Date sent: Thu, 19 Jun 1997 11:30:13 -0400 (EDT)
From: JohnieRed@aol.com
Just An End
by Johnie
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Rating: R, for violence
Category: MSR, angst
Spoilers: Memento Mori
Summary: Scully's cancer reaches a critical point.
Comments: If you have any to JohnieRed@aol.com
Warning: This is a little dark but I couldn't help it.
After having to write a happy story, I needed a shot
of insulin-angst to cut all the sugar-coated niceness.
Whew! Now I feel better.
In the end it was a simple bit of nothing that was his
undoing. Not a highly charged emotional situation,
not a near brush with death, not a heated argument,
but a simple unconscious gesture she inadvertly made
that pushed him past the state of denial he had been
living in.
"Mulder, where are you going?" she asked as he
abruptly stood up and strode to the door.
"I have a meeting with Skinner," was his only answer
as he hurried out, slamming the door behind him.
Scully shook her head tiredly. I wonder what got into
him, she thought briefly before going back to the
pathology report in front of her.
**
"Sir, I appreciate you taking the time to see me so
I'll be brief. I've come to make a request that Agent
Scully be transferred from the X-files division
effective immediately."
"This is certainly unexpected, Agent Mulder. I
thought Agent Scully would come to me herself when her
medical condition required that she leave the field,"
Skinner replied.
"Agent Scully doesn't believe her medically condition
has advanced to that point yet."
"Then may I ask why this request is being made?"
Mulder swallowed drily before answering, "Because I
feel it has."
Skinner gave him an arched look and waited for further
comment.
"We are no longer working together effectively. She
generally does well but is having periods of weakness
and pain. During those I find my concerns focused on
her and not the matter at hand. As a result, neither
of us are directing our attention to the cases we are
working on-"
"I get the point Agent Mulder," Skinner interrupted,
"Does Agent Scully know we are having this
discussion?"
"No," Mulder said shortly. Skinner could see from his
expression that he had no intention of talking to her
either.
"All right, as department head you do have the right
to put in this request without speaking to Agent
Scully about it, but considering you're partners as
well-"
It was Mulder's turn to interrupt, "Sir, we're also
friends and my judgement on the matter is becoming
blurred. I would prefer that you handle the review."
"I'll ask her to meet with me this afternoon."
**
Driving home he reflected on the conversation with
Skinner. Skinner had given in to the request fairly
easily and had also agreed to a two week vacation for
Mulder starting the next day. Mulder took a deep
breath, he could not shake the mental picture of
Scully in the office that afternoon, rifling through
files, cutting her fingertip on the edge of one of the
toxicology reports and then bringing it up to her
mouth to gently suck the pain away.
He couldn't even say why the image disturbed him so
but it made him realize he couldn't possibly spend
another day watching her pretend she wasn't dying. He
had begun having anxiety attacks about a month ago
when she first under went testing to determine if the
cancer was metastasizing. The attacks were growing
more frequent and intense and he knew if he didn't get
them under control, he would have to seek medical
treatment.
He knew she would be furious when Skinner called her
into the review but he also knew she wouldn't resign
her field agent status unless something drastic
occurred. He could feel his heart racing at the
thought of not having her by his side everyday. He
began to take deep breaths in an effort to calm
himself. You're almost home, he told himself, just
hold it together until you're alone.
Finally at home after fighting inexplicably heavy noon
traffic for thirty minutes, he stood under a blast of
cold water in the shower. He knew he should go for a
run to work off the excess energy surging through his
body but he was just too emotionally exhausted.
He was throwing on a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt
when the image hit him again. He closed his eyes and
allowed it to play out completely in his head. He
heard her shift in her chair, the ruffle of papers,
the tiny, almost inaudible gasp as she cut her finger,
and the light sucking sound she made as she placed the
tip in her mouth. He saw her eyes close for the
briefest moment when her lips closed over her
fingertip. He felt his chest tighten as he imagined
the bright coppery taste of the single, impossibly red
drop of blood that had appeared. He saw her
immediately return her attention to the report in
front of her, almost unaware she had even done it.
He lay down on the couch unable to move, reviewing the
image over and over. He didn't even know why a simple
paper cut disturbed him so, but it did. He was
distracted to the point he hadn't paid attention to
the hunger pains his stomach had been insistently
emitting for an hour. He got up, wandered into the
kitchen, drank a glass of milk to calm the angry
stomach gods, and then promptly tossed himself back
onto the couch.
The phone began ringing, he ignored it and after five
rings the machine picked up. It was her, he knew it
would be. He heard her soft voice, "Coward," and then
the sound of the receiver being gently set back on
it's cradle.
Was it an accusation, a question, or the verbalization
of the philosophy they had both been living under?
He fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming of the salty
taste of warm blood and the dark feeling of being
completely alone.
He awoke at midnight to the sound of the phone ringing
and automatically reached for it. "Mulder," he
mumbled half awake.
He heard the sound of Assistant Director Skinner's
voice, "Agent Mulder, Agent Scully is in the hospital,
we need you to come immediately."
**
After getting her room number and other instructions
from Skinner, Mulder simply hung up on him and raced
out the door. He couldn't think as he raced blindly
through deserted intersections to the hospital. He
double parked his car in the hospital garage and ran
up the stairs two at a time to the fifth floor.
Skinner was standing in the hallway looking grim.
Mulder strode up to him demanding,"What happened?".
"I'm not sure. Agent Scully was found collapsed
outside her apartment building at approximately 10pm.
She had apparently been out for a walk. The doctor is
on his way up, he wants to speak to you."
"Me? Why does he want to talk to me?" Mulder asked,
as he noticed a man in surgical scrubs and a woman in
a white doctor's coat walking down the hall towards
him.
"Mr. Mulder, I'm Dr. Howard and this is Dr. Akarat,"
the woman briefly introduced, "We need to bring you up
to speed on Dana Scully's condition."
"Has her mother been notified?" he asked.
"We have been unable to locate her mother and as her
alternate health care proxy, we need to have you make
some decisions," Dr. Akarat replied.
"How is she?" he asked suspiciously.
"Dana's tumor has grown, it has been putting
increasingly large amounts of pressure on her brain.
Tonight, a blood vessel burst from the pressure
causing a stroke. We've also discovered that the
tests Dana had three days ago show that the cancer has
metastasized to her liver and pancreas. Her prognosis
is poor. We cannot operate to control the bleeding
and as the pressure in her skull builds she will
continue to have strokes," he finished.
Mulder could feel his extremities go numb. He opened
his mouth but found he could not speak.
Dr. Howard spoke gently, "The issue at hand is whether
or not to hook up life support. It could extend her
life but not for more than a few days to a week.
Right now she's having difficulty breathing on her own
and is becoming dehydrated."
"Could she regain consciousness?" Mulder managed to
rasp out.
"Either way it's highly unlikely. Even if she did the
stroke has done considerable damage to her frontal
lobes, and speech and language center, and blow to the
back of her head she sustained when she fell on the
sidewalk has likely caused damage to her visual
cortex. It's highly likely if Dana was awake her
personality would be greatly altered, she would
probably be blind, and unable to speak or possibly
even to understand what was being communicated to
her."
Skinner watched Mulder visibly reel and put a hand
under his elbow to steady him.
Dr. Akarat spoke, "Mr. Mulder, normally we advise
families to let the inevitable happen naturally but we
need to inform you of the possibility that dehydration
may set in at a faster pace than the strokes. She was
already dehydrated when they brought her into the ER,
she must not have been feeling well all day."
"What does this all mean?" Skinner asked, as Mulder
remained frozen staring at the doctor with blank look
on his face.
"It's means," Dr. Howard spoke in a very matter of
fact tone, "that Dana could die, hydrated but slowly,
and in a great deal of pain, or Dana could die more
naturally as her body continues to shut itself down.
The dilemma is if Dana dehydrates before the strokes
over take her, she could also be in pain from the lack
of fluids."
"Can she feel pain?" Skinner asked.
"She's in a deep coma, so it's not likely, but we
can't know that for sure," Dr. Howard answered.
"No," Mulder said softly.
"Excuse me," Dr Arakat replied.
"No," Mulder repeated, his head down, "no machines, no
extraordinary measures. She never wanted any of those
things. She's made that very clear in the past."
Dr. Howard nodded, "You can sit with her if you wish.
She's in room 513. A nurse will come in from time to
time to check her vitals. Her breathing will
continue to gradually slow. Right now all we're
giving her is a little oxygen through a nasal tube to
make this easier for her, it won't prolong anything,
it will just help make her comfortable."
Mulder nodded again and Dr. Howard turned to walk
toward the nurses desk where Dr. Akarat was giving
instructions to the nurse.
Mulder turned to Skinner and asked, "Could you
continue to try to contact her mother, sir? I'd like
to be alone with her."
"Of course, I understand, Mulder," Skinner answered.
He watched Skinner walk down the hall and then, with
his eyes closed, swung the door open.. He stepped
into the room before opening his eyes. But when he
opened them instead of seeing her lying on the
hospital bed, he saw her sitting at her desk, with a
small pucker of annoyance on her face as she watched a
bead of blood well up on her index finger.
He shook the image away and saw her lying pale and so
terribly still. Her breathing was already so shallow
he almost couldn't detect it. There was no
respirator, no pulse monitor, this was a room for
dying, not healing.
He sat down next to the bed, gripping her arm and
then releasing it to turn his palms up. Staring at
his hands he thought, `this world-wearied flesh'.
Where did that thought come from he wondered?
Shakespeare, his excellent memory supplied. She was
dying. Why would Shakespeare be coming to mind as his
friend, his partner and his... The question
trailed away as something else hammered at his skull,
trying to vault out of the depths of his
subconscious. He shook his head. Why would anything
come to mind? She was dying.
He held her hand. "Don't leave me alone," he pleaded
uselessly, "please." He was barely whispering but his
voice felt unbearably loud next to the faint sounds of
her breathing.
He felt as though his own breathing was slowing with
hers. He imagined he could hear the whisper of papers
being shuffled and her sharp intake of breath, he
turned her hand over expecting to see the droplet of
blood but saw only a small clean gash. He brought her
finger to his lips and gently sucked it into his
mouth.
He swore he heard her voice whisper, "Coward."
He kissed the back of her hand and gripped it in his
own. He began crying in great racking sobs.
"I can't be alone, Dana. I can't go back to the way
it was."
He heard her voice again, "Coward. You already are
alone, you've always been alone, you wanted to be
alone."
The imagined sound of her voice was terribly loud in
his head, it drowned out the sound of his crying. He
rested his head against her hip and held her hand to
his face.
He paid no attention to the passage of time, the nurse
came in three times, he ignored her but he noted that
Scully's breathing was now almost imperceptible.
He touched his left index finger to her lips and felt
her last breath escape in a small sigh. He froze
waiting, praying to see her chest impossibly rise and
fill with air.
He unconsciously unholstered his gun and was shocked
to feel the coolness of the barrel against his temple.
He lowered it to contemplate at the smooth metal
surface. O happy dagger, he chuckled to himself.
Shakespeare again, he thought, how curious. He was
barely breathing.
"Coward," he whispered to himself.
He reached forward to hold Scully's hand, raising the
gun with the other. "I'm not afraid anymore. I won't
be alone."
He pulled the trigger but he didn't hear it's click,
or the roar of the bullet leaving the chamber.
Instead, he heard the dry rustle of paper, and a tiny
gasp. There was a bright flash, and he saw her raise
her finger to his lips and at last he tasted the
blood.
END
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