TITLE: Malignant AUTHOR: Athene EMAIL: athene1121@hotmail.com RATING: PG-13 for serious angst, mild language CATEGORY: MT, ST, M/S relationship, UST SPOILERS: Leonard Betts. Memento Mori/Redux II (missing scenes, cancer arc) ARCHIVE: Gossamer; elsewhere, please ask. SUMMARY: Mourning things that might never be. DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Monday, 3 February 1997 10:15 AM Office of Dr. Suzanne Branton "Dana, why don't you dress and come across the hall when you're ready?" Dr. Branton smiled kindly at her, and silently slipped out of the exam room, closing the door behind her. There are new lines on my forehead. Scully noted them almost absently, staring in the mirror, straightening her collar. She brushed some lint off the lapel of her jacket. The bleeding, the dizziness when she stood up too quickly. The excruciating headaches that were coming more frequently. She had taken to carrying several little purse- sized packs of Kleenex with her at all times. Thank God mom is in San Diego. She would never have been able to fool her mother. Avoiding Father McCue was as simple as sleeping in on Sunday mornings. She hadn't seen Ellen in six months, and Bill and Charlie were both deployed, their families on the west coast. And such was her dwindling circle of friends and family. And then there was Mulder. I'm going to die. Oh, God, I'm going to die. I can feel it. Keeping Mulder in the dark was never an option; she was sure that his observant and tenacious nature would immediately register any minor inconsistencies. And then he would pounce. He'll hound me till I come clean. When did my cell membranes become impermeable to everyone but him? The only thing I have to do is die, but he has to watch me die, and then keep living. Will he ever forgive me for leaving before he finds his truth? What would happen to Mulder if she passed out or had a nosebleed during a crisis? He would be distracted, and she would not be able to back him up. Her personal privacy, or Mulder's life? Skinner. I'm going to have to tell Skinner right away. She walked into the office, outwardly calm. When the doctor stood and walked around to sit next to her, wild fear leaped uncontrolled and out of nowhere into her heart. It clawed at her tender control, leaving it tattered and useless. Her breathing was labored, and she could hear her heart tapping anxiously in her ears. Oh, God. I don't think I can take this. "Dana, there's something wrong; you know it, and I know it. That x-ray is worrisome. I want to get some blood work drawn, and schedule a CT and an MRI. We're also going to need an EEG and some pulmonary function tests. Can you come in tomorrow? It's probably going to take the entire day." "I'm committed to a departmental budget allocation meeting tomorrow morning, and the next day, I begin testifying in court. I'll be on the stand until Thursday afternoon, at the earliest." Scully lifted her chin, daring the doctor to challenge her priorities. Dr. Branton eyed her searchingly. "Can you rearrange things? It's going to be hell for you, waiting all week for some information, Dana. I know you." Not this time, Suzanne. I'm in no hurry. There's plenty of time for me to die. Instead, let's do this in, say, 50 years. "Can we draw the blood today? I can change my schedule around and be here all day on Friday. There are actually some people I need to talk to before then." "Okay. We'll draw the labs before you leave. We're going to need a CBC with a diff, chem 7, BMP, LFTs, BUN and creatinine. Better check a cortisol level as well. I'll phone the results to you by late tomorrow afternoon. We won't have a good idea what's happening without the scans, of course, but the lab work is going to give us an idea how your body is handling things right now." Scully kept her voice almost completely devoid of expression. "Suzanne, the literature I've seen on malignancy in the brain paints a grim picture regarding efficacious treatment." Dr Branton's face was expertly bland. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Dana. Remember, you can't be a doctor and a patient at the same time." She paused, then said, "Can I write you for a sleeper?" "I think that's a good idea." I've joined the ranks of insomniacs worldwide. I wonder if Mulder realizes how often I'm awake at the same time he is? Scully watched silently while the tech swabbed the inside of her elbow, and drew the necessary blood. It looks so normal. It's the usual color, the usual consistency, and right now, it's doing its usual job behind the scenes, bringing oxygen and glucose to my cells. Every cell, even aberrant ones. Efficiently nourishing cells with mangled DNA, allowing this invader to occupy new, more devastating areas. She fought back her rising panic, and stared off into space. Monday, February 3, 1997 7:15 PM Hegal Place Alexandria, Virginia Scully knocked briskly on Mulder's door and stepped back, waiting. She heard the TV mute, and then the door was open, Mulder's face laughing and pleasantly surprised. "Scully? I thought you said you'd be gone until tomorrow. How was the seminar?" Don't look at his eyes, or all this hard-won composure is going to collapse. Scully dropped her eyes from his innocent gaze, brushed past him and walked through the front room into his den. She sat down at one end of the sofa with her hands folded in her lap, staring fixedly at her shoes. "Scully?" His voice was tentative now, guarded, and she could hear the smile vanish from his face. "Sit down, Mulder." He sat down next to her on the couch, his thigh just barely touching her leg, and his forehead creased in confusion. "What's wrong?" Just take a deep breath, and tell him where you've been. Do it just like you rehearsed. She took her breath, and to her horror felt it hitch in her throat, felt tears burning her eyes. This is it; this is where he sees just how weak I am. She ruthlessly wiped her face dry, slowing her breathing. "Scully?" She felt his right arm wrap around her shoulder, and his left hand turned her face toward him. He had paled, and she could see the beginning of panic in his eyes. "Scully, what is it? My God, what's happened?" "I wasn't at a seminar; I lied." She met his eyes now, defiantly. He was visibly confused, but he just waited. Help me out, here, Mulder. Read my mind. Don't make me do this. Nothing. Damned psych major. She sighed. "I saw my doctor this afternoon. Something's wrong." She felt him tense. He held his breath, and she watched his eyes widen in shock. "Tell me." He forced his voice to stay low, but in it she heard the pain of a thousand worlds. "Mulder." She took another deep breath and plunged on. "Leonard Betts. When he attacked me in that ambulance. He told me I had something he needed." "Oh, my God," he whispered. His face registered his understanding. "No. Oh God, Scully, please. No." Mulder's eyes spoke volumes to her, looking intently into her face, sending her a message that she understood in its entirety. She pressed on, feeling her chest tighten. "Dr. Branton drew some blood this afternoon, and I've got scans set up for Friday. Until then, we really don't know a lot." His left hand slid down her neck and flattened protectively over her heart, the tips of his fingers caressing the swell of her bosom for the first time. The gesture was like a farewell. Scully," he breathed, looking up at her. "Your breasts?" Oh, God. Just like my body is a part of his. "Nothing is for sure right now, except that there's a problem," she said carefully. She moved his hand away from her breast and squeezed it lovingly to let him know she didn't mind. Look at us. I'm comforting him. "I've had headaches and nosebleeds and some dizziness for over two weeks now, and it's happening more and more frequently. It's gotten to the point that I have to wonder about how safe you'd be with me in the field." Her eyes begged him to understand what she was not saying. I don't want to be without you. I never want to see you hurt. I don't want to die. Hold me, Mulder, I'm so frightened. Can you see how frightened I am? Can you see? Mulder moved forward, and both his arms wound snugly around her shoulders. His hand pressed her head into the crook of his neck. I wonder if he realizes that he's rocking us back and forth? He was crooning into her ear now, his breathing erratic. Meaningless sounds, but they meant the world to her. She slid her arms around his rib cage and held on, taking what comfort she could from his rapid, steady heartbeat, and the fragrant furnace of his body. The rocking motion was oddly soothing. The room was silent but for the creak of the leather under them, and his indistinct whispers. As time wore on, Scully drifted off, her vaporous courage dissipating into utter exhaustion. Fatigue took hold of her like a whirlpool, sucking her into dreamless, silent waters. Mulder held her in his arms while she slept, a wordless embrace, unfamiliar tears falling onto her bright head. He had never felt so helpless. Tuesday, February 4, 1997 11:20 AM J Edgar Hoover Building Washington, DC Scully walked briskly down the hall and found Mulder slumped in his chair, one hand holding his chin up, and the other with a death grip on his mouse, staring morosely at his computer terminal. He looked up, surprised, when she came in. "Scully? When you didn't come in this morning, I thought you," he paused, started again. "You didn't answer your phone." "I was upstairs. Mulder, you missed the budget meeting in Skinner's office. It's okay, though, I had your numbers and we managed to squeak by without any real cuts." Help me keep this normal, Mulder. "Damn, Scully, I'm sorry." Mulder started to apologize, but his words were interrupted by the phone. "Mulder." He stiffened. "She's right here." He handed the phone to Scully, stood up, and began straightening some already tidy files in the cabinet behind his desk. Scully took the handset with sweaty palms, and sat down in Mulder's office chair. "Scully." The person on the other end of the phone talked for some time, interspersed only with the occasional "uh huh," and "okay" from Scully. Mulder watched her from the corner of his eye as she made several small notes on a blank piece of paper with a pen she found on his desk. A gift from her last summer, meant to be a lighthearted joke. The casing of the ink pen had little alien heads floating up and down in a sea of distilled water and glitter. The cheery little trinket struck discordantly in the gloom that was their office. When she finally hung up, there was a stillness he could hardly bear. "Aside from a little anemia, Mulder, everything looks pretty normal." Work with me, here. Right now, I'm still alive. "But it's not," he angrily pointed out. "No, it's not." She stared up at him, feeling an icy calm overtake her as she saw him unravel again. "Scully, what if," he started, and found he could not finish. "Mulder, let's wait and see what happens on Friday." "I'm in court Friday morning." The protest was shaky, childlike. "I don't think any of the scans can be read much before three. I'll call you as soon as I hear." I can't bear to have you see me crumble on Friday. "Your mother? Have you talked to her?" "She's out of town, and I don't see a good reason to disturb her until we have some answers." She paused. "Can you pick me up after the tests on Friday, Mulder? I'd rather not be alone." I'm not rejecting you. I need you. But give me a chance to compose myself before I have to face you. "Let me go with you," he begged her. "Please." Scully's resolve almost disintegrated at the plea in his voice. He's hurting too. And he needs my help to deal with this. Do something. Anything. Don't shut him out. He needed her. Just like always. And this wasn't even about him. Scully considered the ice in her relationship with him after their return from the fiasco in Philadelphia. She felt the hiss of white-hot anger at his neediness even in the face of her personal crisis. More rapidly than she would have predicted, she lost her temper. Asshole. "Mulder, I appreciate your concern for me, and I am relying on your strength to help me cope with this, but you're not my husband and you're not my boyfriend, and I'd really rather not have my personal health problems exposed until I can make some sense of the results." She spoke more sharply than she had intended; his eyes widened as if he'd been punched. There was a flare of hurt in his eyes, and his newly-pale face turned stony. "Of course," he whispered. In a heartbeat, everything went to hell. Mulder grabbed his suit coat, overcoat, and a stack of folders, and stalked from the room. In his whitewater wake he left a knuckle of violent emotions. Way to go, Dana. Pull him toward you and then push him away. You know he sees you as a necessary part of himself. Her anger left as suddenly as it came. She started to stand, to call him back, to apologize, to soothe the wound she'd opened, but the room started to spin, she caught the edge of the desk to stop her fall, and by the time she recovered her equilibrium, his car was no longer in the parking garage. Mulder didn't return to the office that day, and Scully was out of the office for the remainder of the week. By Thursday night, she had left five hesitant messages on his answering machine, six on his cell phone, and still had not heard from him. There were hang-ups every night on her answering machine, and she knew he was embarrassed and miserable. The detente was chilling, and it hurt her more than she had expected. She missed his presence more than she'd expected. She tumbled into bed Thursday night in an Ambien stupor and cried herself to sleep, weeping for her mother, her future, and for Mulder, awkward and unsure of himself, torn up with grief and loss and pain, snarling like a wounded animal when anyone approached. Outside, Mulder sat, face shadowed in sorrow, and watched the lights go out in her apartment. He sobbed like a child for the things he would never be to her. Things she seemed unwilling to let him be to her. His head sank lower and lower, until the steering wheel pressed deeply into his cheek. His arms were boneless with fatigue, and he lacked the strength to lift his head. Helpless to move, he relished the pain as a distorted penance. He wondered if his tears would ever stop. 7 February 1997 2:15 PM Holy Cross Memorial Hospital Washington, DC With her hand only slightly shaking, Scully pushed the last number and raised the phone to her ear. One ring. Two. Finally, she heard his voice, a little out of breath, as if he had rushed to the phone. "Mulder." "It's me." She was appalled to hear her voice quaver. So long since she had heard his honeyed voice in her ear. A long pause. "Scully." His voice sounded harsh and a little uncontrolled. "Where are you?" "Outpatient Oncology. There's a film reading room next to Radiology." "I'm on my way." There was another long pause, as if neither of them had the desire to hang up first. Screwing her eyes shut, feeling her control slip, Scully thumbed the connection closed, and dropped the phone back in the pocket of her coat. She turned and gazed blankly at the brightly lit wall to her left, seeing again the films of her head and neck. A bright white splotch marred the bland gray tones of the x-ray, an obvious aberrancy, and she looked away quickly. This is the last tear. No more crying. It's time to go to Allentown. She sat down, hard, on the plastic chair set against the wall, covered her face with her hands, and began to pray. Oncology Inpatient Ward Trinity Hospital Sunday, 2 November 1997 10:45 PM From his place on a hard-backed chair outside Scully's room, Mulder watched Dr. Zuckerman leave. His shoulders slumped a little more, and in his fatigue he couldn't stop a sigh. Unexpectedly, Zuckerman spun on one foot, and walked the few steps back to Mulder's chair. "Mr. Mulder?" He looked up at the doctor, dead eyes burning from their sockets. "What?" "Mr. Mulder, I don't want to violate Ms Scully's privacy, but might I suggest you go in and check on her?" Mulder just stared through him. "Mr. Mulder. My drugs, her priest, your little chip. I don't know how or why, but I think you got your miracle. You look like you could use a little good news." Dr Zuckerman briefly placed his hand on the man's shoulder, a smile hovering around the corners of his mouth, and continued on his way down the dimly-lit hall. Mulder stood, firmly squashing the elation, and tapped gently at the door. Upon hearing her faint acknowledgment, he pushed the door open, and hungrily sought her with his eyes. She was sitting in bed, propped up by two fluffy pillows, a shapeless blue cotton gown engulfing her skinny frame. Her hair was lank, her skin was pale, and there were circles under her eyes, but her mouth was curved in the loveliest, sunniest smile he had ever seen. Her eyes were watery, and she gestured him over to her impatiently. "I'm glad you stayed, Mulder." Mulder stumbled farther in, and sat down gingerly on the edge of her bed, pressing her hand to his heart. He had the ghost of a smile on his drawn features. "Have you had a miracle, Scully? Tell me," he whispered. Not me. We do, Mulder. We have a miracle. She smiled up at him, but words escaped her. Eyes filmy with tears, she reached blindly for him. He wrapped his arms carefully around her, and breathed his next words almost inaudibly in her ear. "Are you in remission, Scully?" Yesyesyesyesyes He felt her nod, and finally allowed himself to believe. His embrace tightened, and she leaned into his strength. "Thank God." It was the answer to a prayer he had forgotten how to ask. The End