Y'all are probably sick of me, but this story I'm very proud of and want to share it with as many people as possible. OK, here's my cancer story. Everyone else has one, so why can't I? This is a sad tale. Might want some tissues nearby. Author's note: I would like to thank Angela, Lynn, Kelli, Scott, Daria, and last but not least, Leyla. If only my stories could be as good as yours. Thanks to all of you for your wonderful stories and responding to me when I gave feedback to you. Also, thanks for listening to my criticisms, musings, and general opinions about the show. I hope y'all like this. Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me. They are the property of Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and 20th Century Fox. No infringement intended. Classification: MSR, angst Rating: NC-17 Summary: Scully examines her life and comes to a decision before the cancer takes over. WARNING!: Character death. "Requiem" by Lisa "Though lovers be lost love shall not And death shall have no dominion." -Dylan Thomas 1914-1953 The cancer has almost taken over my body. I remember how active and energetic I used to be. I would be awake 18, 20 hours a day. But no longer. The pain has gotten worse. I now take the pain medication that I had resisted only a few weeks ago. That is not the only pill I take. My night table has now become an apothecary. I have pills for all my aches and pains and more that take away the side effects of those. The bedroom is where I spend most of my time. The television has been moved in since it is my only form of entertainment. I can eat when I have an appetite. I wish I could eat more. I have lost a lot of weight and don't like to look at myself in the mirror. I am so pale and weak. My hair has lost its sheen and luster. It's not as full and bright. But, I still have it. I couldn't bear the thought of losing my hair to this disease that has robbed me of so much. The cancer has robbed me of my life. I will not live much longer. I will not produce life. I will not be married and share my life with another. This is one of the hardest things I have had to accept. Especially since I want that other person to be Mulder. I've known this for awhile, but have seriously thought about it after I was diagnosed. Sharing a life with him is my impossible dream. I know that now. It hurts me. Makes me ache to know that I will no longer be near him. Or with him everyday. I will not know what the future holds for him. This scares me the most. I have a strong feeling that by death will be torturous for him, physically and emotionally. I don't think he has contemplated this yet. He is probably still denying that it will happen and is more than likely out there exploring every possible avenue that could cure me. Mulder has moved in with me. He sleeps on the couch at night. I tell him it can't be comfortable and he should really go back to his apartment. He ignores my pleas. Truth be told, I like having him here at night. Not because I feel I will need something, but because it's comforting. My secret wish is to have him share my bed with me, but I don't even know how to broach that subject. He has held me at times when the pain was unbearable or when the nightmares became too real. But, I awaken in the morning and he is gone as if I dreamt the whole encounter. However, the emotions that are stirred up in me when he is that close can not be cast off as a mere figment of my imagination. Mulder comes back every night after work. The bureau has let him continue his work on the X-Files. I'm not sure why, maybe to appease him and his quest for the truth. Anyway, I'm glad because he needs something to occupy his time other than worrying about me and my comfort. But tonight, I need him. I want him. I want to tell him how much he means to me now and always. I am scared. Of what, I am unsure. I need to feel his warmth next to me. I need to feel alive. Not just a victim of this disease that has eluded science for years. But, a woman who needs to be with the man she loves during the last days of her life. It is late. I don't know where he is. He is usually here by now. He gives me no reason to worry at all. But now I am feeling so uneasy and need to hear his voice cutting through the stillness of my empty apartment. As if reading my thoughts, I hear the front door shut. "Scully ..." He calls out to me. I see him in faint light of my bedside lamp as he enters my bedroom. "Do you need anything?" He asks this question of me many times. I am not sure how he expects me to respond to it. "No." I answer him with that simple word as I have upon many occasions. He starts taking off his coat and suit jacket. Loosening his tie, he pulls it through the shirt collar and sets it on the oversize chair next to my bureau. I hear him in the kitchen finding his dinner amidst the many bowls of leftovers I cannot seem to finish in the refrigerator. I wish I had the strength to cook for him. A final meal in a sense that I could prepare for him to enjoy and remember when I am gone. A unique memory since I haven't cooked for him before. I never will, either. This is abundantly clear now. He comes into my room after eating. I can tell he wants to do something for me. Get something I need. I only need one thing from him. His love. I am sure I have it. But, haven't yet heard him verbalize it. His actions and gestures let me know he cares about me and grieves for me in my weakened state. However, I need more. I deserve more. He knows it and I know it as well. I want all of him. Now. "Mulder?" He looks at me and I see the pain on his face. Reflected in his eyes. It is constant now. I can't stand it and want to remember him before this happened. When he looked at me with care and concern, not worry and uncertainty. "I want you to make love to me." I say with more determination than I have. He looks at me and his face reflects surprise and something else I cannot discern. Love? "Scully . . . I . . ." he begins. I interrupt him. "I know I don't look very good and the disease has . . ." "No, that's not it. I don't want to hurt you." he says. "I don't want to cause you any more pain." Doesn't he know he will cause me pain if he doesn't love me? If he refuses to give himself to me. Body and soul. "Will you promise to tell me if I hurt you?" he asks me. "If it's too much for you I'll stop." "Yes, I promise." I answer him. Even as those words pass my lips I know I can't keep the vow. I want this too much. If there is pain it will be nothing compared to what I've been through already. He could never hurt me. With words or actions. He should know this. He leans in to kiss me. Softly. Gently. I want more and reach up to pull him closer to me. He responds by deepening the kiss. I feel the passion in his kiss. Restrained passion. I want him to unleash it on me. All of it. Until he has nothing left to give. Until I have absorbed all of it. He rains kisses over my face and neck. I move my head back to feel all of it. All of him. I feel him unbuttoning my pajama top slowly. It is maddening. I have waited for this so long and he decides to prolong the moment even more. His hands touch me now. My skin. They are warm. So warm and alive. His touch is familiar yet strange. Strange since these touches are a lover's caress and he has never shown me this side of him before. I am not surprised by the tenderness. It arouses me. I respond to him like never before. I then feel his lips on my collarbone. They are cool next to my warm flesh that has been covered with clothing and the comforter. His mouth continues its journey undaunted. I feel his lips on my breasts kissing them softly. I gasp and shudder at the pleasure of it. He notices this and lifts me up gently to take my top all the way off. He tosses it on the floor and starts to remove the rest of my clothing as gently as the previous piece. I want to help him, but I can't. I am anticipating what he'll do next and it's paralyzing me. I just want him to take the lead. I want to know what he will do next. How will he proceed knowing that I was the initiator of this little tryst? I feel his mouth continuing down my body. Over my stomach and down to my thighs. My breath quickens. I am wondering. He moves his fingers to my outer thighs. I feel the wetness between my legs and wonder if he notices as well. He does. He moves his finger inside me gently. My breathing grows ragged. He then uses two fingers and strokes me slowly. Gently. I arch my hips off the bed as much as I can. He increases the stroking, moving his fingers in and out of me. The pleasure is too much for me. I cry out his name softly as the waves of pleasure course through my body. Mulder slides off the bed and removes the rest of his clothing, leaving it in a pile on her bedroom floor. I feel him leave me. I miss his warmth already. I need it back. It feels like it is a part of me. And it's missing. I open my eyes and see him next to me. I look in his eyes and see the love that he feels for me. I move over to kiss him hungrily, as if telling him I'm ready without having to use words. Words haven't been necessary in our relationship. We know each other so well that speaking is just a waste of precious time. He moves on top of me bracing himself on his arms. I part my legs for him and he moves between them filling me. He feels so good inside me. I feel complete like this. Needed. Wanted. Loved. I wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer. We can never be close enough. He moves inside me slowly thinking he will hurt me. Slow is good. As long as he stays inside me. I won't feel this many more times. It has to last. However, he changes the rhythm and starts to move faster inside me. Deeper inside me. It is wonderful. Pleasurable. Beyond words. I struggle to breathe. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters except this. This moment. The rhythm of our bodies increases and I am close to the edge. So close. Too close. He realizes this and thrusts inside me once more before I shudder and cry out his name again in ecstasy. I feel his moans of pleasure against my neck. He moves off of me and pulls me close to him. My breathing is still labored and coming in short bursts and gasps. I am able to touch him but for a moment until he holds me close and tight to his body. I rest my head against his chest and nestle in the curve of his body. "I love you." I whisper to him. "I love you, too." I hear him say before sleep claims me. * * * * Mulder awakens first. She is sleeping beside him. Still close to him. He kisses her softly to rouse her from her slumber. Gentle, loving kisses over her face and neck. However, she doesn't respond. "Scully . . ." he says. Mulder touches her and notices she isn't warm. Cool to the touch. He tries the kisses and caresses once more. Nothing. "No. No. Not now. Not yet." he repeats over and over again to no one. To himself. He begins to cry. To cry for her. For himself and the time that was robbed from them. She has no pulse. No warmth. No life. Never again. Mulder pulls her into his arms and holds her to him. Tightly. As if that will revive her. Make her come back to him. Force the life back into her hollow body. His tears run down his face and into her hair. He knew she was gone, but he didn't want to let her go just yet. * * * * * He wasn't aware of the time. However, it had grown lighter in the bedroom. He had to do something. To will himself to leave her and call an ambulance. But, she would then be another statistic to them. Another death. He didn't want to think about her body in some morgue. Cold. Impersonal. So unlike this woman he had come to know through the years. He had to dress her. Moving off the bed, he searched through the drawers. He didn't know what to choose. He saw her gun in the top one surrounded by lingerie. Lingerie he would never have the pleasure of seeing on her. He caressed the cold metal of her firearm with his fingers. It was tempting. He looked back to her body on the bed and the tears came again. Harder. Stronger. He could join her with one pull of the trigger. As much as that seemed appealing to him, he had to stay here and find the people who did this to her. Make them pay for taking away his partner, friend, and the woman he loved from him prematurely. He also didn't want the paramedics finding them like this. His blood all over the walls and bed looking like some teenage suicide pact. And Mrs. Scully. He didn't want the last memory of her daughter to be like this. Let alone seeing his body as well. It would hurt and confuse her. He picked up the phone and started the next phase of his life. * * * * The funeral was over. Mulder was sitting in the second row of the old Catholic church. He was dressed in a black suit. Darker than the ones he usually wore to the office. It matched his mood. Bleak. Dismal. Hopeless. Tormented. Nothing would ever be the same again. She wasn't here to tell him his theories were wrong. His explanations were crazy. The case was a waste of their time. She wasn't here at all. He would never again seen her face. Her beautiful blue eyes. Her pale skin. Her auburn hair. Her soft, sweet voice. The way she said his name when they were making love. Passionately. Like a caress. He could only think of that night. That wonderful night that was way too short. He still wondered what possessed her to be that forward. To ask him to make love to her. He wanted to, oh God he wanted to many times. But with her cancer, he thought that would be the last thing on her mind. He was wrong. It was as if she knew she was going to die that night. She couldn't have, could she? No. If he had known that, he would have made love to her all night. He thought of all the weeks spent at her apartment. All the lost time. The time they could have been together, making love. Slowly. Passionately. Or, he could have held her all night. Just stayed in her bed. Slept next to her trying to protect her from the inevitable. But, he couldn't protect her. He failed her. He wasn't able to save her from this horrible disease that took her life slowly, day by day. Forcing him to watch her slowly slip further and further away from him. Being a witness to the cancer's horrible effects. Mrs. Scully walked towards Mulder. She had never seen him this upset. This devastated. Dana's death was too much for him. She had known all along that if her daughter died Fox would blame himself. Thinking there was something, anything he could have done to save her. She realized now how much he loved her daughter. But, it was too late. Too late for them to be together. This hurt her more than she thought it would. She knew how good Dana would be for him. To him. Always. "Fox?" she said softly. Mulder looked up at her. She saw the pain in his eyes. The tears threatening to come. "This is for you. It's from Dana." She handed him a white envelope. She touched his shoulder lightly and walked back down the aisle leaving him to open it alone. To his feelings and memories. Mulder looked at the envelope. His name was on it. Scully's handwriting. The last thing he had of her. At least the last physical thing. He loosened the flap and slid the letter out. Unfolding it, he started to read: Mulder, If you are reading this then I have died. I hope it wasn't painful for me. I am sorry it had to happened this way. I'm sorry I had to leave you in this manner. I know you are angry right now and want to get the people who did this to me. I hope you won't do something foolish. I don't want anything to happen to you. I am no longer around to protect you from yourself. What I'm really trying to say is that I love you. I know, I'm taking the cowardly way by writing it in this letter and not telling you face to face. I was afraid of what you would say to me, if you would reject me. I couldn't take that and would not be able to be with you everyday knowing that you could not return my feelings. But, who knows, maybe I have already told you by now. I hope I have and you have let me in. Let me be close to you before this disease robs me of everything I hold dear. I don't know what to give you. We have shared so much over the past few years, good and bad. You'll never know how much it meant to me that you were there for me - your support and your strength when I had none of my own. I can never repay you for that. So, I'm giving you this. It is very precious to me, as are you. I hope you find some comfort in having this close to you since I cannot be with you anymore. Love always, Scully Mulder turned the envelope upside down and the small gold cross necklace slid out into his palm. He stood up with the letter and crucifix in his hand and walked to the coffin. Mulder placed a white rose on top of it. Tears ran down his cheeks as he walked out of the church.