Title: Father Figure

Author: Virtie

E-mail: virtuesandvices@aol.com

Web site: http://geocities.com/fanficcorner/ 

Rating: PG-13

Category: MSR

Classification: VA

Spoilers: Cancer Arc: 'Never Again' through 
'Redux II'

Archive: Yes, but please let me know first.

Summary: Scully struggles with her faith.

Disclaimers: Of course they're not mine. Not 
exactly, anyway. But whether or not they 
are, I'm not making any money from the 
thing. Darn it.

PLEASE READ: The story did not start out the 
way it ended. It actually started it's life 
as a Whispers of X True Blue Challenge. But 
then it changed. I can't say the muses took 
over. I don't truly believe it was they. 
However, those of you expecting some smut 
filled NC-17 story are going to be 
disappointed, and I'm sorry. But this story 
needed to be written, if only for my piece 
of mind. I hope you all enjoy it, too.

*****

Fox Mulder's Office


"All this because I didn't get you a desk?"

I looked him straight in the eye. "Not 
everything is about you, Mulder. This is 
*my* life."

"Yeah, but it's..."

I waited for him to continue, cocking my 
head slightly to encourage him to finish. 
But he didn't. Instead, he looked away, 
almost embarrassed.

I looked away as well, watching as my 
fingers fondled the dry rose petal I had 
left on his desk days earlier. Before 
Philadelphia. Before Ed. Why hadn't he 
thrown it away? Why had it still been 
sitting where I had left it, clearly in 
sight? Hell, while I was asking myself these 
questions, why had I left it there in the 
first place?

I was dying. Like that rose petal, I was 
slowly shriveling up and dying. But I 
couldn't tell Mulder this, not when I had no 
proof. Just a few severe headaches, a couple 
of bloody noses, and a cancer-eating madman 
telling me I had something he needed. What 
*I* needed to do was to make an appointment 
for an MRI. I had refused one in 
Philadelphia, though the ER doctor had 
wanted me to have one, if only to insure I 
had not received a concussion in my battle 
with Ed. I knew what they would find if they 
took those images, and it wouldn't be any 
bruising of the brain. I wasn't ready to 
accept it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

So instead, the doctor had requested I spend 
the night, under the watchful eye of other 
medical professionals. I had agreed, waking 
the next morning to find my room full of 
colorful balloons and a couple bouquets of 
flowers. The sight had made me smile, and my 
headache had flown away. The flowers were 
from my mother and AD Skinner, and the 
balloons were from the Lone Gunmen. I had 
tried to keep my disappointment at finding 
nothing from Mulder under control. He was 
probably still on his soul-searching 
vacation, learning about himself; he 
probably didn't even know what had happened 
to me. Which was a good thing, since I could 
already hear his lecturing voice in my head, 
complaining how I should never had let 
myself get into the trouble I had found 
myself in last night. How I was smarter than 
that. How I could be dead right now and then 
where would he be? Just like a...

Father.

I hated that comparison, but I couldn't deny 
how true it was. In most instances, Mulder 
acted like a domineering big brother, and at 
times he acted like a spoiled child, 
expecting me to mother him through the rough 
times. At all times he was my friend, but it 
was the times when I found myself in dire 
striates without him that he became 
paternal, chastising me for my stupidity 
just like my father had years ago. This 
behavior had first appeared, ironically 
enough, shortly after the death of William 
Scully, when I had nearly gotten myself in 
too deep with one Luther Lee Boggs. Mulder 
had been angrier than I had ever seen him 
when he had discovered how I had believed 
Boggs' psychic description of a crime scene 
and had investigated it by myself. I had 
been startled at the time, and secretly 
pleased. Mulder held himself so aloof from 
me, and it was nice to see I could create 
such strong emotion in him, negative though 
it was.

I have since learned to despise those 
emotional tantrums, however, and told myself 
I was pleased Mulder hadn't come to visit me 
at the hospital during my stay in 
Philadelphia.

Then I had learned that he *had* visited. He 
had been there to see both Ed Jerse and I. 
Jerse was under police guard in the burn 
unit, one floor above me. Mulder had been to 
my room, the nurse told me, but I had been 
asleep. He had not awakened me.

I don't know whether this made me angry or 
sad, or even if I felt anything anymore. 
Entering his office the next day, he had 
been his usual cool self. Well, maybe he was 
a little colder, a little more sarcastic. 
Make that a lot more. I wanted to feel anger 
at his words. I wanted to quench the hurt 
that slithered through me at his attitude; 
knowing deep inside he was only acting the 
way he was to keep his own hurt at my 
behavior from showing.

Not everything was about him. And yet, it 
was. Everything in my life, anyway. Even my 
brief 'fling' with Ed Jerse had been about 
him, though I would never admit it out loud. 
I had wanted to establish my independence 
from my partner, even though I had given in 
and done as he asked, going to Philadelphia. 
His incredulous response to the possibility 
that I might have a date had been the final 
straw. I wanted a life, a life separate from 
him.

Not only had that decision nearly gotten me 
killed, but it also brought about an 
astounding realization. I loved my partner. 
Almost as much as I hated him.

With a deep sigh, I stood from my chair, the 
painful silence of the office making my head 
ache. Carefully, I dropped the rose petal in 
the trashcan at the side of the desk, 
knowing Mulder was watching me. "I don't 
feel so good, Mulder," I said softly. "I 
think I'll take the rest of the day off."

At any other time, had I said this, Mulder 
would immediately become concerned and ask 
after my well-being. But not today. Today, 
he knew it was just an excuse to be away 
from the office...away from him. Without 
looking at him, I turned on my heel and 
walked out of the office, proud I had 
managed to keep the tears that came so 
easily to my eyes theses days at bay.

I was dying. 

And it wasn't just from a cancer in my 
brain, but from a cancer of the heart.

*****

St. Boniface Catholic Church - Georgetown


I stared up at the cross that rose above the 
small church that sat on the corner of 
Madison and Alexander. It was tiny compared 
to several of the crosses that decorated 
other churches in the area, unassuming, like 
the church itself. I had often passed by it, 
curious about it, wondering how such a small 
church like this could thrive in the heavily 
populated area. There were many other 
churches, both Catholic and others, 
throughout the Georgetown area, all of them 
very modern and up-to-date. I had never 
attended any of them, though I had visited a 
few on occasion on cases. Whenever I 
attended Mass nowadays, I went with my 
mother to her church. 

So I'm not sure why I stopped at this 
little, forgotten chapel, its older 
architecture standing out among the much 
newer townhouses surrounding it. The sign 
out front said that Mass was held daily at 9 
AM, and it was well past Noon now. 
Reconciliation was held before Mass, though 
I was sure I could speak with the priest 
directly if he wasn't busy. Did I want to? 
Did I feel the need? To what? Confess my 
fear of dying? Confess my dark and dangerous 
thoughts of late? Confess my lust for my 
partner?


No. I had no desire to talk to a priest, but 
I did feel like I had to face God. I looked 
up at the cross again, its metal surface 
shining despite the gray winter day. I knew 
just where I could find Him. Taking a deep 
breath, I headed for the door.

The woman walking out of the front doors was 
a stranger to me, but the tears running down 
her face caught my attention nonetheless. 
Startled, I watched as she rushed by me, 
wondering what on earth she was so upset 
about. Facing the church doors once again, 
with a little more trepidation this time, I 
proceeded forward.

The entryway was warm and comforting. And 
quiet. Churches always seemed to be quiet, 
even when there was noise. I often wondered 
how this was possible. Maybe I should go 
back to the office and ask Mulder if there 
was an X-File on the subject. The thought 
made me smile slightly and I moved through 
the entryway toward the main body of the 
church. I heard the soft voice of a man just 
before I reached the archway that led into 
the main chapel. A priest stood at the 
pulpit, and about thirty people sat in the 
pews listening to him intently. I was filled 
with confusion for a moment, but then I saw 
the casket sitting just off to the right of 
the altar. Suddenly, the woman's tears made 
sense. I had interrupted a funeral.

With downcast eyes, I made my way to the 
right of the chapel, quietly trying to steal 
my way toward the area beside the altar, 
where I instinctively knew I wanted to be. I 
felt a few curious eyes follow my progress, 
but the priest's voice never faltered and I 
never looked up. Finally, I was there.

It was another altar, different than the one 
the priest stood at. Several candles burned 
in front of it, and an old woman with a 
black, lacy veil on her head kneeled in 
front of the candles, praying. I swallowed 
nervously. It had been years since I had 
prayed in front of the Blessed Sacrament, 
and I couldn't help but feel as if I wasn't 
welcome there anymore. And yet, I was drawn 
to it. Carefully, I moved forward, finding a 
place a few feet away from the old woman, 
and kneeled on the, thankfully cushioned, 
bench.

The priest's voice faded away. The presence 
of the woman beside me also faded. The faint 
smell of incense floated about me, drawing 
me deeper into myself. Or was it myself? If 
I were to believe everything I had been 
taught since I was a child, I was literally 
in the physical presence of Jesus. 
Maybe...maybe I was being drawn into Him.

To this day, I don't remember what I prayed. 
I don't remember what I thought. I couldn't 
prove to anyone that I ever received an 
answer, either, but when I was alerted to my 
surroundings once again, I was far calmer 
and much more peaceful than I had been upon 
arriving at the little church. I looked 
about me, noticing for the first time the 
ornate sculpture of Jesus that sat above the 
Blessed Sacrament. It was astoundingly 
beautiful, and I couldn't understand why I 
had not seen it when I had fist kneeled 
down. I frowned up at it, concentrating.

"You look confused."

I jumped at the voice off to my left and 
jerked my head around. The old woman was 
gone, as was the small congregation of 
people that had been at the funeral in the 
chapel just beyond. The gray haired priest I 
had seen at the pulpit stood beside me now, 
his hands folded in front of him. His face 
was kind, his manner gentle.

"Not confused, really," I told him. 
"Just...a little amazed."

"Amazed?" he asked, his head tilting to the 
side in curiosity. "Amazed that God still 
recognized your presence?"

"How...?" I stopped, startled. "It has been 
a while," I confirmed softly.

"And why is that?"

I sighed and looked down at my hands, which 
where still folded in prayer in front of me. 
"I haven't exactly been leading the perfect 
Christian life lately."

I felt rather than saw the old priest smile. 
"That is when Mass, prayer and 
reconciliation are the most important. It 
helps ease the guilt."

I faced him again. "And if I refuse to 
change the way I live? What good does going 
to confession do if you don't plan on never 
again committing the sin you're being 
forgiven for in the first place?"

"And what great sin are you guilty of?"

I shook my head. "Telling you would only be 
making it real."

His eyebrows rose, his curiosity even 
stronger now. "Have you killed a person?" he 
asked, and then added before I could answer, 
"In anger? Not self defense." 

I had killed, but only in the line of duty. 
I shook my head.

"Have you stopped loving God? The people 
around you? Have you become a soulless 
individual who cannot feel guilt?"

Again, I shook my head.

"Jesus himself said that the greatest 
Commandment is to love God with all your 
heart, with all your soul, and with all your 
mind. Then you shall love all mankind as you 
love yourself. If you obey these two 
Commandments, then the others are much 
easier to obey."

I grimaced, and I knew the look on my face 
must have shown him my skepticism.

"If you love God and believe in him, all 
other sins can be forgiven. Even murder."

So that was what he meant. I took a deep 
breath and looked back toward the Blessed 
Sacrament. "I do love Him. And I know He 
loves me. I just don't understand why He 
does the things he does." I looked back at 
the man next to me.

"Would life be as interesting as it is if we 
could understand everything?" The priest's 
creased face became even more wrinkled as he 
smiled. 

I snorted. "Sometimes I wish my life was a 
little less 'interesting'."

"You may think that now," he said in 
response. "But you would regret it in the 
future." He stood straighter. "I'll leave 
you to your prayers now, but if you need to 
talk more, my door is always open." He 
glanced at the altar. "I have a feeling the 
answers you're looking for may not be here." 
He looked back at me. "Prayer will give you 
the strength to find them, however. God 
bless." He turned to the Blessed Sacrament, 
genuflected and crossed himself, then turned 
away.

I heard his footsteps become fainter and 
fainter as I faced the altar once more. I 
closed my eyes and bowed my head, the 
familiar words of a prayer I had avoided for 
the last several years running through my 
head. Before I knew it, I was reciting the 
prayer out loud.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the lord is with 
thee. Blessed are you among women, and 
blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. 
Holy Mary, mother of-" I stopped suddenly, 
my heart contracting as a stabbing pain hit 
me behind my left eye. I barely suppressed a 
moan as I reached up with my hand to massage 
the area next to my eye. It didn't help. 

I looked up at the icon above me once more. 
The priest was right, I wasn't going to find 
any answers here. With a sigh, I stood, 
wincing as the pain sharpened. It was time 
to see a doctor. The science of medicine, my 
real religion, was my only hope now. 

*****

The Next Day-Fox Mulder's Office


My appointment was scheduled for nine a.m., 
so I had come in early to finish up my 
report on the incident in Philadelphia. The 
pain in my head was an almost constant 
companion now, and early this morning I had 
had another bloody nose. Anti-inflammatories 
and pain killers would help, I knew, but I 
needed to know what it was that was causing 
the pain and pressure first. Not that I 
didn't already know. I just needed proof.

Mulder walked in, stopping suddenly when he 
saw me typing away at his computer. I 
glanced at him, recognized the wariness in 
his eyes, and then turned back to the 
monitor in front of me. Out of the corner of 
my eye, I saw him move closer, his movements 
almost cautious. A part of me wanted to 
smile. The part that was dying.

"I've got a doctor's appointment in an 
hour," I said instead. "I should be finished 
with this in a few minutes."

"Take your time," he told me, seating 
himself in one of the chairs opposite his 
desk. "I've got a few files to go over 
anyway." He set said files on the desk top, 
picked one up, then leaned back and began to 
read. I continued on with my typing, but 
wasn't surprised when he asked, "Why?"

I looked up and over at him. The wariness 
had been replaced by concern. I would have 
preferred the wariness. "I've been having 
some headaches lately," I told him as 
nonchalantly as I could. "I figured I better 
get them checked out."

"Since Philadelphia?" he asked.

"No," I said quietly. "I've had them off and 
on for a month or so." Before Leonard Betts' 
statement not so long ago, I had just 
figured the symptoms had been due to a sinus 
infection and had ignored them. Betts had 
made sure I couldn't ignore it any longer.

"Why didn't you let the doctors in 
Philadelphia check them out?" he continued, 
not ready to drop the subject. He was just 
like a dog with a bone. "I noticed you had 
refused an MRI." 
 
I shrugged, finishing the last line on my 
report and clicking the mouse to print it. 
"I wanted to go to someone I know." I did 
know more doctors here in D.C., if only from 
working with them in the past.

Mulder was silent as I took the printed 
report and signed it. I looked up to find 
him staring at me intensely, his hazel eyes 
unreadable for once. I hated it when he hid 
his emotions like that. 

"What?"

"Did you find what you were looking for at 
St. Boniface yesterday?"

I stood slowly, as if preparing for a quick 
escape, but shock held me silent for a 
moment. "You followed me?" I asked 
incredulously. 

"You didn't look well when you left here," 
he said with a shrug. "I was worried."

I didn't know whether to be angry or 
touched. Sadly, it was easier to be the 
former. "Thanks, Dad," I said sarcastically. 

He had the grace to look embarrassed. "You 
have to admit," he continued doggedly. "You 
haven't been yourself for a while-"

"Whoa!" I nearly shouted. "Just how do you 
know?" I demanded. "You think you know me 
that well?"

His eyes never left mine. "Yes."

I was shaken by his confidence. I felt my 
whole body, which had tensed at his 
entrance, wilt. I took a deep breath, 
gathering my emotions close to me, hiding 
them. "No, I didn't find what I was looking 
for."

"I'm sorry." He seemed sincere. "I know how 
much your faith means to you."

"Really?" I challenged, letting my anger 
turn to ice. "Could have fooled me." We had 
butted heads more than once in the past over 
the validity of the Christian faith. From 
the beginning of our partnership, Mulder had 
never hidden the fact that he held little 
respect for Christianity. Which only served 
to confuse me, because he knew the bible 
better than I did. Maybe it was true that 
you learned to hate that which you knew 
best. I often wondered if he hadn't been 
raised to worship Jesus, as I had been, but 
had become disillusioned after Samantha's 
abduction. 

He didn't back down. "We all have our fai-"

I held up my hand and interrupted him. 
"Please, save me from your excuses and 
arguments, Mulder. I'm not in the mood." I 
opened my briefcase, tucking the report 
inside. "And if I don't leave now, I'll be 
late." Grabbing the briefcase, I walked 
around the desk and toward the door.

"Scully?"

I stopped and faced him, my eyebrows raised 
in question.

"I hope everything's okay."

I felt the tears gather in my eyes, but I 
refused to let them fall. I nodded sharply 
at him, then turned and left, still angry. 
Only I wasn't sure what I was really angry 
about: His disregard for Christianity, or my 
fear that I, too, had lost my faith.

*****

Ten Months Later-Trinity Hospital


I lay back against my pillows, silently 
picking at a loose thread in the bedspread 
covering me, waiting. My mind was far from 
quite, however, as I ran the recent 
conversation with Doctor Zukerman over and 
over in my head. All my life I had believed 
in the possibility of a miracle, but now 
that I needed one of my own, I had refused 
to allow myself to pray for it. Did I not 
find myself worthy? I did I simply stop 
believing? Dr. Zukerman believed, though he 
had admitted he would never call anything he 
had witnessed a miracle. I supposed it was 
harder for people of science, doctors 
especially, to admit in the possibilities of 
anything paranormal. Was that my problem, 
then?

Another recent conversation came to mind, 
one I had had with Mulder not so long ago. 
"If someone could prove to you the existence 
of God, would it change you?" he had asked 
me.

"Only if it had been disproven," I had 
responded. Faith didn't need proof. Mulder, 
of all people, should have understood that. 
He believed without proof. He believed 
without question. Just as I had, once upon a 
time. So what had happened?

The door to my room opened, and I turned to 
face my mother. 
  
"Dana? Dr. Zukerman called. He uh... He said 
you wanted to see me?" 

I looked at my her as she entered the room, 
concern and worry evident in her eyes, 
though she was trying to hide it from me by 
avoiding my gaze. It made the ache in my 
body intensify, watching her pain. It was 
bad enough that I knew I was near death's 
door, it was worse watching those I loved 
watch me die.

The tears that came so easily of late began 
falling once more, and in response my mom 
moved quickly over to the bed, enfolding me 
in her arms. I hugged her tight, as a 
drowning woman would hold onto a life 
preserver.  

"I'm so sorry," I moaned, feeling her tense. 
"I fight and I fight and I fight... but I'm 
so stupid."

She pulled back slightly. "What? What is 
it?"

Taking a deep breath, I tried to explain. 
"I've come so far in my life on simple 
faith, but when I need it the most, I just 
push it away." My tears were still falling, 
making it hard to talk. I hated to cry, but 
I couldn't seem to stop. "I mean why...why 
do I wear this?" I grasped the tiny cross 
that hung around my neck and lifted it up to 
her view. "Why do I wear this, Mom?" I 
dropped it, continuing to verbalize my 
confused thoughts. "I put something I don't 
even know or understand under the skin of my 
neck. I will subject myself to these crazy 
treatments, and I keep telling myself that 
I'm doing all that I can, but it's a lie!" I 
was almost yelling my frustration now.

"You have not lost your faith, Dana." Her 
voice was steady now, firm.

"But I have," I argued. "In a way." I 
paused, remembering a moment only a few 
short days ago. "When you asked Father McCue 
to dinner to administer to my faith, I just 
closed off to him." I clearly remembered my 
words to him, lies telling him that I hadn't 
felt the need for prayer. Telling him I had 
strength from another source. That part, at 
least, hadn't been a lie. Mulder was my 
strength. 

But I now knew that not even Mulder was 
strong enough to beat this.

"What's important now is that you save your 
energy." She was trying to comfort me, not 
understanding what I was saying. I wasn't 
sure I understood it myself.

"I'm not getting better, Mom."

"You don't know that-"

"Yeah," I told her. "The PET scan shows no 
improvement."

Mom didn't even try to hold back the fear 
now. With a sob, she pulled me close, and I 
let her, taking what little comfort her 
embrace gave. 

"I know you're afraid," she said through her 
tears. "I know you're afraid to tell 
me...but you have to tell someone."

*****

The Next Day


"Good morning."

I looked over at Mulder, surprise mingling 
with the delight I felt at his presence. 
"What are you doing here?" I demanded. "You 
have a hearing."

"Yeah," he said, sitting down on the bed at 
my side. "I came by last night, but I...I 
didn't have the heart to wake you."

It appeared he liked doing that, visiting me 
in the hospital while I was sleeping. "Came 
by for what?" His eyes, I noticed, were 
shifting. As if he was afraid I would see 
into his soul if he let me look into them. 
"Mulder, what is it?"

"I was lost last night," he started. "But as 
I stood here, I thought I'd found my way." 
He took a deep breath. "I've 
been...ah...I've been offered a deal, a deal 
that could save my life in a way. And though 
I'd refused the deal earlier, I left here 
last night with my mind made up to take it."

"A deal with who?"

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I'm 
not taking the deal. I'm not taking any 
deal. Not after what happened this morning."

"What happened this morning?"

"Section Chief Blevins directed me to 
implicate Skinner, to name him as the man 
inside in the FBI, who may have deceived us 
both. And if I name him, they'll protect 
me." He spat out the last sentence as if the 
very words he spoke were poison. I knew how 
much he had come to trust Skinner in the 
last few months, and I assumed he had a 
reason for it, but Mulder had been deceived 
by friends before.

"Are you going to name him?"

"No."

The tears I had finally managed to control 
last night threatened once again. "Then 
they'll prosecute you."

This really didn't seem to bother him. 
"Yeah. They have evidence against me. They 
know I killed that man."

Though I knew it was hopeless, I tried once 
more to convince him of the plan I had 
decided on several days earlier. "Mulder, 
even with the ballistics evidence, I could 
still be the shooter."

He shook his head vehemently. "Scully, I 
can't let you take the blame. Because of 
your brother, because of your mother," he 
paused. "And because I couldn't live with 
it. To live the lie, you have to believe it. 
Like these men who deceive us, who gave you 
this disease." He paused, his hazel eyes 
dark with intensity. "We all have our 
faith," he said, repeating what he had once 
tried to tell me so long ago. "And mine is 
in the truth."

Somehow, his words comforted me. "Then why'd 
you come here if you'd already made up your 
mind?"

My heart did a girlish flutter as his rare 
but beautiful smile appeared. "Because I 
knew you'd talk me out of it if I was making 
a mistake," he said with a laugh. 

I smiled through the pain, both physical and 
emotional. What would become of him after I 
was gone? I could only pray he would go 
on...

Father McCue entered the room, his 
expression slightly wary as he spied Mulder. 
I had no idea what my mother, or more 
importantly, my brother had told him, but at 
that moment I didn't care.

I reached for Mulder's hand and squeezed it. 
"You'll be in my prayers," I whispered.

Mulder leaned in towards me. "Have the 
Father say a few Hail Mulders for me," he 
said softly, kissing me carefully on the 
cheek. His gentleness and his humor were my 
undoing, and the tears began to fall. He 
backed away slowly, but I didn't let go of 
his hand. I couldn't.

Stay with me...

Don't go...

I don't want to die alone...

Mulder, I love you...

The words in my head never left my mouth. 
His hand slipped from mine, and with regret 
shining in his eyes, he left the room. 

Father McCue came forward and gave me a sad 
smile. "Dana?"

I took a deep breath, wiping the tears from 
my cheeks. I had asked Mom to let the Father 
know I wanted to speak with him. The 
Anointing of the Sick was allowed for any 
member of the Church who felt their life was 
threatened, whether due to sickness or 
surgery. I had avoided it for almost a year, 
ever since the day it was confirmed I had 
cancer...the day after my visit to a little 
church in Georgetown. I had been convinced I 
could manage on my own, with the comforting, 
almost paternal support of my partner. 

Now, I was falling on the grace of my 
heavenly father.

"Would you like to confess?" Father McCue 
asked. Confession. Communion. The anointing. 
Then we would pray the Rosary. It seemed 
like so little. And yet, I suddenly knew it 
had to be much more than that.

I nodded and crossed myself. "Bless me, 
Father, for I have sinned."

THE END

*****

Author's Notes: Well, I hope I didn't bore 
anyone or make anyone angry, but I have 
forever been obsessed with Scully's apparent 
loss of faith during her cancer, and her 
finding it again in 'Redux II.' I guess I 
kind of wanted to discover what she was 
thinking and feeling during those times. I 
have no idea if I'm even close, but being 
Catholic myself (and rediscovering my faith 
in college), I felt I had a bit of an edge 
that some of the writers of the series did 
not. In the final, we hear that it was the 
chip that saved Scully, causing her cancer 
to go into remission, but I will always 
remember Mulder's words to Skinner at the 
end of 'Redux II' when the AD asked what 
turned it around. "I don't know. I don't 
think we'll ever know." It could have been 
the chip. Or it could have been Dr. 
Zukerman's unconventional treatments. Or 
maybe it was more than either of those 
earthly things. I have always believed in 
the latter...and I think Scully does, too.
 
Virtues and Vices-March 2003

*****

    Source: geocities.com/virtuesandvices