SUMMARY: SRA Set post-"Leonard Betts." Mulder contemplates how much he is to blame for what Scully may be facing: cancer. Scully contemplates what she needs most now: Mulder, and his support. Well, this is being posted so early cos I saw the ep yesterday on satellite. This was written in an hour or so, so I'm not sure how good/bad it is. It was just something I needed to do, and I wrote kind of aimlessly. I'd been tossing around the idea for this fanfic for about two weeks, when finally the episode "Leonard Betts" gave me the back story for these events to occur. And let me tell you, after the end of that one I needed an outlet. Anything I may say about cancer, treatment of cancer in here, well, don't flame me for it - I've got my reasons/validation. This is dedicated to the memory of my grandfather and favourite teacher, both taken from this Earth by this terrible disease in 1993. You may be gone to a better place, but your memory will live forever. DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters, Chris Carter and the almighty gang at TenThirteen and FOX do. I don't own the song "Believe Me" - the group Moist does. (Mark, David, Jeff, Paul, and Kevin, you guys are the best. Keep on writing and recording. :) MANY THANKS TO: Kelly Feenstra, for being there. And to Jen Bullock, for being a terrific editor. :) THINGS YOU NEVER SAID by Jennifer Farwell rfarwell@foxnet.net He remembered when he got the phone call. It had been 2:10 a.m. Fox Mulder hadn't been sleeping; he was still uneasy over the events which had transpired earlier in the night. He couldn't remember ever seeing his partner, Dana Scully, appear so shaken, as she had after her confrontation with Leonard Betts. He still didn't know all that had gone on before he'd arrived, but he had a feeling there was more than Scully was telling him. Obviously her life had been in danger - after all, that was why she needed to kill Betts - but what else had gone on? The whole drive back to her place, as well as the rest of the evening, had been spent pondering. What wasn't she telling him? He'd gotten his answer, that wee hour of the morning. He didn't think he'd ever heard his best friend in such complete panic, and it had scared the hell out of him. Scully was the calm, rational, and logical one, so when the shrill ringing of his cellular phone pierced through the night time stillness of his apartment, something in his chest had constricted. Something in him had known things had gone horribly wrong. He'd reached over for his phone. "Mulder," he'd answered, voice rasping with fear. Her voice had been so scared, and he could almost see her shaking. "Mulder, my nose is bleeding." She hadn't bothered with the usual, "it's me." That had been the first warning that this would be a night neither of them would ever forget. There was no answer he could give to her simple statement, only a question that should have been answered hours before. "Scully, what's wrong?" She hadn't said she was fine. She always said she was, and somehow she always ended up to be. But this time, it was different. This time she was frightened, and it was a dread of the unknown. Mulder had never known his partner to ramble on disjointedly, but tonight she did. And he listened. "He told me I had something he needed, Mulder... oh God, I need tissue. Shit! Remember why he killed the others? He had a knife. He was going to kill me. He needed me... needed what I have. Oh no, there's blood on the floor. On my carpet. He saw it, Mulder. I didn't even know it, but he knew. I'd hoped it wouldn't happen. I keep thinking of Betsy Hagopian, and all those women." She stopped for a moment, and in the background he could hear her fumbling around in her apartment. Her voice became quiet. "I'm scared." His mind tried to sort out what she was telling him. She had a nosebleed. Everyone got nosebleeds, didn't they? What was this about Leonard Betts? What could he see? He thought of all the victims, and of what they'd concluded. *No. God, no.* She confirmed what his brooding silence questioned. "I think I have cancer." That had been seventeen hours ago. The rest of their phone conversation had been done on auto-pilot, both of them in shock. He'd told her to see a doctor, and not come into work. For his part, he'd called in sick. There was no way he could work today - hell, he was having a hard enough time going through the basic motions of living. He hadn't slept after their phone call, but sat in thought. He had company in his thought now; the gun which glinted in his hands. Together, they thought about everything that had lead to this point. The gun was twirled in time to the music which played on the radio. It had been turned on twelve hours ago in an attempt to drown out these thoughts, with no avail. Memories of the last four years accused him, the images unrelenting. Believe me Touched by God Touched by you You know I never asked you to Believe in me It's all I can do Things you never said No, he hadn't asked her to believe in him. He'd tried to spook her away at the very beginning, but she'd held on. Placed her trust in him, and what had happened? She'd been taken away. That was when this had started, and he'd hoped it would stay in their past. Duane Barry needed to be put behind them, and so did Betsy Hagopian. He'd prayed it wouldn't come to this, and become more confident each day that it would be different with her. She was special. But still... And wanting you to reach out from the dark To wake up from the cold And wanting you is all I can do Things you never said He remembered when she'd been returned. She wasn't supposed to live then, but she'd held on. He'd almost given up hope. All he'd wanted was a sign that she was in there, and that she could hear him. Mulder recalled the desperation he had felt, and the inner pain which wrenched his soul each day of the months she was gone. He'd wanted to tell her then that he needed her, that maybe he even loved her. Even her sister Melissa had known. She'd come to his apartment when he'd been ready to give up, and tried to get him to tell her how she really felt. He remembered the words of Scully's flame-haired sister, the advice he'd never listened to. "At least then she'll know." Mulder laughed. It was short, angry. She still didn't know, and she was better off that way. Everything he loved, he hurt. Believe me, did we ever try? Believe me, keep it all to yourself Believe me, I never wanted [you] to die He'd hurt her. It was his fault she might have cancer. He would be to blame for her death. If it wasn't for him, she'd never have been taken. She'd have a normal life. A tear rolled unbidden down his face. Everything dies. Maybe it was time for him to, as well. I'll take the note, the words that say I'm weak That show I should have died Crumpled in the fire I'll take the note It's all I can do Things I never said Oh yes, he was weak. He should be the one dying in place of her, but it was never quite that easy. He was always the one left behind to shoulder the grief and carry on, clinging to his past and all his torment. He should have known by now that nothing lasts forever, and you needed to cherish each day with them. Samantha should have taught him that lesson. There was so much he'd always wanted to say to Samantha, but never had the chance to. So why had he screwed up so badly this time? Why couldn't he ever tell Scully how he really felt? *How could she love the one who is to blame, you asshole?* Maybe that was the reason. So I'm burning up your pictures Lay you in this shallow grave So I'm washing clean your body For the promises I never made He was burning up their memories, a way to ease the anguish. If he couldn't see her face when he finally pulled the trigger, maybe it wouldn't hurt so badly. She was dying, and it was because of him. What right did he have to shatter the lives of those he cared about, and still live? Mulder raised the gun to his head now, enjoying the feel of cold metal against flesh. I'm burning up your pictures Still my love remains the same He didn't hear the key turn in the lock, or the door being opened. The sound of approaching footsteps was lost on him. Oh, remains the same... Slowly, he applied pressure to the trigger. This was it. This would be the end. *Goodbye, Dana,* he thought, eyes squeezed shut. *I love you. I'm sorry.* Just press a little bit harder, that's all he needed to do... And then, he heard the horrified scream. The gun was ripped away. His guardian angel, his reason for coming so close to the edge, stood there. She held the gun with trembling hands. Dana Scully's face was white, and she was shaking. Mulder couldn't find the words to speak to her, but it wasn't necessary. She spoke for him, her voice overpowering the still-playing radio. "My God, Mulder, how many times? How many times have you wanted to do this?" she demanded. He couldn't answer her, but thought: *Just once. After they took you.* His lack of response infuriated her. "How could you do this to me? You bastard! I need you Mulder, don't you understand? And what were you going to do? You were going to fucking LEAVE me! Right now I'm not fine, and I need you to be here for me." She wasn't crying, but shivering violently. She looked down at the gun still in her hands, and back at him. He remained silent. Annoyance, fury and fear flickered in her eyes. He had only seen her look like that once before: the Modell case. The only other time she had seen him with a gun against his head. The silence hung heavily, as her gaze pierced hotly through him. He couldn't meet her eyes. Her voice lowered to a terse whisper. "Fine. You want to die. Well how's this for ironic: I don't, but I may not have a choice. You do, and I stopped you. Goddamn hilarious, isn't it?" She laughed bitterly. "So maybe one of us should get our wish. Here. Take it. Finish what you started." Scully placed the gun down on the coffee table, then headed for the door. "I'll see you on the other side." She'd almost made it to the elevator, when Mulder caught up with her and grabbed her arm. She stopped, but didn't turn around. "Look at me, Scully," he said quietly. She swivelled around to face him. Tears rolled down his face as he wrapped his arms around her. "Dana, I'm sorry." That was all it took to make her cry. He brought her back inside his apartment as she buried her face in his chest, her body wracked with choking sobs. They cried together, seeking a comfort that could not be found. "I don't want to die, Mulder," Scully whispered. He sat her down on the couch, still in his arms. "You're not going to die, Scully. You don't even know if you're sick." "Betts knew. He told me." Her blue eyes pleaded with his hazel ones for him to make this better. To make it a nightmare that she'd wake up from. He wished he could. "Betts could be wrong," he said quietly, hoping he was right. "He was right about all the others," she pointed out sadly. "You know, this is almost funny in a morbid sort of way. I'm the skeptic and you're the believer." He wanted her to smile. He wished for one last happiness before the long road ahead of her. "I don't want to believe, but all the odds are stacked against me. This has happened before to the others, and it was only a matter of time before it happened to me. And you didn't seem so skeptical when I walked in here, you know." "I'm sorry," he replied. "You can't blame yourself forever, Mulder. It's not your fault." Scully looked at him, a silent message that she needed for him to forgive himself. "I need you to be here for me." "I will," he promised. "You're going to be okay, Scully. Worst case scenario: you are sick, and need treatment. But it would have been found early enough, don't you think? Radiation and chemotherapy will help." "No chemotherapy," she said somberly. He glanced at her, confused. "But if it could cure you--" "Mulder, it may be effective in a certain percentage of patients, but what you don't know is that it kills the rest of them. Most people don't know that. Lucky me, I'm a doctor, privy to such information." Her tone was sarcastic, and he didn't know what to tell her. Instead, he held her closer. It was a long while before she spoke again. "You know, there are so many things I always wanted, and you never realize how badly you'd miss the things you never had, until your time starts running out. I thought I was enjoying my life, but sometimes..." "Sometimes, what?" Mulder pressed gently. "Sometimes I wish I had a husband and children; a house with a white picket fence. Somebody to love me. You. I wish I had you. I wish I could tell the Bureau to screw off, and let me be with you." She stopped abruptly, realizing what she'd just said. Her hands flew up to her mouth, nervously, as she bolted up from the couch. "Oh God... I'm sorry, I never meant to--" He stood up and walked over to her, interrupting her rambling apology. "So screw the Bureau," he said, as he bent his head down. "I want to be the one to love you. I do love you." Their lips met in a kiss of comfort, sorrow, and yearning. There was pain mixed with pleasure, uncertainty blended with absolution. For so long, each had wanted this. But how much time would they have left? They cried and they talked that night, about all the things they'd never said. "You know, I should have told you before," Mulder said at one point, taking her hand in his. "Told me what?" Scully asked, perplexed, looking down at their intertwined fingers. "That I love you. Needed you. Do you know who realized it first?" he questioned, softly. "No..." she waited for his replication. "Melissa. Your sister." He noted the surprised look on her face, and elaborated. "You asked me how many other times I'd sat there, wanting to end it all. Just once, Dana. The time you almost died. Melissa found me here, and urged me to tell you how I felt. She claimed you'd be able to hear me, and you'd know. I never told you." "But you've told me now..." she trailed off. "So you know what that means? You're not going to die. You're going to live to go through the hassels at the Bureau of being involved with me. And believe me, there'll probably be plenty." She laughed, the sound nearly breaking his heart. He wanted to make her laugh, forever. "We'll have a house with a white picket fence, and kids runnning around to drive the neighborhood crazy. We'll even have a dog." She looked at him, teasingly. "Mulder, is that your way of proposing to me?" "That depends." He arched an eyebrow. "Do you want it to be?" "How about we let me get through this first, okay?" She squeezed his hand. "Let us get through this. Mulder, they found a tumor. They did a biopsy, and they said they could have the results tomorrow... I feel like in just hours, I'll know the rest of my life." "Hey, don't worry," Mulder said, vainly trying to keep this mood light. She deserved not to worry, for even a little while. "Fate owes you one, remember? Iced tea this time, not root beer." He hugged her. "Mulder... hold me tonight?" Her voice was so weary. This battle had taken its toll. Her request was something he couldn't refuse. "Always," he replied. They held each other that night, a clinging to what might never have the chance to be. Yet, it was comfort. If even for a short time, they had each other. In their lives of lies and corruption, it was their bond that was true and right. The call came on her cellular phone the next morning. Scully slept peacefully in Mulder's arms, and Mulder didn't have the heart to wake her. "Hello," he whispered into the receiver, noticing as Scully stirred a bit then continued to sleep. "This is Dr. Callahan..." Mulder listened to the doctor's news, then acknowledged her request to speak with Scully. He watched her for one last tranquil moment before waking her. The tumor wasn't malignant. She was going to be all right. They would be all right. The End January 25th, 1997.