Just An End by Johnie Disclaimer: I own nothing. Rating: R, for violence Category: MSR, angst Spoilers: Memento Mori Summary: Scully's cancer reaches a critical point. Comments: If you have any to JohnieRed@aol.com Warning: This is a little dark but I couldn't help it. After having to write a happy story, I needed a shot of insulin-angst to cut all the sugar-coated niceness. Whew! Now I feel better. In the end it was a simple bit of nothing that was his undoing. Not a highly charged emotional situation, not a near brush with death, not a heated argument, but a simple unconscious gesture she inadvertly made that pushed him past the state of denial he had been living in. "Mulder, where are you going?" she asked as he abruptly stood up and strode to the door. "I have a meeting with Skinner," was his only answer as he hurried out, slamming the door behind him. Scully shook her head tiredly. I wonder what got into him, she thought briefly before going back to the pathology report in front of her. ** "Sir, I appreciate you taking the time to see me so I'll be brief. I've come to make a request that Agent Scully be transferred from the X-files division effective immediately." "This is certainly unexpected, Agent Mulder. I thought Agent Scully would come to me herself when her medical condition required that she leave the field," Skinner replied. "Agent Scully doesn't believe her medically condition has advanced to that point yet." "Then may I ask why this request is being made?" Mulder swallowed drily before answering, "Because I feel it has." Skinner gave him an arched look and waited for further comment. "We are no longer working together effectively. She generally does well but is having periods of weakness and pain. During those I find my concerns focused on her and not the matter at hand. As a result, neither of us are directing our attention to the cases we are working on-" "I get the point Agent Mulder," Skinner interrupted, "Does Agent Scully know we are having this discussion?" "No," Mulder said shortly. Skinner could see from his expression that he had no intention of talking to her either. "All right, as department head you do have the right to put in this request without speaking to Agent Scully about it, but considering you're partners as well-" It was Mulder's turn to interrupt, "Sir, we're also friends and my judgement on the matter is becoming blurred. I would prefer that you handle the review." "I'll ask her to meet with me this afternoon." ** Driving home he reflected on the conversation with Skinner. Skinner had given in to the request fairly easily and had also agreed to a two week vacation for Mulder starting the next day. Mulder took a deep breath, he could not shake the mental picture of Scully in the office that afternoon, rifling through files, cutting her fingertip on the edge of one of the toxicology reports and then bringing it up to her mouth to gently suck the pain away. He couldn't even say why the image disturbed him so but it made him realize he couldn't possibly spend another day watching her pretend she wasn't dying. He had begun having anxiety attacks about a month ago when she first under went testing to determine if the cancer was metastasizing. The attacks were growing more frequent and intense and he knew if he didn't get them under control, he would have to seek medical treatment. He knew she would be furious when Skinner called her into the review but he also knew she wouldn't resign her field agent status unless something drastic occurred. He could feel his heart racing at the thought of not having her by his side everyday. He began to take deep breaths in an effort to calm himself. You're almost home, he told himself, just hold it together until you're alone. Finally at home after fighting inexplicably heavy noon traffic for thirty minutes, he stood under a blast of cold water in the shower. He knew he should go for a run to work off the excess energy surging through his body but he was just too emotionally exhausted. He was throwing on a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt when the image hit him again. He closed his eyes and allowed it to play out completely in his head. He heard her shift in her chair, the ruffle of papers, the tiny, almost inaudible gasp as she cut her finger, and the light sucking sound she made as she placed the tip in her mouth. He saw her eyes close for the briefest moment when her lips closed over her fingertip. He felt his chest tighten as he imagined the bright coppery taste of the single, impossibly red drop of blood that had appeared. He saw her immediately return her attention to the report in front of her, almost unaware she had even done it. He lay down on the couch unable to move, reviewing the image over and over. He didn't even know why a simple paper cut disturbed him so, but it did. He was distracted to the point he hadn't paid attention to the hunger pains his stomach had been insistently emitting for an hour. He got up, wandered into the kitchen, drank a glass of milk to calm the angry stomach gods, and then promptly tossed himself back onto the couch. The phone began ringing, he ignored it and after five rings the machine picked up. It was her, he knew it would be. He heard her soft voice, "Coward," and then the sound of the receiver being gently set back on it's cradle. Was it an accusation, a question, or the verbalization of the philosophy they had both been living under? He fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming of the salty taste of warm blood and the dark feeling of being completely alone. He awoke at midnight to the sound of the phone ringing and automatically reached for it. "Mulder," he mumbled half awake. He heard the sound of Assistant Director Skinner's voice, "Agent Mulder, Agent Scully is in the hospital, we need you to come immediately." ** After getting her room number and other instructions from Skinner, Mulder simply hung up on him and raced out the door. He couldn't think as he raced blindly through deserted intersections to the hospital. He double parked his car in the hospital garage and ran up the stairs two at a time to the fifth floor. Skinner was standing in the hallway looking grim. Mulder strode up to him demanding,"What happened?". "I'm not sure. Agent Scully was found collapsed outside her apartment building at approximately 10pm. She had apparently been out for a walk. The doctor is on his way up, he wants to speak to you." "Me? Why does he want to talk to me?" Mulder asked, as he noticed a man in surgical scrubs and a woman in a white doctor's coat walking down the hall towards him. "Mr. Mulder, I'm Dr. Howard and this is Dr. Akarat," the woman briefly introduced, "We need to bring you up to speed on Dana Scully's condition." "Has her mother been notified?" he asked. "We have been unable to locate her mother and as her alternate health care proxy, we need to have you make some decisions," Dr. Akarat replied. "How is she?" he asked suspiciously. "Dana's tumor has grown, it has been putting increasingly large amounts of pressure on her brain. Tonight, a blood vessel burst from the pressure causing a stroke. We've also discovered that the tests Dana had three days ago show that the cancer has metastasized to her liver and pancreas. Her prognosis is poor. We cannot operate to control the bleeding and as the pressure in her skull builds she will continue to have strokes," he finished. Mulder could feel his extremities go numb. He opened his mouth but found he could not speak. Dr. Howard spoke gently, "The issue at hand is whether or not to hook up life support. It could extend her life but not for more than a few days to a week. Right now she's having difficulty breathing on her own and is becoming dehydrated." "Could she regain consciousness?" Mulder managed to rasp out. "Either way it's highly unlikely. Even if she did the stroke has done considerable damage to her frontal lobes, and speech and language center, and blow to the back of her head she sustained when she fell on the sidewalk has likely caused damage to her visual cortex. It's highly likely if Dana was awake her personality would be greatly altered, she would probably be blind, and unable to speak or possibly even to understand what was being communicated to her." Skinner watched Mulder visibly reel and put a hand under his elbow to steady him. Dr. Akarat spoke, "Mr. Mulder, normally we advise families to let the inevitable happen naturally but we need to inform you of the possibility that dehydration may set in at a faster pace than the strokes. She was already dehydrated when they brought her into the ER, she must not have been feeling well all day." "What does this all mean?" Skinner asked, as Mulder remained frozen staring at the doctor with blank look on his face. "It's means," Dr. Howard spoke in a very matter of fact tone, "that Dana could die, hydrated but slowly, and in a great deal of pain, or Dana could die more naturally as her body continues to shut itself down. The dilemma is if Dana dehydrates before the strokes over take her, she could also be in pain from the lack of fluids." "Can she feel pain?" Skinner asked. "She's in a deep coma, so it's not likely, but we can't know that for sure," Dr. Howard answered. "No," Mulder said softly. "Excuse me," Dr Arakat replied. "No," Mulder repeated, his head down, "no machines, no extraordinary measures. She never wanted any of those things. She's made that very clear in the past." Dr. Howard nodded, "You can sit with her if you wish. She's in room 513. A nurse will come in from time to time to check her vitals. Her breathing will continue to gradually slow. Right now all we're giving her is a little oxygen through a nasal tube to make this easier for her, it won't prolong anything, it will just help make her comfortable." Mulder nodded again and Dr. Howard turned to walk toward the nurses desk where Dr. Akarat was giving instructions to the nurse. Mulder turned to Skinner and asked, "Could you continue to try to contact her mother, sir? I'd like to be alone with her." "Of course, I understand, Mulder," Skinner answered. He watched Skinner walk down the hall and then, with his eyes closed, swung the door open.. He stepped into the room before opening his eyes. But when he opened them instead of seeing her lying on the hospital bed, he saw her sitting at her desk, with a small pucker of annoyance on her face as she watched a bead of blood well up on her index finger. He shook the image away and saw her lying pale and so terribly still. Her breathing was already so shallow he almost couldn't detect it. There was no respirator, no pulse monitor, this was a room for dying, not healing. He sat down next to the bed, gripping her arm and then releasing it to turn his palms up. Staring at his hands he thought, `this world-wearied flesh'. Where did that thought come from he wondered? Shakespeare, his excellent memory supplied. She was dying. Why would Shakespeare be coming to mind as his friend, his partner and his... The question trailed away as something else hammered at his skull, trying to vault out of the depths of his subconscious. He shook his head. Why would anything come to mind? She was dying. He held her hand. "Don't leave me alone," he pleaded uselessly, "please." He was barely whispering but his voice felt unbearably loud next to the faint sounds of her breathing. He felt as though his own breathing was slowing with hers. He imagined he could hear the whisper of papers being shuffled and her sharp intake of breath, he turned her hand over expecting to see the droplet of blood but saw only a small clean gash. He brought her finger to his lips and gently sucked it into his mouth. He swore he heard her voice whisper, "Coward." He kissed the back of her hand and gripped it in his own. He began crying in great racking sobs. "I can't be alone, Dana. I can't go back to the way it was." He heard her voice again, "Coward. You already are alone, you've always been alone, you wanted to be alone." The imagined sound of her voice was terribly loud in his head, it drowned out the sound of his crying. He rested his head against her hip and held her hand to his face. He paid no attention to the passage of time, the nurse came in three times, he ignored her but he noted that Scully's breathing was now almost imperceptible. He touched his left index finger to her lips and felt her last breath escape in a small sigh. He froze waiting, praying to see her chest impossibly rise and fill with air. He unconsciously unholstered his gun and was shocked to feel the coolness of the barrel against his temple. He lowered it to contemplate at the smooth metal surface. O happy dagger, he chuckled to himself. Shakespeare again, he thought, how curious. He was barely breathing. "Coward," he whispered to himself. He reached forward to hold Scully's hand, raising the gun with the other. "I'm not afraid anymore. I won't be alone." He pulled the trigger but he didn't hear it's click, or the roar of the bullet leaving the chamber. Instead, he heard the dry rustle of paper, and a tiny gasp. There was a bright flash, and he saw her raise her finger to his lips and at last he tasted the blood. END