling
Scully? I wasn't expecting you back..."

Avoiding his eye she replied simply, "I'm fine."

Ignoring her reluctance, he persisted, "Are you sure? Didn't
the doctor say you should take some time off--"

"Mulder, don't." Her meaning was evident, and he closed his
mouth. The rest of the trip to Skinner's office was conducted
in silence.

When they arrived at the Assistant Director's office, they
were ushered in immediately. Before closing the door behind
them, Skinner spoke to his secretary, "Hold all my calls,
Kimberly." Mulder and Scully glanced at each other. This had
to be serious.

Once all three were seated Mulder and Scully's gazes turned
expectantly to their superior, who remained silent for a long
moment, staring resolutely at a piece of paper which he held
in his hand. Feeling like a wayward student about to be
reprimanded in the principal's office, Mulder fought the
temptation to squirm in his chair and tried to catch a
glimpse of the sheet that Skinner was studying so intently.

Finally, the paper was placed back down on the desk and
Mulder saw that it was a letter, although the letterhead was
indistinguishable from this angle. Skinner lifted his gaze
and allowed it to fall on the two people in front of him
before zeroing in on the female agent.

"Agent Scully, I have a letter here from a Dr -" he glanced
at the bottom of the page, "Dr. Rabey." Skinner was now
focussing his attention on Scully who had blanched slightly
at the mention of the oncologist. She nodded and he
continued, "He has written to me to urge me to persuade you
not to continue with your current position as an
investigative agent with the X-Files."

The reverberations of his words carried through the room.
Waves of anger and shame projected from Scully's taut posture
and Mulder found himself wincing in empathy, even while part
of his brain was registering Scully's small betrayal. She
hadn't told him. The few words that they had exchanged in the
past week suddenly crumbled in front of him, finally
demonstrating their superficiality with the knowledge that
there had been so much more she should have been telling him.

Skinner resumed speaking, his normally direct gaze wafting
somewhere between Scully's knees and Mulder's chair before
settling on the doctor's type-written letter once more. "He
says that not only are you endangering your own health and
safety, but that you will be putting the lives of others at
risk."

Her fury was contained, yet acidic all the same. "He had no
right." She shook her head, while her fingers tightly clasped
the chair arms, "He had no right to contact you. This was my
decision to make, and I made it. I feel fine --" her voice
trembled slightly as the familiar refrain left her lips but
after a momentary pause she was able to continue with just as
much clarity as before, staring defiantly at Skinner as she
spoke. "Dr. Rabey said that there is no way of knowing how
much time I have left, so I made the choice to continue
working until I am unable to do so. Right now I *am* able. I
need to work, sir."

"I'm not suggesting that you shouldn't, Scully. We would find
you a good job - a challenging job - that didn't involve the
physical exertion that you currently undergo."

"Such as?" She asked coldly.

Skinner pulled a nearby folder over and opened it up,
flicking through the pages with purpose until he found the
sheet he was looking for. He had obviously prepared for this
moment. "There's an ideal position that has just opened at
Quantico in the forensic department. It's a team who are
currently researching the many inexplicable deaths that occur
each week across the country. They need someone with your
skills and your capabilities. Your background with the X-
Files would be an invaluable resource."

Mulder felt a small shiver of relief run through him. It
wasn't a desk job. It was something worthy, something that
she could do... something that she would enjoy doing, that
she would be proud of--

"I'm sorry, I can't accept that position."

Mulder's head swung round in shock. Skinner's eyes lifted
from the page and he stared at her with a perplexed look, his
hand still holding one of the loose pages aloft, "You can't?"
He echoed.

For a moment Scully herself seemed surprised by what she had
said. Her face registered the same bewilderment that was
being plainly expressed by the two men, but in her case it
was quickly replaced by a look of pensive contemplation as
the meaning behind her refusal sank in. Watching her, Mulder
could tell that she was coming to a slow realisation. He
could almost see the processes that her brain was undergoing
not only in understanding the reasons herself, but also in
making those explanations comprehensible to everyone else. It
didn't take long for her obviously jumbled thoughts to be
brought together into some cohesive whole and before long she
began to speak. Her eyes remained trained on Skinner, but
Mulder knew that the words were directed at him.

"It's been over four years now since I was first assigned to
the X-Files. At the time I believed it was to be a temporary
placement that would last a few months, maybe a year. I never
anticipated being there for as long as I have been." There
was a subtle note of fatigue in her voice that did not go
unnoticed by Mulder, although he was almost sure that Scully
was unaware of the subconscious message she was conveying. It
disappeared the instant she continued speaking, "I knew that
I needed to pass this stage if I was going to succeed in the
Bureau, but what began as a personal challenge has become an
all-consuming crusade. Mulder's crusade for the most part.
But along the way, I've begun to share his passion." For the
first time since she started talking, Scully's eyes moved in
his direction. She looked at him quickly before her gaze
skirted away uneasily, not yet ready to say these things to
him directly. Her voice softened, "This is not just a job for
me, sir. I need to know the truths that have been concealed
from us. I have to help Mulder find his sister. There are
lies that must be uncovered, and I need to be involved in
that." She paused to moisten her lip and then with a steady
voice concluded, "I need to find out what happened to me when
I was taken away."

Although she had stopped speaking, her voice seemed to linger
in the very air that they each breathed in. Skinner's
attention was caught by the pen which was suspended between
his two fingers, his concentration on that object a sign of
the intensity with which he was absorbing her statement.
Eventually he looked up from the pen and focussed on her
directly, "And you don't feel that you can pursue those
investigations through any other means?"

Scully tightened her lips together and shook her head.

The silence in the room lengthened as Skinner contemplated
the position he had been placed in. Scully's even stare
subtly challenged him to respect her decision, but his own
instincts were stridently insistent. It was imperative that
he examine the facts before him with a rational mind,
forcefully ignoring the emotional baggage which hung heavily
in his head. Logically, he knew that the doctor's advice was
sound, just as Scully herself must have known. Yet he also
understood Scully well enough to appreciate her refusal to
heed Rabey's advice. After he had turned the dilemma over in
his own mind for a number of minutes, Skinner finally
deferred the decision to the only person that he believed
Scully would listen to.

"Agent Mulder, what do you think?"

As two sets of eyes swivelled in his direction, Mulder felt
everything inside of him stop. Although the import of
Skinner's question was obvious, he managed to buy some time
with a question. "Sir?" He glanced rapidly at Scully, then
looked back at Skinner, "What do you mean?"

With a feigned air of detachment, Skinner replied brusquely,
"You two work together constantly, so I think you'd be the
best judge of Agent Scully's capabilities in light of her
recent news regarding her health. I'd like to hear your views
on the matter."

Instinctively, Mulder's head turned to face Scully. Even now
when it was she who was the very centre of the argument, he
couldn't repress the involuntary urge to seek some kind of
confirmation or rebuttal in her eyes. However, instead of the
usual look of disbelief or support that he was accustomed to
he was greeted by an expression of trust. She was expecting
him to back her up; she didn't question it. With a single
look he asked her for her forgiveness for what he was about
to do. Then he averted his eyes, and felt a flush of shame
rise within him as he replied to Skinner's question.

"In light of Dr. Rabey's advice I- I think it would be better
if Scully were transferred out of the X-Files, sir."

If every window in the office had shattered at that precise
moment, Mulder would not have been surprised. In fact, he
almost desired such a cataclysmic reaction - some kind of
physical response that could suck the power out of the
intense emotional response that had to be welling up inside
Scully in response to his words. He didn't need to look at
her to know how she was reacting. Trust and loyalty - the two
qualities he revered so devoutly - had been destroyed in an
instant, and he was the one responsible.

Scully remained rigid, her face frozen in pure shock. His
betrayal turned her to stone, the chill seeping right through
to her core. Initially her gaze was rooted to his lowered
face, but she was rapidly overcome with a repulsion so strong
that she couldn't bear to look at him any more, and her eyes
flicked away. A taut quiet stretched out between them all,
threatening to snap in an instant. For now they were
suspended in a place of painful calm as Scully's mind
processed Mulder's words.

The silence was finally disrupted by the faint amalgam of
sounds that were produced as Scully pushed back her chair and
got to her feet. Skinner and Mulder watched her and saw the
anger that was seething just below the surface of her icy
demeanour. Without a word and with significant looks cast at
the two men, Scully moved her hand along her waist to her
lower back and unfastened the holster which rested there
comfortably. She held her sheathed weapon for a few seconds,
looking at it with a hint of regret in her eyes, before
placing it slowly and deliberately on Skinner's desk. Still
maintaining her cool silence, Scully reached into her inside
coat pocket and removed her I.D, dropping that on the desk
next to her gun. At that point she paused, her attention
fixed on the two essential pieces of paraphernalia that for
the past four years had tied her to this job. She remembered
the last time she had laid them on Skinner's desk with
similar defiance and felt a forlorn despair pass through her
at the irony. The last time she had ceased to be an FBI agent
was because of Mulder. She had been trying to protect him
then, and in doing so, she had been confronted with the
direct repercussions of her actions. This time it was because
of Mulder also... With that thought she finally worked up the
strength to look at him again. His guilt-ridden demeanour
didn't ease her anger or her anguish and both emotions were
bitingly conveyed in the single moment of eye contact that
they shared before Mulder had to look away.

Scully turned her attention back to Skinner and in a cold
voice said, "Since neither of you believe that I should be
working, I will resign immediately from the Bureau."

Skinner abruptly shot to his feet, "Scully, that's not what
we want--"

"Well since no-one appears to be considering what I want, I
don't feel particularly obliged to extend you the same
courtesy," she answered crisply. Then she quickly turned
around and walked to the door. With her hand on the knob, she
swivelled back to face the two men and with a voice that she
could only just manage to keep under control she added, "My
life is ending too soon. But you have just buried me before
I'm even dead."

With a shaky hand she opened the door, and left the room.

            ********************

Neither Mulder nor Skinner spoke for a few seconds after the
door had closed behind her. Their eyes made contact with her
words still echoing in the room and each of them could read
the guilt clearly displayed in the other's eyes.

Mulder broke the silence, "Sir, I'd like to request some time
off. Vacation time, compassionate leave... whatever you want
to call it."

"That's fine, Mulder."

The agent nodded and made a move to leave before being called
back by Skinner's voice. "Mulder." He turned around and saw
something approximating sadness displayed on his superior's
face, "Keep me informed."

Mulder acknowledged the request with a quick nod and swiftly
exited Skinner's office.

            ********************

The calmness of her movements belied the twisting anxiety and
anger that filled her entire being. It roared through her
head creating a pain so much more intense than the one she'd
felt all those weeks ago in this very room. But rather than
spinning her into a directionless void, the hammering ache
inside her only bred a necessary steadiness that guided her
limbs as they continued with their actions. She opened her
upper desk drawer with an unwavering hand and swiftly sorted
through what was contained within, throwing out the items
that were no longer needed, and placing what remained in the
box in front of her.

She appeared to be focussed on this task when he entered the
room, although her body's emotional reflex betrayed the will
being exerted by her mind as she stiffened slightly in
response to his appearance. Ignoring his presence and her own
weakness with equal determination, her fingers flew downwards
and opened the second drawer. Again, she separated the
rubbish from the other items, aggressively tearing the
unwanted paper into minuscule shreds before dropping them in
the trash can at her feet. Wishing she could discard her
feelings with as much ease.

Mulder closed the door behind him and slumped against it, his
body language the epitome of a sorrowful man. He watched her
as she moved around her desk with clear and certain purpose,
feeling himself sink further and further downwards as their
rupture became more concrete by the second. Her anger and
hurt filled the room, pushing against his chest and sidling
its way into his head. It formed a lethal concoction with the
riot of negative emotions that were spinning around in his
own head and with the weight of those feelings bearing down
on him he knew he had to explain his actions to her.

His upper body leaned forward slightly as he appealed to her,
"Scully-"

She didn't even stop what she was doing as she replied
coolly, "Mulder, I don't want to talk about it."

He moved away from the door and planted himself in front of
her desk. "You have to let me explain."

Her hands ceased their movement abruptly and her head snapped
up to look him in the eye. The fury that burned in her
unflinching gaze was kept tightly in check as she responded,
"There's nothing to explain, Mulder. You just did what you
always do: you did what was best for you."

"Scully, this isn't about me." He spoke intently, his eyes
pinched with pain.

"Mulder it's always about you." Her tone was bitter, tempered
with a resigned sigh.

"Is that what you really think of me?"

Her gaze dropped and she stayed silent, answering his
question with more eloquence than any words would have
achieved.

"Scully...?"

She looked at him and her voice was at once weary and pained,
"Well, what do you expect me to think, Mulder? You ditch me
at every opportunity in order to pursue your own goals; you
sacrifice *everything* to find the truth; you persistently
disregard my opinions because they fly in the face of what
you believe; yet you have no qualms in demanding absolute
trust and loyalty from me and when the roles are reversed and
I ask you to believe in *me* - to trust me - you betray me
with barely a moment's hesitation. What am I supposed to
think?"

Stripped of their defences they stared unflinchingly at one
another. With their closeness came an increased knowledge
with which they could hurt each other and the barbs that
Scully delivered hit home. Mulder gulped down her words like
a nauseating medicine quickly recognising their truth even as
they burned him inside.

"Scully, I'm sorry about all that. I'm sorry if I've hurt you
in the past, or given you the impression that I don't respect
you. But none of that really matters now--"

A strangled sound halfway between a sob and a bitter laugh
escaped from her throat. "It matters to me, Mulder."

He shook his head, frustrated at his inability to explain
himself and at her refusal to see the essence of what he was
saying. "That's not - What I mean is..." He paused, moving
around the side of the desk until he stood directly in front
of Scully. He gripped her shoulder and bent down slightly so
that they were nearly at eye level. With sad eyes and an
anguished tone he whispered, "This is your *life* we're
talking about, Scully. That's all I care about right now."

Tears sprung to Scully's eyes with unsubtle alacrity and she
felt her hardened resolve slowly crumble in response to his
words. Her head was tilted downwards to escape the entrapment
of his gaze. Her hands squeezed into fists as she fought
against the rising wave of tears until finally she was able
to speak without her voice trembling, even though her throat
was wet with tears. She met his eyes with a defiant stare,
"Exactly, Mulder. It's *my* life; what I do with it is my
choice. And I want to work."

"So why didn't you accept the position that Skinner offered?"

"It was a demotion, Mulder. No matter how pretty the wrapping
was, it was the medical equivalent of a desk job. It was
putting me back where I started four years ago."

"So it's the X Files or nothing?"

Avoiding his gaze - not wanting him to see the flutter of
confusion that filled her eyes - she replied, "Looks like
it."

He loosened his grip and stood to his full height, looking
down on her bent head. The meaning of her words was
unfathomable to him. Their significance escaped him because
there was no room in his microchip of comprehension that
could process what she was saying - since when had the X
Files become her life too? Multi-faceted anger rose within
him, its basal beginnings splintered with the shards of so
many other degrees of hurt and fury. The initial affront -
the reluctance to share what was his - was quickly submerged
amongst the other pains. The pain of responsibility and guilt
overwhelmed... then yielded to the central force of the
original anger. And while these feelings clashed discordantly
within his soul, a soft, pure choler weaved its way through
the mix, providing the steadying beat that had been so
abruptly shattered a few weeks ago. Scully is dying, it
reminded him with every heartbeat. Scully is dying.

And if he couldn't stop that from happening, then at least he
could stop her from wasting her final moments. Now it was his
turn to lash out in anger, "OK, then. Say you'd continued
working on the X-Files, Scully. What if someone had gotten
themself killed because of you?"

Her anger crackled in response. She shoved a picture frame
into the box, then slammed a file on top of it with a harsh
slap. Her fury was directed at the malleable and inanimate
objects within her hands, but Mulder felt the blows all the
same. "That wouldn't have happened." She replied through
gritted teeth.

"How do you know, Scully? You collapsed in this office
without warning - how do you know that that couldn't have
happened when you were trying to defend someone's life, or
back me up?! It could happen at any moment Scully--"

"And it could happen when I'm asleep!" Scully interrupted
with a wavering voice. She could no longer keep down the
tears or subdue the pain that burned inside of her. Although
she couldn't admit it to herself, the truth that hid itself
within his layered words was infiltrating her shakily-
constructed logic and sucking away her convictions.

As much as he wanted to stop the flow of harsh words, Mulder
knew that she needed to be shown the truth, and he knew that
this was the only way of getting through to her. She needed
to deal with the consequences that she had so far fought
tooth-and-nail to avoid facing. He reined his anger in
slightly, although his voice still contained a note of
bitterness when he spoke. "But you don't know, do you? You
don't know when it's going to happen and you have no way of
stopping it when it does. You have to face reality, Scully -
you're a doctor and an FBI agent, but you're not a superhero.
You can't fight this single-handedly. And you can't fight it
by ignoring it." Suddenly Mulder's anger slid away. The
vulnerability that was peeking through her thick, defensive
shield in response to his words was too much for him to bear.
Using his voice as a lever, he tried to pull her gaze towards
his in an attempt to renew the intimacy that had been
shattered in Skinner's office. Softly he said, "Scully, I'm
not trying to hurt you. I know how hard this is for you, and
believe me the last thing I'd want would be to make it any
worse. I just want to help you..."

Although he had rubbed against her sensitive spots with the
gentleness of sandpaper, Scully managed to stem the threat of
tears with rigid control. The anger that had been duelling
with the pain inside her also eased marginally. His words
were logical, and if she were able to examine the situation
from an objective perspective, she would no doubt agree with
him. But for now she couldn't loosen the desperate grip she
was retaining on normality. And right now, her way was the
only way of seeing things. With a soft exhalation she
answered, "I know that, Mulder. And I appreciate what you're
saying." Then she fixed him with a weary gaze and added
emotionally, "But you didn't help, Mulder. You took away the
one thing that I needed; you made me feel as though *I'm* the
disease that needs to be excised." Scully looked at him
sadly; the sorrow directed at her partner rather than
herself.

Haltingly, he said, "I didn't mean--"

She cut him off, waving her hand loosely as she spoke, "I
know you didn't mean it that way; you never do. But that's
what it felt like to me. And do you know why that hurt,
Mulder? Because you showed me that after all these years
together, you still don't trust me, and you don't respect
me."

Confusion settled over him momentarily before the wrongness
of her statement hit him and his need to deny her accusations
solidified into a response. His voice was deliberate,
underlining the importance of his reply, "That's not true,
Scully. I trust you more than I trust myself. There is no-one
- *no-one* - whose opinions I value more highly." Shifting
closer to her, he delicately placed his hands on either side
of her face, wanting to bring her closer to him, or maybe
just wanting to feel the strength that radiated out of her.
"It isn't you that I don't trust - it's your disease. I don't
doubt your strength, or your faith in your own ability - I
believe in *you*, Scully, but I can't give this cancer the
same respect because it doesn't deserve it."

"Mulder..." Her mouth twisted into a joyless smile as she
allowed herself to succumb momentarily to the sincerity of
his words. But the reality that she had clung to ever since
her disease had first been diagnosed could not be held at bay
for long, and it quickly and vividly broke back into her
mind. She captured his gaze with her eyes as her hands slowly
moved upwards and loosened his grasp. With a gentleness that
echoed his own, she encased both his hands within her own
much smaller ones and held them between their two bodies.

For a long time, Scully said nothing more, yet neither of
them ruptured the look which bound them. As the silence
lengthened, Scully became aware of an urge that was softly
making itself known within her. There had only been one other
time in the past four years when she had felt this need and
that time Mulder had been quick to stifle it. Nonetheless, it
was without hesitation that the name which was so foreign to
her suddenly escaped her mouth, her desire to speak it
overwhelming any fear she held for its reception, "Fox...
this cancer is a part of me." His eyes flared in surprise at
the sound of his given name, but he said nothing. "You have
to see that. You have to accept that just as I have." A tear
slid out of the corner of her eye, but their blueness
reflected only determination and strength. "I need you to do
that for me." Locking onto his gaze to underscore the
importance of what she was trying to say, she whispered, "I
need you to..."

She was asking him the world.

She was asking him to embrace the enemy, to love and cherish
it as he did her. It was as invidious a suggestion as if
she'd implored him to welcome Krycek and Cancerman into his
home, into his life, with open arms. It went against every
feeling fibre in his body.

At the same time snatches of conversations from the past and
present were suddenly illuminated in his memory. The emphasis
she had placed on those final words <I need you to> was
snagged by his brain and tumbled into the mix of words that
were sluggishly beginning to form a coherent whole in his
head.

<It's always about you, Mulder>

<While you do what?>

<Thanks for ditching me>

<... as I have come to trust no other...>

And he understood. This was what she needed from him. This
was all she wanted him to give.

His eyelids dropped closed and he nodded his head. "OK," He
whispered as the blackness enveloped him. He heard her
murmured thanks and felt the squeeze she gave his hands
through this blackness. And when he opened his eyes again, he
felt like Alice stepping through the looking-glass.
Everything was back-to-front and topsy-turvy and wrongness
had never been so overwhelming.

Scully's chin was quivering. Her normally full lips were
welded into a tight, white line and her nose was pinched and
thin. Tears started to tumble down her cheeks with abandon
and they were soon followed by ragged sobs which forced their
way out of her throat. The strength that had falsely buoyed
her up consistently for the past few weeks was abruptly and
dramatically deserting her. Mulder knew now that the baton
had temporarily been passed to him. In accepting her disease,
he had won back her trust and it was only with that trust
safely restored could she allow the shield to finally drop.

As the tears continued to pour down her cheeks and before the
sobs completely overwhelmed her, Scully looked at her partner
and said with a desolate voice,  "Mulder, I don't want to
die."

And all he could do was hold her.

~ THE END ~

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Thanks for reading.

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