TITLE: Esto Perpetua AUTHOR: Diana Battis DISTRIBUTION: OK for Gossamer, Spookys. Anywhere else, just ask. I usually say yes. CLASSIFICATION: MSR, S, Angst RATING: PG-13 SPOILERS: Yes. That's it -- just yes. SUMMARY: The moment we're born we begin to die. Please note -- This is the final installment in the Interminabilis Vitae series, but it isn't necessary to read the other stories for this one to make sense. If you want to read them, they can be found at my website. The URL is below. DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em. Never have, never will, damn it! FEEDBACK: DianaBattis@aol.com or All4Mulder@aol.com Author's Notes at the end. My fanfiction can be found at: http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Vault/4090/TheXFilesF ic.html ******** It was deja vu all over again. Scully smiled without humor as those words passed through her mind. She'd been in this position before, waiting for the verdict. It didn't get easier with practice. Her eyes scanned the waiting room. Soft, white leather chairs were coordinated in what decorators liked to refer to as 'conversation groups.' Muted light filtered through windows framed with hanging greenery. The walls were painted a cheerful yellow, and tranquil landscapes hung in syncopated groups. The plush setting should have comforted her, but she didn't feel soothed. They were only a bittersweet reminder of life beyond this place. She focused for a moment on one of the plants, hanging in a bright blue pot. The philodendron was dark and glossy, perfect. Almost perfect, she amended after further inspection, noticing the browned edges on a few leaves. Too much water, or too little? She couldn't remember which caused that condition. Either way, it looked like this plant was in need of some TLC or it would soon be dead. . . Life and death -- that's what it's all about, she reflected. Everything has a beginning and an end, inextricably entwined like the woven knots of the plant's macrame hanger. The moment we're born we begin to die, and no amount of money or power can postpone this inevitable conclusion. Death didn't frighten her. As a scientist, she knew it was an integral part of nature. As a pathologist, she was no stranger to its many faces. As a Catholic, she believed in an afterlife. But it was different when you were facing your own mortality. It really wasn't the thought of dying that bothered her. It was what it would do to those she left behind. Her mother, her brothers, Mulder. Mulder most of all. She glanced up at him. He was sitting close to her, and his hand held hers in a comforting grasp. Another time, another place and she would have pulled away from his touch. But not now. She smiled at him, and was rewarded with an answering one as his fingers unconsciously tightened their hold on hers. "Your hand's cold," he observed lightly, massaging her chilled flesh. She shrugged. "It's cold in here. They always seem to have the air conditioning temperature turned too low." And I'm nervous as hell, she added silently. He nodded, examining her intently. His eyes were more brown then green today, and she could see the uncertainty in their murky depths. "I understand. More than you realize, Scully. Just remember, I'm here for you," he whispered huskily, brushing a wisp of hair off her cheek. "I know." She wanted to stand up and walk away from that look. It made her feel like a specimen under the lens of a microscope. Exposed and vulnerable, everything on display and nothing left. No dignity, no privacy. Nothing. She'd seen that look all day. While he'd been making her breakfast. 'Hope you like your eggs crispy, too.' And at the office, reading through a stack of periodicals. 'If he drowned his victims in an oatmeal bath, would that make him a cereal killer?' All the while, those eyes. Staring. Dark and haunted. Nowhere to run or hide from that look. Staring until she was ready to scream. Just like he was doing now. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate his concern. But it made her uncomfortable. And it was such a short jump from concern to pity. God, I couldn't take his pity! She blinked back tears, suddenly ashamed of the weakness. Silly to think that way. When did Mulder ever pity her? Never, not even when he thought she was blindly following her scientific instincts instead of trusting his more surreal ones. He didn't always agree with her theories, but he never treated her with disdain. Well, not often anyway. But then, she seldom lent much credence to his, so they were even. Maybe I should start keeping a list -- quid pro quo. She smiled at that thought. Lists. She'd made a number of them the last time. Cataloging her belongings, doling out the pieces of her life like so many pieces of silver. Grandma Scully's good china to Tara and Bill. Ahab's books to Charlie. The jewelry to Mom. And when she was finished, she'd realized what a meager list it was. A sad thing really, to think that the sum total of her existence could be contained on three sheets of lined paper. The real legacy was quite different. Heartache for Mom. Another reason to hate for Bill. Faded memories for Charlie. And equal shares of disappointment for all. If only Missy were here. . . Older sister. Best friend. Confidant. Accepting of all her little sister's foibles, but different in so many ways. She never worried what others thought, and never sought approval for her actions. She knew it was more important to be true to yourself. Scully wished she could absorb all those qualities now, quickly. She'd never needed her big sister more than she did right now -- but Melissa had never been further away. Scully could remember long, slightly silly conversations with her. Sitting in the dark, with only a couple of candles lighting their room. Atmosphere, Missy had called them. 'I don't know if it hurts to lose your virginity, but I'll let you know Saturday night.' Snorts and giggles punctuating their sentences. 'Dad'll kill me, Missy, but I really want that nose ring.' In the flickering shadows they'd planned their futures. 'I'm never getting married, Dana. You can have kids without a husband.' Never once a thought about the futility of those plans. 'Come on, don't be such a baby! One puff isn't gonna give you cancer.' Shit. I wonder what she'd say to me about all this? Probably tell me to stop feeling so damned sorry for myself and think positive. 'Too much negative energy around you, Dana. You need to relax, let the positive energies flow. . .' There wasn't a hell of a lot to be positive about. Except Mulder. The one thing she could count on, without reservations. She remembered his anguish when she'd been fighting cancer. The furtive glances, the concerned air. His hands had always been touching her then, making sure she was still there, still breathing, still alive. She knew his strength and determination were as responsible for her survival as the implant was. And now this. Another growth. Biting her cheek, Scully recognized the metallic taste of blood on her tongue as she thought about the biopsy and its possible results. Malignant or benign, her only choices. Fears she had relegated to the shadowy part of her psyche now had a new place to occupy, and the freedom to taunt her with their return. A silent prayer: Oh, God, please don't make us go through that again. Unconsciously, she reached for her cross, holding it between her thumb and forefinger. "You okay?" Mulder asked softly, seeing the motion. She'd forgotten he was still watching her. "I'm fine." She tried to infuse her words with warmth, to keep him from knowing what was really going through her mind. "Is that the standard Scully answer, or a true indication of your mood?" His voice was gently teasing, but she heard the underlying concern in his words. She smiled, meeting his eyes. With her free hand, she brushed through his hair, touching the surprisingly soft strands. "Did I ever tell you how much I like your hair this way?" He raised his eyebrows. "Changing the subject?" "It's okay, Mulder." Scully squeezed his hand lightly, hoping to reassure him. "Really." She leaned her head against his shoulder, taking comfort from the solid strength of him. "I'm sure we have nothing to worry about," she murmured. Sighing softly, she went back to examining the philodendron leaves. ******** Mulder heard her soft expulsion of breath, and matched it with one of his own. He wanted to talk to her, to tell her what he felt. To share something profound and deep, so they could look back on this moment in their relationship and know that the connection was still there. Had always been there, even before either of them had acknowledged it. But how to start? What the hell could he say that wouldn't sound trite, or worse, insensitive? Sorry you have to go through this? Yeah, well she already knew that. I wish it was happening to me? No, that wouldn't make it any easier for her to bear. No matter what happens, we'll always have. . .He sighed in disgust. Smooth line, only it sounded better when Bogie said it. So he remained silent. His eyes swept the room. It was a big step above the waiting rooms he was used to. No hard, molded-plastic chairs, cracked linoleum, or institutional green walls here. This place was cheerful, unrelentingly so, with comfortable chairs and current issues of the most popular magazines fanned out on the low tables. Do they pay someone to arrange them that way? Glancing around the room again. This time seeing the people. Waiting. Some cheerful, some quiet. All with that same look in their eyes. Haunted. Was that how they looked? One thing remained the same -- that antiseptic aroma that seemed to be indigenous to all hospitals and doctor's offices, never letting them forget for one second where they were. Or why. At least they weren't being subjected to the 1000 Strings version of "Stairway to Heaven." 'And she's buying a stairway to heaven.' Fuck! Why did he have to think of that song? He racked his mind, trying to come up with another one. "All Along the Watchtower." Nodding, mentally reciting the lyrics. 'There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke.' He shook his head. No. No good. He wanted something innocuous. Something. . .normal. He tried all day to keep things normal. To act as though it was just another Monday, with the usual load of paperwork to file and leads to follow up. As an actor, he made a great FBI agent. Scully tried, too. He'd shown her an interesting piece in one of the tabloids, more to break the uncomfortable silence than anything else. She'd responded, quirked brow accentuating her best take-no-prisoners manner. 'Mulder, since when did "Weekly World News" become a hot source for cases?' Her blue eyes, flashing dangerously, letting him know he was really pushing the envelope with his lame-ass humor. But it was obvious her heart wasn't in it. She had such a big heart. Always feeling for the underdog, always wanting to right the world's wrongs. She'd told him once that was why she'd joined the bureau. 'I know I can make a difference, Mulder.' His mouth curved slightly, remembering her face when she'd said those words. Open and earnest, believing without reservation that it was possible. Still young. And innocent. They hadn't yet taken that away from her. Not like now. He'd believed her because he wanted to. The idea of a world where the good guys won and justice was served had been irresistible. Almost as irresistible as he'd found her. He looked at her hand, held within his. Smaller, but so capable. She'd polished her nails, he noted abstractedly. Pale pink, pearly-looking. Such a feminine thing on hands so rarely engaged in feminine pursuits. All part of her mystery, and he wanted more time to play detective, to try and unlock the secret that was Scully. Time. That was the enemy here as much as the growth was. It was like fog, you were aware of it, but couldn't touch it, hold it. And eventually, it drifted away. . . He closed his eyes, concentrating on the kaleidoscope of shapes behind his lids. Swirls of light, uncontrolled and random. Like life. You never know what might appear next, what shape it will take. Shape. Shape shifting. And where the hell was Jeremiah Smith when you needed him? They would have known immediately whether or not it was cancer if he'd been around. None of this bullshit waiting while the fucking labs make their money. No sleepless nights, spent imagining the worst. No leaving you sitting like an innocent defendant, waiting for the jury to deliver a verdict. With one touch Smith would know, and then Scully would be healed and whole. . . 'You made me a whole person.' He'd told her that once. And it was true. She loved him for what he was, accepted his faults along with his virtues and didn't spend nights dreaming of ways to change him. He had changed, though. He was more open to her theories now, more willing to trust her hypotheses instead of relying solely on instinct. Well, most of the time anyway, he thought with a smile. Lately, he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he wasn't. . . He started to make a list. What Dana Katherine Scully gives me: I can count on her. I can depend on her logic. She keeps me focused. Gives clarity to my thoughts. Covers my ass. . .when warranted. And Christ, she even laughs at my jokes -- most of the time. Opening his eyes, he shot another quick glance at her. She seemed deep in thought, but he knew her expression was a facade, thin and brittle like ice in early winter. The slightest pressure would break through it and leave her exposed. He didn't want that. He knew Scully valued her privacy, and he respected her wishes, as much as it were possible. That was hard for him. He loved her so much that at times he'd felt shut out, despite the intimacies they shared. But that was her way, a part of what made her Scully. He'd learned to accept that. She's not shutting me out this time, he thought, resting his cheek against the softness of her hair. Part of him wanted to rejoice in this newfound freedom to touch her. It was a big step forward in their relationship. Under normal circumstances it would be cause for celebration. Instead, it scared the shit out of him, because it only served to remind him how very wrong things really were. He looked at their hands, still joined. You think I'm just doing this to show my comfort and support, don't you? That's only half the truth. I'm afraid. I'm scared that if I let go you'll float away like some goddamned balloon. Straight into the sky and fade out of my sight. I can't let go -- I *won't* let you go. Frowning, he concentrated on the connection. His thumb traced lightly over her wrist, feeling for the pulse beneath the blue-veined skin. So warm, the pulse so steady. But you weren't supposed to take the pulse with your thumb, were you? Something about the thumb having a pulse, too, though he wasn't entirely sure that was right. . . The waiting was getting to him. Never a patient man, it was taking most of his reserve strength to keep from jumping up and punching a hole in the wall. But it didn't seem to be affecting her the same way. Maybe she was just better at hiding it. He envied her the natural poise she seemed to have in abundance. She was staring into space, lost in her own thoughts, so still that for a moment he thought she'd fallen asleep. Not that she'd slept much lately. He'd awakened last night, alone. In a panic, he'd jumped out of bed, one crazed thought after another flying through his mind. He'd found her in the living room, curled up in the wide corner chair, looking like a lost kitten. She told him she'd been thinking. He didn't have to ask what occupied her thoughts. Instead, he'd coaxed her back to bed, but she still hadn't slept. He knew that for a fact, because neither had he. . . "What time is it, Mulder?" He jumped at her question. "A couple minutes past six." His voice was rough and edgy, like his nerves. "Laughton seems to be running late," he bit out. She nodded, frowning slightly. "Just a little. I'm sure he'll be here soon. Chris knew how anxious I was. . ." her voice trailed off, and she licked her lips nervously. "He'll be here soon." They lapsed back into silence. Soon. What the hell does 'soon' mean, anyway? It was an immeasurable length of time, long enough to tantalize and short enough to leave you with regrets. The doctor will be here soon versus it was over all too soon. . . I can't think like this, he told himself again. She's going to be fine. It's just a lump. A bit of fatty tissue that can be removed without any danger. This happens to a lot of women. Goddamn it, that doesn't mean it's cancer! Cancer. But Scully was no stranger to cancer. If it happened once, chances were it could happen again. That's how it went. Once cancer touched you, you were forever tainted by its shadow. And this time, no miracle chip would be forthcoming to afford her a cure. . . Oh, fuck! He closed his eyes, shutting out the surroundings so he could focus on her. Feel the warmth where she rested against him. Learn the shape of her fingers, the softness of her skin. Smell the light floral scent of her shampoo. This was real. This was what mattered. They could deal with the rest, with whatever curves life tossed them, as long as they were together. . .couldn't they? Maybe. And maybe she'd want some time alone, to reflect on the situation. He'd let her make the choice. He didn't want to smother her. . . "Ms. Scully? The doctor will see you now." Mulder's eyes snapped open at the words. "Thank you." Scully's voice was controlled, as was the smile she gave the other woman. She leaned forward, perched on the edge of the seat, and turned to Mulder. "You don't have to come with me if it makes you at all uncomfortable. I. . .I'll understand." He stood quickly, and pulled her to her feet by their still entwined hands. "Hey, you're not ditching me now, Scully. We're partners. . .in everything." She bit her lip, taking in his words, then nodded. "Let's go then." He stepped back, allowing her to pass in front of him. Walking behind her, his hand automatically gravitated to the small of her back, claiming his spot. ******** She woke up alone. Scully had expected to feel him beside her, his solid presence the one thing she'd been able to count on. But her hand found emptiness. For a moment, she was frightened. Then she heard it. Mulder's measured stride. Back and forth, his soft steps crossing the floor of her living room. She could tell where he was by the cadence of the creaks in the hardwood. Near the front door, over to the fireplace, then by the windows. He was like a jungle cat, pacing within the limits of his cage. She could visualize his lean body, the lithe muscles rippling under the skin as he fought against the confinement. Is that how he feels, she wondered. Trapped? That wasn't what she'd envisioned, when they started the relationship. But cancer hadn't been part of the equation then. Maybe it would be better to end it now, before Mulder's heart was broken again. . . Better for Mulder, maybe. . . Sitting up in the bed, she pulled the extra pillow over and propped it against the headboard, grateful for the additional support. Sometimes, late at night when she couldn't sleep, she'd imagine Mulder was with her. She would pull the spare pillow close, resting against it, trying to pretend it was him. I shouldn't have to pretend tonight, she thought, a bit of wistfulness creeping into her musings. She knew the day had been difficult for him. As difficult as it had been for her, if not more so. He tended to blame himself, and no amount of words could ease the guilt he felt. God knows she'd tried. At times he reminded her of Atlas, with the weight of the world on those strong shoulders. But it was too much for one man to bear. Trouble was, she didn't know how to ease his burden. There must be a magic combination of words and deeds that would do the trick, but she wasn't privy to the knowledge. So what do I do? she wondered, her fingers worrying the soft cotton of the sheet. Pretend that everything is all right and go back to sleep? Is that what I really want? More importantly, is that what he needs? He'd stopped pacing. The abrupt silence seemed to cry out to her, begging for attention. Making up her mind, she threw off the sheet and rose silently from the bed. She grabbed his discarded tee shirt from the floor, pulling it on as she strode purposefully into the hall. The living room was in darkness, lit only by the faint glow coming in through the windows. She saw him, silhouetted against them. Jeans hung low on his hips, and his bare back rippled as he bent to push the window open. A cool breeze swept into the room, causing the sheer curtains to float out like twin ghostly apparitions. They billowed over him, capturing him in their filmy folds as though trying to steal him away from her. You can't have him, she warned, taking a deep breath of the fresh air. He's mine. She crept up silently behind him, snaking her arms about his waist and pressing herself tightly against him to stake her claim. His skin felt chilled, and she rubbed her face against the hard muscles of his back, cooling the sudden warmth in her cheeks. "Did I wake you?" His arms covered hers, his hands closing over her clasped fingers. "Yes and no," she answered, her lips curving upward. She heard the rumble of his laughter as it vibrated through him. "A perfect answer. Always keep 'em guessing, huh Scully?" "I'm sorry. You want to know why I woke up? Let me elaborate." Tightening her hold, she leaned closer to him and pressed a kiss to the center of his back. She opened her mouth slightly to trace a small circle with her tongue, and felt fiercely pleased when he shuddered in response. "I think I understand now," he rasped. With a final squeeze, Mulder pulled out of her embrace and turned his back to the window, resting his hip against the narrow sill. He grabbed her wrist and she felt herself tugged against him again, his breath mingling with air from the open window to stir the hair fanned over her cheek. "I always make my intentions clear," she murmured, turning her face up to him. "Besides, we still need to talk." "I know." Mulder sighed, tucking her hair behind her ears with unsteady hands. His fingers trailed down her cheek to cup her chin, further tilting her head. His eyes, now a brilliant green, seemed to sparkle in the soft light. She quirked an eyebrow, waiting. . . "I. . .I don't know how to start." He rubbed a hand through his hair, a suddenly serious look on his face. "While we were sitting in that waiting room today I did a lot of thinking. . ." She could see where his mind was headed. "It wasn't cancer, Mulder. You were there, you heard the diagnosis. The type of growth I had, fibroadenoma, is the most common benign breast tumor. The doctor gave me a clean bill of health, and he doesn't see any reason for me to worry." She smiled up at him. "It's over now." He frowned, his eyes focused on a spot somewhere behind her. "But what if it happens again?" he whispered. "There are no guarantees in life, Mulder. You of all people should know that." Exasperation tinged her words. "Scully, did you ever wonder what life would be like if you'd chosen another path?" He hesitated, as though searching for the right words. "Sometimes the choices we make seem so easy, so cut and dried. Light's red, we stop. Green, we go." His hands gently gripped her shoulders. "But sometimes we get the yellow one. . .it means caution. I think we've just hit a yellow light." "I'm not sure what you're trying to say, Mulder?" She frowned, feeling a chill that had little to do with the early morning air sweeping through the open window. "Is this your way of saying we need to. . ." Her voice faltered as she sought the right phrase. Break up sounded juvenile, and cool things trivialized what they had. But how did you describe their relationship? He breathed deeply, nervously swiping his tongue across his lips. "It's not easy for me, Scully." "Maybe you'd like to back away from 'us,' Mulder," she forced out. "Give yourself a little breathing space." Fast and direct, that's how she wanted it. No beating about the bush. Scully tensed, prepared to hear the worst, and was shocked to hear his laughter. "Guess we missed one too many of those communication seminars," Mulder's voice was light, achingly so. "I'm trying to give you a chance to back out gracefully, Scully." His thumbs brushed along the tender skin of her inner arms, sending little jolts of pleasure along her nerve endings. "After this past week, and all you've been through, I thought that maybe. . ." He shrugged, flashing her a self-deprecating grin "Mulder, you think too much." She leaned into him, rubbing her cheek against the sparse hair sprinkled across his chest. She heard his gasp, then the hands on her shoulders drifted to her waist, pulling her tight against him. He buried his face in her hair, whispering, "Last chance to bail, Scully." "I'm not going anywhere, Mulder. Deal with it," she ordered. Lifting her head, she smiled, then stood on tiptoe to kiss him. Soft as a butterfly's wings, her lips touched his. A balm, a promise, an end and a beginning. She let her kiss speak for her, and hoped her message was received and understood. When his arms crushed her to him, she had her answer. ******** End Diana Battis Feedback is appreciated -- DianaBattis@aol.com or All4Mulder@aol.com AUTHOR'S NOTES: Special thanks to the betas extraordinaire, Kristy and bugs, for their time, insight, and suggestions. Guys, I'm in your debt!