==========================================================================

NOTICE:



- Deslea's URL is now http://www.deslea.com or http://fiction.deslea.com.

- Email address is now deslea@deslea.com.

- May be archived by Scully/Skinner specialty archives only.



This information supercedes all other information found in this file.

==========================================================================





Someone I Trusted VIII: Memento Mori *NC17*

Deslea R. Judd

drjudd@primus.com.au drjudd@catholic.org

Copyright 1998



DISCLAIMER



This work is based on The X Files, a creation of Chris Carter

owned by him, Twentieth Century Fox, and Ten-Thirteen

Productions. Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner,

Smoking Man, Pendrell, Scanlon, Ed Jerse and Sharon

Skinner remain the intellectual property of those parties

and are used without their consent and without

commercial gain. Susannah Skinner is my creation and may

not be used elsewhere without my consent. Some parts

of this work are verbatim extracts from the show and are

also owned by the parties mentioned.



Spoilers: One Breath, Blessing Way, Paper Clip, Nisei, Piper

Maru, Apocrypha, Avatar, Tunguska, Terma, Leonard Betts,

Never Again, Memento Mori.



Category: Story, Romance (Skinner/Scully).



Rating: NC17 for sex.



Summary: Sequel to Someone I Trusted I-VII, in which

Scully and Skinner discover she can't bear children. Includes

alternate Memento Mori scenes. In this universe the last

five minutes of the episode (everything after the shippy

hug) did not happen, simply because the timeline of this

story cannot accomodate it.



Fan mail is always appreciated!!! My e-mail is

drjudd@primus.com.au and drjudd@catholic.org. Archivists, feel

free to add this to your collections; but be sure to let me know.

This and my other stories may be found at

http://home.primus.com.au/drjudd (shameless plug).



PREVIOUS TITLES:

Someone I Trusted (The Blessing Way), in which Scully pulls a

gun on Skinner...and surprises him

Someone I Trusted II: The SSR File, in which Scully and

Skinner discuss their coupling and try again

Someone I Trusted III: Always, in which Scully and Skinner

resume their affair and discuss children

Someone I Trusted IV: The Apocryphal File, in which Scully

decides to try for a baby, after all

Someone I Trusted V: Sharon's Reprise, in which Skinner is

torn between his past and his future

Someone I Trusted VI: Interlude, in which Skinner and

Scully holiday with his daughter. Mulder finds out about

their affair.

Someone I Trusted VII: Terma's Shadow, in which Scully

answers Skinner's jealousy with a commitment.



Someone I Trusted VIII: Memento Mori *NC17* 1/2

Deslea R. Judd

drjudd@tig.com.au drjudd@catholic.org

Copyright 1998



      Skinner watched Scully dive seamlessly into the clear

water. His expression was lined with worry.

      Something was wrong.

      He knew that because when they had come up to the roof

of his apartment building in Crystal City, instead of slipping

straight into the pool, she had stripped off her bikini first,

savagely daring him to do the same. Reluctantly, he had

complied; but he could feel a tightening in the pit of his

stomach.

      It wasn't the skinnydipping that worried him - they'd

done that before. It was the reckless abandon in her demeanour.

She had laughed as she'd done it, even managed a seductive

little purr as she stood naked before him with a coy expression -

but she had smiled with her teeth bared and slightly parted, as

though in threat; a threat implied in her dare/demand that he

join her. She had a recklessness about her, a recklessness that he

knew only too well, the recklessness that gripped her when she

herself was under threat - and after all, that recklessness had a lot

to do with how their relationship had started in the first place.

Her behaviour was the culmination of a week of erratic

behaviour, from her argument with Mulder to her infidelity in

Philadelphia to her unrepentant, almost teasing admission of

the fact on her return home.

      Skinner had no reproach for Scully over that. He was

hurt, of course; but she loved him, he knew that. She could

sleep with a hundred men and that wouldn't change. And after

all, Scully had forgiven his own infidelity with a prostitute a

year before - not to mention the fact that nearly being burnt to

death by the delusional psychotic she'd screwed seemed like

punishment enough. No, that issue was closed.

      But what it said about her state of mind was disturbing.

      Scully called, "Walter, for God's sake, let your hair down.

You look like you've been dealing with Mulder all day."

      "If I didn't have to deal with Mulder all day I might have

some hair to let down," he retorted in a fairly crappy imitation of

good humour. Nonetheless, there was no point in dwelling on

it - she would tell him what was wrong when she was ready. He

endeavoured to clear his mind, and began to swim once more in

strong, even strokes.

      Scully moved back, watching him intently, her own laps

forgotten. First one arm would piston out of the rushing water,

moisture glistening on his golden skin, then the other, back and

forth in hypnotic rhythm. She swayed slightly in the water, felt

her mind - which had spun faster and faster like a centrifuge

since those fateful words, //You have something I need// -

finally spin down, become calm and still. She felt giddy, almost

empty without that racing pulse. But dear God, how good the

peace seemed.

      //You have to tell him.//

      The thought filled her with dread, with sorrow. The

future she had dreamed of had been stolen, replaced by a shadow

of it, filled with worry and fear and terrible vigil. And in telling

him, she would repeat the crime by stealing that dream from

him also.

      But first, there was time for love.

      Scully dove down into the water and slithered between

his legs. He jerked away in shock, but she surfaced, the waters

breaking over her head, and slid up against his chest. She gazed

up at him. "Walter."

      Skinner's antennae went up a notch at the strange need in

her voice. But against this lay the water cradling him like fluid

silk and her thigh between his legs and the blue-black sky above

them, and he felt his unwelcome antennae surrender to the

encroaching folds of gossamer that enveloped his mind. And

when she raised her wet lips to his, when she pressed her naked

body to his, Skinner yielded his troubled thoughts gratefully. He

kissed her urgently, her warmth a shock after the cold water.

      Instantly, she entwined her arms around his neck, her kiss

insistent and breathless. He grasped her around her waist, lifting

her to straddle his hips. "Dana," he sighed.

      She put two fingers lightly over his lips. She made a

hushing noise. "No words," she begged. "Not now."

      Frowning, he nonetheless gave a small sound of assent.

Automatically, he closed his lips around her fingertip, caressing

it with his tongue. She leaned in and kissed his neck just where

it met his jaw, and he breathed in sharply. She lingered there,

nuzzling and sucking with sudden tenderness, her lips caressing

him with lazy indulgence; then looked up at him with a

reverence he had missed.

      There was water resting delicately on her eyelashes and,

adoringly, he kissed it away. She tilted her face to meet him, her

smile serene. He grazed his lips down her cheek, over her jaw,

and down her neck, his palm sliding across her shoulders, then

up to cradle her head. Pathways of languid warmth radiated

down her arms and her body to her core. He looked at her for a

long moment, then buried his face in her damp hair. Sinking

into him, she outlined the little vee-shaped indent at the base of

his throat with a fingernail, kissing it gently.

      She slid down off his hips and slipped her hands around

his waist. They moved slowly, sluggishly in the water, dragging

delightfully over his hips to cup his buttocks, pressing him

against her stomach. Even in the cold of the water, his warmth

emanated through her body. "Follow me," she breathed.

Breaking away, she swam to the edge of the pool and hauled

herself out. Water sliding off her lush curves, she opened the

sauna and went inside, shutting the door behind her.

      Amused and aroused in turn, he followed, thanking the

fates for the empty rooftop. He opened the door, finding himself

assaulted by waves of heat. When he entered, he found the

small wooden room in darkness.

      He breathed deeply, the dry heat crisping his nostrils. He

felt his lungs expand with the thin air, his normal breathing no

longer enough to fill them, leaving him feeling breathless and

shockingly open. Automatically, he felt for the light switch.

"Leave it off," she said softly.

      He complied, finding his way to her by feel in the faint red

glow of the coals. His hands ahead of him, he found her

shoulder with one hand and her breast with the other, already

damp with water and sweat. Her faint scent was much stronger

in here, permeating the air, and he felt something primal in

himself respond. Pulling her close, he lowered his mouth to

hers, and she met him, searching, possessing him desperately.

She arched against him, sure he could never be close enough to

sate the all-encompassing need gripping her body. She shook

with the effort of it, holding him close with all her strength, and

somewhere along the line he caught her urgency, returning it

with crushing need. Gentle now, he pulled back, and cupping

her cheek with one hand smoothed back her damp hair from

her face, his touch tender.

      Bending forward, he took one nipple in his mouth,

rolling and nipping it softly with his teeth, caressing the other

with his fingers. Waves of urgent longing swept her body,

pooling at her center like molten iron. She arched her back,

thrusting her breasts further towards him. "Walter," she

moaned huskily, gasping as he moved to her armpit, nuzzling

and sucking the soft flesh there, his nostrils filled with her hot,

sweet scent. She kissed his head, ran her palms over his neck

and his shoulders, leaning back against the warm wooden wall.

      There was a wooden bucket of water kept on a ledge to one

side. She found it by feel and threw some water on the coals, the

hissing steam assaulting them with heat. She plunged her

hands in the cool water and ran them over his face, the sudden

cool of them shocking, and kissed him hungrily. Blindly, he

clung to her, devouring her soft moist mouth, an oasis in the

dry, dry heat.

      Pulling away, he knelt before her and found his way

lower. The utter deprivation of sight, the extremes of heat and

cold, her scent all made him feel adrift in a sea of sensation

where nothing else existed. The feeling was earthy...primal. He

responded hungrily. Teasingly, he ran his cheek over the thatch

of soft curls there, then delved deeper, her sweet taste on his lips

as he sucked and kneaded her hot smooth flesh. Fogged with

heat and sensory overload, he barely heard her high moan as she

came, but she was slick and she clung convulsively to him with

her thighs; and her shudders rocked him, made him shiver with

a response that was almost empathic.

      He rose to meet her with his lips, and as always, she kissed

him hungrily, intoxicated with her own desire, devouring her

own taste from his mouth. She found his cock with her hands,

cupping and gently pulling him; and he gasped out her name.

"Dana-" he breathed disjointedly between kisses, "you feel- feel

so good." She got to her feet and pressed her body against his,

slippery with perspiration, their bodies sliding together as she

kissed him once more, cradling his face between her hands. She

rose up on her toes, her stomach pressed hard against his cock,

and slid against him, and it felt like he was plunging into her.

Giddy now, his head sank back helplessly.

      Blindly, he collapsed back onto the bench, bringing her

with him. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he stroked them

down with slight pressure, not in demand, but in request. She

laughed indulgently in the dark, and he felt her absence, until he

felt the wamth engulf him as she lowered her head, taking him

into her mouth. He stroked her sweat-soaked hair with sudden

tenderness as she eased down him in even strokes, the heat in

him turning to ice cold water, giddying with its contrast.

"Dana," he whispered, "oh, God, Dana."

      She nuzzled him there, taking his balls into her mouth

one after the other, giving a low sound of approval when he

moaned. She teased the patch of nerves beneath the head, felt

the smooth curve of him jerk involuntarily, searching for her

lips. She held him in her mouth, sucked and insistently

kneaded the slick, salty head. When he began to tremble all

over, she let go, rose, and kissed him, lowering him to the warm

wooden bench. Resting above him, she allowed her breasts to

sway over him, teasing his damp body with her nipples, slippery

and hard, sliding them up and down his chest in little circles.

She kissed him once more, then sat up.

      Sitting astride him, she teased the tip of his cock, swaying

her slick warmth over him. She mounted him, took him inside

herself a little, and stayed there as if in challenge. And when he

pressed down on her hips and arched himself into her, she

shuddered at the sudden fullness of it; gave a soft little laugh of

delight at the response she had elicited from him, a laugh which

became a low, gutteral moan. "Oh, God, Walter - Walter-" she

broke off incoherently. He sat up, clasping her slim legs behind

him, and she began to shake. With laboured breath, she clung to

him, clamping onto him at her core, her arms clasping his

shoulders for support. Giddy with desire and with heat, she

kissed him deeply, desperately, her lips and her tongue on an

endless quest to take him and hold him forever.

      //Got to finish soon - the heat -//

      She sank back into her delirium of desire, her body

rocking as she grew hard and stiff with urgent need, then falling

back, fluid and limp, still grasping him at her core. "Walter,"

she shuddered, then fell silent as he reared back, then thrust

home, sighing with irrevokable release. She clung to him,

milking him, holding him close until there was nothing left.

      Slowly, slowly, the tremors which gripped them eased as

they lay limply together. "I love you, Dana," he murmured as

intelligibility returned.

      She smiled faintly. "I love you, too, Walter."

      Reluctantly, he said, "Dana, I know there's something-"

      She silenced him with her hand. "It's nearly two hundred

degrees in here, Walter. We have to cool off, afterglow or not."

Rising, she held out her hand. "Come on."

      Shrugging slightly, he took her fingers in his, rose, and

followed her out.



      They returned to the sauna after a dip in the pool,

increasingly disorientated from the changes in temperature.

They sat, she leaning into his arms, he cradling her from behind,

silent for long moments as equilibrium returned.

      Walter spoke. "I've //missed// you, Scully," he said

softly. He wasn't talking about her trip to Philadelphia.

      Her hands, clasped in his, were suddenly shaking. "I've

missed being with you, Walter." Neither was she.

      "Why have you shut me out, Dana? Even our

lovemaking has been..." he paused, lost for a simile.

      "Automatic," she supplied. Behind her, he nodded.

"Perhaps I've been in my own private wilderness." She fell

silent for a long moment, lost in thought. "I'm trying to come

back, Walter. But I need your help."

      He leaned back against the warm wood of the wall.

"Scully?" he said gently. She turned her head to meet his gaze

with a bemused little smile. "What's wrong?"

      Scully watched him for a long moment. She felt as

though she were about to rob him of something. She kissed his

hand tenderly, and laid her cheek against it. "Walter, I'm sick.

Very sick."

      Despite the heat, Skinner suddenly felt very cold. "Tell

me."

      Her voice seemed to come from far away. "It's what's

called a nasal pharyngeal mass. It's a tumour between my sinus

and my cerebrum." At his sudden flinch of recognition, she

added, "Yes. The nosebleeds."

      Skinner's voice sounded gray and remote. "Could it be

benign?"

      Wordlessly, she shook her head.

      His hold on her tightened. Slick with sweat, she felt

herself slipping against him and wanted him to let go, but the

thought of seeing his face, his anguish, filled her with dread.

"Well, can it be treated?"

      Scully gave a low sigh. "It is inoperable, but it can be

treated with radiotherapy. Usually, chemotherapy is

unsuccessful on this particular type of cancer - the levels needed

to tackle the cancer are too great. They decimate the immune

system beyond repair."

      He stared at her solemnly; his hands, clasping hers, tightly

clenched. His knuckles were white, and she knew he was not far

from the edge of his control. "How long have you known?" he

whispered.

      "I found out this morning. But I've suspected for weeks."

      Perhaps something in her voice conveyed the utter terror

she had felt in those weeks, because he asked with a very gentle

voice, filled with compassionate understanding, "Is that why

you slept with Ed Jerse?" They had never discussed what she

had done in Philadelphia.

      She shrugged. "I guess. The tests went off to pathology

the day I left. I was frightened." Her expression twisted. "I'm

sorry, Walter. That probably sounds pretty cheap, and to tell you

the truth, I've been too numb to even feel it much; but I am. I

didn't want to hurt you. At most, I wanted to hurt myself."

      He frowned, digesting this. He made no reply except to

gently kiss her damp hair, but it was enough. She made a low

sound of relief.

      "Does Mulder know?" he asked finally.

      Scully nodded wearily. "I told him this afternoon. We

will be informing you formally tomorrow. You and I and he

will all know you already know, but we'll still have to go

through the motions, I'm afraid."

      "Why will you be informing me formally?" he asked

sharply, instantly on the alert.

      Scully stared down at his hands, tracing with her finger

the wedding ring she had given him, the one he already wore

although no date had been set. Considering she might not live

to marry him, that ring struck her as a particularly savage slap in

the face. Finally, she said softly, "We think it was because of the

abduction. Some abductees we found last year in Pennsylvania

had the same type of cancer. We will be seeking clearance to

investigate further."

      Skinner was shaking. He gave a husky sigh, said brokenly,

"Oh, God, Dana; what did they do?"

      Helplessly, she just shook her head.

      He looked at her with desperation mounting in his voice.

"How long?" The one question, she reflected, Mulder had not

had the courage to ask. And Walter himself might not want to

know - but somewhere deep inside himself, he //needed// to

know.

      Her tone lowered. "If we can't bring about a remission

with the radiotherapy? A year, give or take." He gasped.

"Walter, if that is the case, this is going to be much harder on

you than on me. I've lived under a death sentence one way or

another since I joined the X Files. Being sick...that scares me, yes.

But it will be harder for you to watch than for me to live

through. There will come a time when it will end for me...for

you, though, it will only be the beginning. You need to be

prepared for that."

      He tried to stop her onslaught. That she might die - it was

unthinkable. "Dana-"

      She ignored him, determined to finish what he had

started. "There is something that may make it a little easier - or

harder, possibly; I don't know."

      He frowned. "What are you talking about?"

      Scully pursed her lips, still not sure whether it was a kind

thing to suggest, or a cruel one. "A baby, Walter. We could go

ahead and have a baby anyway, like we planned. I'd like that,

and I'd like to share that with you. But you would have to raise

the child alone, if it came to that - that's not something I have

the right to expect of you." She touched his hand. "Don't

answer now."

      Skinner thought on this a moment. Hope...that was what

she was offering. Hope that they could still be a family...and

hope for the future if they couldn't. "You wouldn't be doing it

just to please me, would you?"

      She shook her head. "No, Walter. I want a child." And

that was true - as much as she had assented to a child so long ago

as a gift to him, somewhere along the line it had become her

dream, too. Every month she bled, she grieved for the child who

was not yet. Once the biological clock began ticking, however

indifferently it had been wound, it didn't stop. "But you have to

be sure you could go it alone - if it became necessary."

      "Are you //sure//?" he demanded.

      Wordlessly, she nodded.

      //Am I being selfish?// he wondered. And yet how could

he deny her this wish? "Then yes. Besides...I want you to have

something to fight for."

      She smiled then. "I //have// something to fight for,

Walter."

      So saying, she turned, and tenderly kissed his lips.



      It was eleven pm.

      Scully had gone to bed an hour and a half ago, and an

hour ago, satisfied that she was deep in an exhausted slumber,

he had given way to great, braying sobs, cries of a mortally

wounded animal. These cries, which were the first of many,

would be his private martyrdom, something he would never

share with Dana, something he would spare her to help her stay

strong.

      When, finally, the tears and the shudders had been and

gone, he stared at the telephone. With trepidation, he

telephoned a Switzerland number.

      His daughter's hybrid Euro-American voice, sleep-

befuddled and foggy, echoed thinly down the line. "This had

better be good, Ingrid." In spite of himself, Skinner supressed a

smile. Ingrid was his daughter's girlfriend.

      "Susannah, honey?"

      In her room at Holy Trinity College, Zurich, Susannah sat

bolt upright, both sleep and love forgotten. "Dad, it's 5.30am

here. What's happened?" she demanded in a thin, frightened

voice.

      Skinner frowned, wanting to express the gravity of the

situation without alarming the teenager. "Susannah, when I

hang up from you I'll be ringing your headmistress to clear this.

As soon as the banks open you have to empty out the emergency

account. Get the first flight you can and come home. You can

re-take your exams, or we'll have you supervised here. But you

have to come home." His voice was steady; his hands were not.

      Susannah's mind raced. It could only be her father or

Dana. And her father sounded fine - on a short rope, perhaps,

but fine. "Daddy, what's happened? Is it Dana?"

      Skinner nodded automatically. "Yes, Susannah, it's Dana.

Please, honey, you have to come home. I need you." His voice

cracked, desperation taking hold.

      Susannah's voice was gentle. "Okay, Daddy, I'm coming.

Just hold on."

      Smothering a keening moan of gratitude, he managed, "I

will, Susie. And thanks."

      Already dragging out her suitcase, Susannah rang off.



PART 2 TO FOLLOW IMMEDIATELY



Someone I Trusted VIII: Memento Mori *NC17* 2/2

Deslea R. Judd

drjudd@tig.com.au drjudd@catholic.org

Copyright 1998



DISCLAIMER



This work is based on The X Files, a creation of Chris Carter

owned by him, Twentieth Century Fox, and Ten-Thirteen

Productions. Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner,

Smoking Man, Pendrell, Scanlon, Ed Jerse and Sharon

Skinner remain the intellectual property of those parties

and are used without their consent and without

commercial gain. Susannah Skinner is my creation and may

not be used elsewhere without my consent. Some parts

of this work are verbatim extracts from the show and are

also owned by the parties mentioned.



Spoilers: One Breath, Blessing Way, Paper Clip, Nisei, Piper

Maru, Apocrypha, Avatar, Tunguska, Terma, Leonard Betts,

Never Again, Memento Mori.



Category: Story, Romance (Skinner/Scully).



Rating: NC17 for sex.



Summary: Sequel to Someone I Trusted I-VII, in which

Scully and Skinner discover she can't bear children. Includes

alternate Memento Mori scenes. In this universe the last

five minutes of the episode (everything after the shippy

hug) did not happen, simply because the timeline of this

story cannot accomodate it.



Fan mail is always appreciated!!! My e-mail is

drjudd@tig.com.au and drjudd@catholic.org. Archivists, feel

free to add this to your collections; but be sure to let me know.

This and my other stories may be found at

http://homepages.tig.com.au/~drjudd (shameless plug).



PREVIOUS TITLES:

Someone I Trusted (The Blessing Way), in which Scully pulls a

gun on Skinner...and surprises him

Someone I Trusted II: The SSR File, in which Scully and

Skinner discuss their coupling and try again

Someone I Trusted III: Always, in which Scully and Skinner

resume their affair and discuss children

Someone I Trusted IV: The Apocryphal File, in which Scully

decides to try for a baby, after all

Someone I Trusted V: Sharon's Reprise, in which Skinner is

torn between his past and his future

Someone I Trusted VI: Interlude, in which Skinner and

Scully holiday with his daughter. Mulder finds out about

their affair.

Someone I Trusted VII: Terma's Shadow, in which Scully

answers Skinner's jealousy with a commitment.



Someone I Trusted VIII: Memento Mori *NC17* 2/2

Deslea R. Judd

drjudd@tig.com.au drjudd@catholic.org

Copyright 1998



      "Mulder."

      Pendrell's voice announced itself on his cell phone. "It's

David, Mulder. I hope I didn't wake you."

      Mulder looked down at his watch. Two in the morning.

"No, David, I'm at the hospital with Scully." Scully's condition

was confidential, but Pendrell was consulting scientist and had

access to the file dealing with her abduction. He was aware of

her illness, and he was also aware that whilst investigating in

Pennsylvania, Scully had chosen to undertake treatment with

the doctor who had treated Betsy Hagopian and Penny Northern,

two other abductees.

      "How is she?" David asked, hesitantly.

      Mulder, a man with few friends and fewer confidants,

rarely accepted support when it was offered. But Pendrell always

managed to slip in under his guard, somehow. And now,

Mulder cracked. "They tried to kill her, David," he said

brokenly. "Her doctor was a plant. He gave her azathioprine -

an immune suppressant. She thought it was bleomycin sulfate,

for chemotherapy. Her immune system is hardly worth talking

about. She has about as many T-cells as your average Stage 4

AIDS patient."

      Pendrell gasped. "Oh, God, Mulder. Do they think she'll

recover?"

      Mulder sat down heavily. "Her last ELISA test was better.

They think she'll make up some of the ground. But she won't

make it all up, at least not overnight. She'll be discharged

tomorrow, but it's unlikely she'll be fit for fieldwork for a while.

Being Scully, she'll probably insist on doing at least desk work

right away, though. She'll have to have a blood transfusion and

an intensive series of immunogloblin injections at home to

boost her immunity until her T-lymphocytes and her white

blood cells reach reasonable levels. She's severely

immunocompromised - it will be the better part of a month

before she can work in the lab safely." His voice lowered. "More

importantly, her cancer will advance more rapidly with this

setback to her natural defences. If I had my way, she'd be at

home in cotton wool until she was better, but you know how

she'd take that idea."

      Pendrell laughed mirthlessly. "You'd have two chances,

and they both begin with F." Mulder mentally tried //fat// and

//few//, but decided the ubiquitious //fucked// said it best.

David went on, "Listen, Mulder, I tested the ova you sent. It was

just as well you packed the vial in nitrogen, by the way; because I

got the night shift this week only by the grace of someone else's

vacation. It would've been warmer than a Maryland diner if it

had sat on my desk til morning. Anyway, I checked, and they're

definitely Scully's. There's about a hundred ova in there." He

added curiously, "Mulder, where did you get these?"

      "From a government installation," Mulder said

tonelessly. He had reason to believe that the government-run

fertility clinic had engaged in unsanctioned experiments on the

abductees without their consent.

      "There are more," Pendrell hazarded, "aren't there?"

      Mulder hung his head in his hands. "David, they're

//all// there. Those bastards took every ovum she had. She

can't have children because of what they did."

      David was horrified. "But Mulder, what did they //do//?

For what purpose?"

      "I don't know, David. I mean, I know - but it makes no

sense." Mulder sighed heavily. "Look, I've said far too much.

I'm not even going to tell Scully about this if I can help it. She

doesn't need to know all this - not yet. Will you help me?" he

asked diffidently.

      "Sure, Mulder," Pendrell said gently. "Look, I'll open a

fake X File under the name Katharine Fox." Mulder snorted at

the irony. "I'll put all this stuff in there, and you can get it out

whenever you need to. The sample I'll keep in cold storage.

Scully won't know a thing." He sobered. "Mulder, I hope you

do tell her. I agree with you not doing so now, when she's so

weak, but please, do it soon. If she ever finds out you hid it from

her, your life won't be worth living."

      Mulder shook his head helplessly. "We'll see, Pendrell.

Talk to you soon."

      "Hang in there, Mulder."

      "I'm trying, David." Mulder bit his lip. "I'm trying."

      Pendrell rang off.



      Walter sat down at her side.

      He had wondered, when Mulder told him the afternoon

before, why Dana hadn't let him know she was in hospital.

      He knew now.

      She looked dreadful. With deep, deep circles beneath her

eyes, and skin grey and slack, she looked only half-alive. Much

of that was the azathioprine, but had she been given the

chemotherapy she had believed it to be, she would not have

looked much better. When her immune system had given out,

it would have been assumed she had not been able to take the

chemotherapy. She probably would not have even been given a

post-mortem.

      And Dana had not wanted him to see.

      He frowned with the effort not to take her hand. But she

had gotten to sleep only half an hour before he arrived, and he

didn't wish to wake her.

      Reluctantly, he picked up the journal at her side. She

wouldn't want him to read it - Mulder had already told him

that, for Mulder himself had read some of it, and she had been

upset. But she had shut him out of this time...he needed to get

that back.

      He turned to the front page.

      //Walter, I know you may not understand the choice I

have made without consulting you. To choose chemotherapy

which may compromise our plans for a child is not something I

have done lightly. In the normal scheme of things I would not

have contemplated this path. But there is a doctor who has

worked with many of the abductees who believes he can halt the

course of the cancer with a blend of therapies, including an

aggressive course of chemotherapy. It is not easy to convey the

fear - the terror - which has led me to risk everything to take this

path.//

      His heart twisted. Did she really think he expected her to

risk her own life for a child that might never be? But at once he

understood. It wasn't that she thought he expected that of

her...it was that she expected that of herself. What he was

reading was her own inner conflict, projected onto him. His

heart ached for her.

      //For the first time, I feel time like a heartbeat...the

seconds pumping in my breast like a reckoning, the luminous

mysteries which once seemed so distant and unreal, threatening

clarity in the presence of a truth as entertained not in youth, but

only in its passage. I feel these words as if they were a weight

being lifted from me, knowing you will read them and share my

burden as no other.// Random memories assailed him - not of

him sharing her burdens, but of her sharing his...her vigil at his

side when he was shot, his mortality finding comfort in her

steadfast presence. How he had loved her for that.

      //That you should know my heart, look into it, finding

there the memory and experience that belonged to you...that are

you...is a comfort to me now, as I feel the tethers loose, and the

prospects darken with the continuance of a journey that began

not so long ago, and which began again with a faith shaken and

strengthened by your convictions-//

      She wrote cryptically, but he understood. Her journey had

begun with Mulder, and then began again in their love and their

life together.

      //-if not for which I might never have been so strong

now, as I cross to face you, and look at you incomplete...hoping

that you will forgive me for not facing the rest of the journey

with you.//

      He choked back a sound of anguish. It was a farewell

letter, nothing more, nothing less. Did she intend to leave this

for him to read after she died?

      He flipped to another page. //This is the evil of cancer:

That it starts as an invader but soon becomes one with the

invaded...forcing you to destroy it, but only at the risk of

destroying yourself. It is science's demon possession; my

treatment, science's attempt at exorcism. Walter, I hope that in

these terms you might come to know it, and know me, and

recognise this stranger we can fight but never fully cast out. And

if the darkness should have swallowed me as you read this, you

must never think there was a possibility of some secret

intervention, something you might have done. I know we have

travelled far together; this last distance must necessarily be

travelled alone.//

      How true, he mused...though not as she had meant it. He

was thinking of his own private journey, one she must never

know about - one which just might provide her with the

possibility of a secret intervention, after all.

      //Penny Northern has taken a downturn. I now look at

her with a respect that can only come from one who is about to

walk the same dark path. Seeing her, I can't help but see myself

in a month or a year. I hope that I have her courage to face this

journey. Walter, I feel you close, though I know you are now

pursuing your own path.//

      Pursuing his own path...nice poetic way of saying he'd

sold his soul to the devil, he supposed. That black-lunged son of

a bitch had not yet told him what would be required of him, but

that would come soon enough.

      "What are you here for? Is it Agent Mulder's partner and

her illness?" he had asked with smug derision. And was that a

little dig, calling her Mulder's partner when in every real sense

of the word she was //his// partner? Skinner believed it was.

He had been unable to speak, overcome with waves of loathing

and fear, terrible fear for her. This man wouldn't help him. He

would take a few cheap shots and then leave her to die anyway.

      The Smoking Man spoke. "Is it terminal, her cancer?"

      Skinner had found his voice. He'd spat, "You tell me."

      "Modern medicine today...I hear they can perform

miracles."

      To ask the devil for a miracle was to sell your soul,

something Skinner had always sworn he would never do. But

now, things had changed. Softly, he'd admitted, "I need a

miracle."

      "Well, you think a lot more of me than you let on, Mr

Skinner," the man had jeered.

      Steeling himself, he'd demanded, "What'll it take?"

      The Smoking Man had seemed intrigued despite himself.

Perhaps he had never quite believed Skinner, historically a

cautious player, would go for broke - even for Scully. "For Agent

Scully's life? What would you offer?

      "What'll it take?"

      So there it was - he had offered a parasite a blank check

with his integrity as the signatory. Pursuing his own path,

indeed.

      Unbeknownst to him, Scully had stirred. "You shouldn't

be reading that," she said mildly.

      He jumped. "Dana."

      "How am I?" she asked.

      "Your last ELISA test was better. They're letting me take

you home."

      She favoured him with a gentle smile, and touched his

hand. "Put that away, Walter. We don't need goodbye letters.

I'm going to beat this."

      He gave her a relieved smile. "Yes, Scully. You are."

      So saying, he put the book to one side as she had asked.

But as he did so, he glimpsed the final line of the page.

      // For that, I am grateful, more than I could ever express.

I need to know you are out there if I am ever to see through

this.//

      He only hoped she would still see the man she had once

loved if ever they came through the other side.



      They were home.

      Skinner was drifting in and out of the living room

making dinner, parenthetically aware of Scully filling Mulder in

on their plans, significant and otherwise, in light of recent

developments. He heard snippets apparently relating to

Susannah's return home, and speculation as to when it might be

possible for Scully to marry himself, and what implications that

might have for the X Files.

      At one point, Mulder blanched. "But Scully-" he grappled

for words - "can you do that? I mean after what they did to

you?"

      She nodded. "Scanlon told me he was using anti-cancer

drugs. In fact, as you know, it was an immunosuppressant.

There are no fertility problems associated with azathioprine.

The irony is that I would have been left infertile had he had

given me the drugs he told me they were." Scully was

apparently telling Mulder of their plans for a child. Skinner

moved on, setting the table.

      "But - can you sustain a pregnancy?" Mulder asked,

concerned.

      Scully spoke perhaps more plainly that she may have

done a day earlier. Paradoxically, since her decision to beat her

illness, she had become very comfortable with the possibility of

her death, perhaps because she no longer believed it would

happen to her. She had the discomforting habit, now, of

speaking clinically - even brutally. "Assuming I live long

enough, yes, I can. I could be kept alive on life-support if

necessary to complete the pregnancy." She paused, confused,

and gave voice to Skinner's own query. "You don't seem very

happy about this, Mulder."

      Mulder scratched the back of his neck, his expression a

clear I-don't-want-to-say-this-but look. Skinner sympathised. "It

seems a bit like grasping at straws. To have a child you might

never see through childhood - who you may not even see born."

Returning to the kitchen, Skinner raised an eyebrow. Mulder

acknowledging, even theoretically, the possibility of Scully's

death was food for thought. There had to be something even

bigger weighing on his mind, and that was strange. Interested

now, he listened carefully as he served their dinner.

      Scully and Mulder rose, approaching the table. Scully was

speaking. "It's not out of the blue, Mulder. Walter and I have

been trying for nearly eighteen months now." Oblivious to his

sudden look of horror, she continued, "It hasn't happened -

possibly because of stress, we don't know. But we have an added

incentive now."

      Mulder had stopped still in the middle of the room. He

hung his head in his hands. "Oh, God."

      Scully approached him, puzzled. "Mulder? What is it?"

      Mulder seemed to think a moment. He walked to the

table and sat down heavily. "Scully, I wasn't going to tell you

this because I thought Scanlon's treatment would make it

redundant. I think Skinner should hear this, too."

      "Hear what?" he demanded, sitting down, dinner

forgotten.

      Mulder had the look of a trapped animal, his eyes darting

back and forth at them. "Scully, Sir, when I was at the fertility

clinic in Lehigh Furnace, I didn't just find the clones. I found

out something else...something I haven't said. Something I

hoped never to have to say."

      Perhaps Scully had an inkling, because she said softly,

"No, Mulder, no."

      Relentlessly, he continued. "The women who were

abducted were not only left with cancer. They were also left-" he

almost choked on the word "-infertile."

      For a long moment, both Scully and Skinner were

silent...still. Horror, sorrow, fury...all manner of emotion flitted

across their faces, never quite shifting the stony stupefaction that

had taken up residence there. Mulder whispered miserably,

"I'm sorry, Scully."

      Scully shook her head; whether in denial of her infertility

or negation of his responsibility, he didn't know. Gently, he

said, "I'll leave you alone to talk about this. I'll see myself out."

He touched her shoulder, offering Skinner a commiserating

look, and went to the door.

      Mulder left with considerable relief, and Scully slumped

deep into her chair. "Oh, God." Her face grimaced in a horrible

rictus of agony. Her voice suddenly very small, she repeated

slowly, "Oh. God." She hung her head in her hands, silent tears

searing down her deathly white cheeks.

      The instinct in Skinner's heart was murderous. This

thing they had taken from Scully...somehow it hurt even more

than the cancer. Perhaps because, he knew, it hurt //her// more

than the cancer did.

      He spoke, his shaking slowly under control. "Scully,

there's still IVF," he reminded her slowly, knowing even as he

spoke it was fruitless. Even if they were admitted to an IVF

program - unlikely at best - it was somehow important to her, in

a way it wasn't to him, that they make this child together. He

wasn't sure if it was her Catholicism or something deeper, but

for Scully, a child born of their union had a meaning far beyond

the carnal...it was spiritual. She could bear and love a child that

was not biologically hers, or for that matter his...but she would

always feel robbed of that meaning. And even if they had a child

by some other means, that loss would devastate her for a long

time to come.

      She lifted her gaze, gave a hollow laugh. "Yeah, and what

doctor, what clinic would give it to a woman diagnosed with a

year to live?" She became thoughtful. "//I// wouldn't, if I

asked me. It would be highly unethical. And even if I did the

fertilisation myself, someone else would have to do the

implantation. Maybe Pendrell-" she added, then broke off. "No.

Even if he'd say yes, I couldn't ask."

      Helplessly, he sighed, "Scully-"

      She cut him off. "Walter, I know how important it is to

you that we stick together through this, but I can't deal with this.

I need to be alone." Miserably, she rose from the table, dinner

forgotten.

      He watched her walk to the courtyard door. "Do you want

me to leave?" he asked softly.

      She shook her head wearily. "No, of course not. Just eat

and go to bed. I'll be in soon."

      Walter complied, but he didn't sleep for a very long time.



Someone I Trusted IX immediately to follow