Title: The Sum of Truth Author: Meredith Summary: An additional scene and a more personal ending to Zero Sum. Mulder ponders the implications of Skinner's actions and his own *lack* of action. Category: V,A Rating: PG Spoilers: US4 through Zero Sum Date: March 1997 Disclaimer: The body belongs to Chris Carter and Twentieth Century Fox, but the spirit is mine, all mine. No copyright infringement is intended. Author's note: Anyone else supremely disappointed in Mulder for not doing more to find a cure for Scully's cancer? I'm sorry, but the man is living in denial. This is my attempt to wake him up. Thanks to my beta pit crew -- GirlGone and MCA -- for insightful and speedy editing. I sincerely appreciate your generosity. I humbly request feedback of any shape, size or style. E-mail address is at the end. XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX Georgetown University Medical Center 2:45 a.m. Either my sense of smell is becoming more selective or I'm getting used to the antiseptic odor of hospitals. Right now, the only fragrance stirring my consciousness is the sublime scent that is essential you. I'm sorry I haven't been here. You're sleeping soundly. Your eyes are unmoving beneath your lids, your breath is deep and even as it escapes your lips. I'm secure in the fact you won't notice me sitting inches away from you in this hard plastic chair, staring intently at your face. I can't stop. How profoundly absurd it is that I know the intimate patterns of your sleep -- when it's safe to stare and touch you or when the action would startle you into consciousness -- but I don't know the simple fact of whether you want me to be here. Another testament that I may know your soul, but I don't know your heart. Another piece of evidence for the "Fox Mulder is a Loser" file. I could be perfectly happy as a loser if it didn't hurt you. You told me not to worry, not to call, that these were just standard tests. I didn't know whether to listen when you said I didn't have to visit; you wouldn't meet my gaze. It would be just a few days. Scully, it's surprising what can happen in a few days. God, I've missed you and it's been less than 48 hours... I'm trying to function without a vital part of myself -- my rational and better half has once again been torn away. If this is the practice run, I won't make the race. Hell, I won't even show up. But it was probably fortuitous that you weren't witness to recent events. An innocent man was killed yesterday when someone systematically destroyed evidence of an accidental casualty -- a man who came to me for help. I was livid at the senselessness of the murder and scared by the ramifications. In a cruel way his death was not so senseless. When the treachery unfolded, I felt my anger slowly drain away with an agonizing realization... because in the twisted game in which we're unwitting players, he was killed so that you might live. And if that desired result is achieved, some small, detestable part of my soul will be thankful for his death. You would despise me for that feeling, hate my selfishness. That's OK. It's what I expect and deserve. But your disappointment wouldn't change one damn thing. His death was part of a clean-up operation. A mission to wipe out proof of a larger conspiracy that accidentally leaked into society in the form of a damn insect. An unprosecutable *bug.* It seemed another travesty of justice was being committed; once again I would get there too late to save the evidence, make the connections, bring the men lurking in the shadows to justice. But I was wrong. This time I had it all -- the proof, the motive, a body, and the killer -- or so I thought. Only he was the last person I suspected. Suddenly everything that was so jumbled, so unclear, snapped sickeningly into focus. You see, Scully, it could have been me. It should have been *me* scrubbing that bathroom floor, switching blood samples. Don't think I wouldn't have done it or anything else that bastard asked to keep you alive. Only in a strange moment of panic, I had let Skinner talk me out of it. He convinced me that there were other ways, and in my desperation I believed him. He was lying. He knew the only answer was to become a player, and, for some reason, he tried to spare me that. Still -- in the end, I know the truth -- and have not acted. I've become a player, too. No longer will I let this disease keep its stranglehold on us. I've let my apathy, my fear of accepting your disease start killing you before your time. I promise that now that I'm in the game, we won't lose. You won't lose. I won't lose *you.* I'll do whatever it takes. I'm sorry I haven't been here. You're falling into REM sleep now, eyes roaming beneath your lids. The pale, flickering light above your bed illuminates your innocent, freckle-dusted skin. I can't help but touch your face. You stir, and I take your hand gently, hoping the contact will persuade your dreams to be peaceful. I never thought I would keep secrets from you, Scully. Until recently. I haven't told you about your possible infertility, but you may already suspect as much. And I won't tell you about what I learned tonight. There will be a time to reveal both truths to you, just not now. There are so many things I will eternally regret -- but the fact you are lying here in this hospital, in this ward, in this bed, tortures me most. Despite your words, I'm staying here tonight. Tomorrow may hold more deception and lies, more tragedy and wasteful sacrifice. But we'll face the day and find the sum of truth -- together. XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX Comments? I'd love your opinions or a foray into a critical discussion of all Mulder's faults.... meredith_Elsewhere@yahoo.com
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