==========================================================================
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.
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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