Disclaimer: All Characters and previous Situations are the Exclusive Property of Chris Carter, 10-13 Productions, & The Fox Network & has not been used with any permission. No infringement is implied or intended. ------------------------------------------------------------- The following work is for the distribution and entertainment of EMXC members only. Any further distribution of this work without the author's consent is in violation of international copyright law. Summary: As opposed to the sexual continuation of "Leonard Betts" that the naughty Kris Karter serves us in "Never Again", this was a more devote conclusion to the question of Scully's cancer (which we all know will be cured by an alien). It was written long before "Memonto Mori", which I guess is better. Heavy Angst Ahead. Rating: PG (Language, Threatened Violence, Adult situations, Character Dies) Wriitem back in February It's my first FINISHED Serious Piece; proof Ican write something besides comedy list or parodies... ========================================= "A Dying Angel" by R.J. Christensen Women's Health Clinic Georgetown, MD Friday Afternoon "I have some terrible news, Dana...." Dana Scully sat stoically as Dr Lynda Norman walked in the office where she was waiting. She already knew her fate; it was just the matter of getting the official diagnosis, Dr Norman being enough of a friend to trust with an honest answer "...You have a terminal form of lymphomic cancer, Dana. we are hard placed to completely identify it. I'm afraid there's not much we can do..." "How long do I have, Lynda?" It was the only information Scully wanted. "An exact length of time is not known, Dana...but I estimate between six months to a year." She tried hold back her emotions. "I can recommend a very good support group for terminal cancer patients... and I suppose you should contact your superiors at the Bureau for medical leave...and if you want me to help you tell your mother..." "No. I need to do that myself. I..I..can manage..." Scully's Apartment Saturday Night 10:55pm The cold sounds of Sibelius' "Finlandia Suite" echoed softly through the darkened apartment. Scully sat teary-eyed in her chair staring at the pictures of her late father and her murdered sister Melissa. She thought how her Mother would take another tragic family death. At least her brothers Bill and Charlie would be there for her. *Why Me? Why do I have to die this way?* she thought. *I've been a good person all my life. The good little girl all through growing up and throughout school and my adult life. Why?* She thought about what to do. Tell Mom? And what about Mulder? He was her best friend, the only person she could trust with her life, however foreshortened it may be now. But she could not tell him how working togather on the X-Files had now doomed her to a premature death. Her first thought was of the pitiful and painful end she had seen before. Those women abducted by mysterious means, to end up dying of an equally mysterious cancer, Scully did not want die like that. Even before Melissa died in the hospital, she had vowed never to die fitted with a living cocoon of IV tubes and EKG wires. No, anything but that again. In a fit of brief insanity, she reached for her SIG Saur, hanging in it's holster on the coat rack; that could be the way out of a long, lingering death by a living consumption. Quick, easy, painless... but only for her. What about Mom, her brothers, her friends, coworkers, and what about Mulder? The pistol remained where it was. Then visions of her desolation and utter depression overwhelmed her; the black abyss of nothingness that was death. No more dreams, no more loves, hates, fears, joys, no more thought. Scully threw herself to the floor, sobbing maniacally. "I don't wanna die!" she screamed into the carpet as she beat it mindlessly with her fists. She was all alone; no comfort in a cold, cruel universe that had turned it's back on her. Scully lay there crying on the floor. As sanity slipped away, she began to giggle softly, then laughing in spurts. If she was going to die, why not enjoy the ride? She had been the good girl all her life, with no wild abandon of youth. She never even had sex; not in high school, college, nor even with Jack Willis during their lame excuse for a romance. No more. She'd shed her long time good girl image and go wild for the rest of her cheated life. She'd blow her remaining living on partying; boozing and drugging in the clubs like her college roommates did. And of course sex; wild, rampant sex with as many men as possible, as many ways as possible, and maybe even with women. Her wildest fantasies coming true. AIDS, herpes, all the numerous STDs, and pregnancy would mean nothing to her. *Yes! I'll be the wickedest woman alive! All my deepest, darkest dreams come true! I'll strip for money! Be a prostitute! An absolute whore! Wild Sex with strangers I'll never have to worry about. Hell, I'll even do Skinner! That Pendrell guy in the lab! Beyers the Lone Gunmen! And of course Mulder....oh Mulder, how I....the Bureau wags will get what they've whispering about... Mulder!" She threw herself up and cried out in sheer ecstasy "Yes, Mulder...oh god yes, Mulder... I...want...to..." Then the image of her Father then came to her, snuffing out her erotic cry. Even as a tomboy, she was always Daddy's precious little girl. All the support he gave her in becoming a doctor, even as young child. All the love and tenderness she could have possible wanted. What her mother say? And Mulder? Having sex with him would almost be incestious. The wild life was no way to go either. "No.... I can't..." she moaned in disgust for her previous thoughts. She mindless grasped the gold cross around her neck. Mulder had kept it while she was missing... while she was being infected with the cancer that was killing her now.... Maybe there was hope for her with the God she had previous forsaken until that weird stigmata case. Scully rose to her knees and started praying, praying like she had never prayed before. Not for a miraculous cure...but for her own salvation. J. Edgar Hoover Building Monday Morning 9:15am Fox Mulder stepped lively down the stairs to the basement level. He had unfortunately been a witness to a serious wreak on the way to work; he was cajoled by the cops to testify in court since there were serious injuries to the victims. He just knew Scully wasn't going to believe it, so he was already prepared for her anticipated barb of a greeting. The office was dark and the door still locked. "Funny..." he thought. "Scully's late, too?" Mulder unlocked the door and turned the lights on. Her briefcase wasn't there, neither her coat, or her coffee cup. As he set his satchel down, he switched on the computer out of habit and stepped aside from the desk to toss his coat on the extra chair and get a cup of his "Morning Thunder" tea. With the aroma of Brazilian mate' rising from his ceramic cup, he sat down and clicked on the email program. Five messages from Frohike's secret account, 4 Usenet paranormal digests, a forwarded Rush Limbagh joke, some cyberporn website invites, 6 FBI messages, and there at the bottom, DKScully@FBI.gov. He went to that one first. *She probably has a dentist appointment...* he thought. The message was brief. "It is NOT your Fault, Fox. Your Friend Always, Dana" Mulder's eyebrow went up. *What in the world is she...* His thought was interrupted by a loud thunk on the door. "It's open!" he yelled. The door opened and Skinner, accompanied by three other agents, walked in. "Mulder, where in the hell is Agent Scully?" He seemed a whole lot more peeved then usual. Mulder shrugged. "I was wondering the same thing, sir. She didn't miss a meeting with, did she?" "No, Mulder." Skinner answered, handing his subordinate a plain office mail envelope. "This. Scully's Immediate Resignation from the Bureau." Mulder tore open the envelope, ignoring the tie string. There in black inkjet print, was Scully's simple statement of resignation. No reason given, no explanation. Just a request to forward her last paycheck to her Mother. Mulder looked up at Skinner, who anticipated his question. "We already contacted Mrs Scully. She said Scully called her at 6am this morning to say she loved her and that she was going away. That's it, Mulder. We came down to see if you knew anything." "No, sir. I don't. I never knew she was planning this. "We've lost her twice, Mulder....and I didn't like the way we found her the first time. I hope to god that she just AWOL for some stupid reason. She's too good an agent." Mulder quickly gathered his coat and was off, frightened of what might have happened, but determined to get her back. Washington DC Three Days later 11:21 pm The typewriter was clanking away as yet another Raul Bloodworth pulp story was being cranked out. The Author's past experience with such stories was failure after failure, but it was his only hobby besides reading. The slap of the keys was interrupted by the loud crash of his door being kicked in. The author turned to see a 9mm pistol thrust in his face. His cigarette fell to the bare tile floor. "Where the Hell is she, you goddam bastard!?!?!" It was FBI Agent Fox Mulder. He shook with a violent nervousness as the pistol wavered menacingly. "I haven't the slightest idea what you are babbling about, Mr. Mulder. Now put down that pop-gun before someone gets hurts." "I'll do more then hurt you, you sorry excuse for a freekin' paper-pusher!" Mulder roared back. "Now where the hell did you take Scully?!?" The violence of Mulder's anger was not lost on the man on the business end of the pistol. With a surprised feeling of fear, he muttered back. "I haven't a clue about where Agent Scully is. We've been wondering as to her sudden disappearance as well..." "LIAR! Her car's still parked in her driveway, there's nothing missing from her apartment.... No trace of her anywhere! You took her away for more testing...more implants! You tell me where she is or I'll blow your friggin' head off!" Tears were at the verge of welling up in Mulder's eyes. Mulder's target stiffened up. "You do that, and your mother is a dead woman! In case you ever decided to pull some insane stunt like this, she will be eliminated by my associates before you could get your phone out. And I wouldn't want that any more then you....Mr Mulder." Mulder decreased his threatening stance, but kept the pistol raised. "You slimy..." "I have no idea where your partner is, Mr Mulder... that I can promise you...but they... ", putting added emphasis that that last word. "THEY know where your mother is... now kindly removed yourself and I'll forget you were ever here...." Mulder tightened his grip and then let the pistol down. He began backing out. "If she's ever harmed by you or your damn secret society, I will kill you all...." "I'll see that the repair bills for my lock will be garnished from your wages..." As Mulder disappeared out into the hall, a fresh cigarette was calmly lit. Raul Bloodworth's work was recommenced, after it was noted out the window when the FBI man's car was pulling away. His associates' underlings would plainly see that Mulder was no longer a threat now and leave poor, sweet Mrs Mulder alone tonight. What the typist nor the underlings watching Agent Mulder did not see was the short, scruffy, and bespectacled man on the rooftop across the street with a high-powered crossbow and a nightscope aimed at the head in the window. Mulder was not the only man who cared deeply for Agent Dana Scully..... 88 miles East of Kemboma, Republic of Gabon May 5, 2001 The inhabitants all throughout and surrounding the tiny African village were crying, morning, and praying for their Angel in White, "Dr Dana". After taking care of them for the past three years, the devoted medical doctor from the Catholic Relief Service was slowly dying. What neferious men in America and war in Rwanda could not do, a strange sickness was now doing. Her nurse N'clonge was trying desperately to ease Dana's suffering, as the pale woman from America had done for so many before. A boat with a doctor from Kemboma would not be back for another day. The children whom she had saved from the various tropical diseases and dangers of the area and to whom she became a surrogate mother for were outside crying, wondering why God would take back their beloved angel. Dana convulsed in the steamy tropical heat, chills and a dull racking pain throbbing throughout her tired body, aged far more then her 37 years would account for. Her youthful face had been weathered by the elements and the stress of caring for the many people of this frontier region of the Congo. The Zairian Civil war didn't help things either, but Dana continued working harder and harder. The fact that she didn't die two years ago had puzzled her, but in the last year she had been beset by terrible migraines, nightly bleedings from her nose, and wracking pains through her nervous system. She knew at anytime the cancer would kill her, and that unknown timetable drove her on; the absence of modern medical technology keeping the exact date of that moment from her. Not even the French doctors who came by every month knew of her terminal condition. Dana did not want to be removed from the new life she had chosen. Over the soft strains of Mendelsson's "Midsummer Night's Dream" on her tiny CD player, she could hear the mournful cries of her adoptive villagers outside of her dingy prefab cabin; the children's wails were the most painful to her. Never having any children of her own made Dana somewhat sad, but whenever a village child smiled after getting an inoculation kissed, a scrape patched, or just hearing her soft voice and a fairy story made all the suffering and discomfort disappear. But now she was the helpless victim, with nothing but the gentle hand of N'clonge applying cold compresses to her head; the end was coming fast she thought. She knew dozens of ways to end her suffering medically, wthout any more pain; but that was an act of hopelessness, and in all the years she had slaved here in the wilds of the Congo rainforest, she knew hope was the greatest commodity. Dana tried to utter a farewell to her faithful nurse, but could only wheeze out a pitiful gasp. She soon slipped into unconsciousness.... Suddenly she felt light and the pain had flowed away. the Fevered chills had stop and her breathing resumed to normal. The pain all throught her body was gone. But the light in the cabin had increased to an almost intense level, but it was so unearthly, so unrealistic, she guessed what it might be. *It's over. I am living no more. Death has taken me* Getting up on her elbows, Dana saw she was still clad in her dirty khaki shorts and formerly white cotton shirt, the red jungle mud still caked on her worn-out hiking boots. Glancing at the light-filled doorway, she could make out two figures coming closer. Adjusting her vision to the cascade of light, it soon became apparent who the figures were. "Daddy? Missy? Is it...is it really you?" "Yes, Starbuck. Captain Ahab, in person..." "Hey sis, it's wonderful to be with you again..." Scully wearily got up off the cot, and it disappeared when she left it. The cabin walls were shifting in and out of focus, as did the scant pieces of furniture she had. The music continued to play in her ears, but all trace of existance was gone. She tried to walk towards her family, but could not move. "Am I.... am I dead, Daddy?" "Heaven's no, Starbuck. We're here to be with you. To make sure you are alright." "Everything is going to be okay, Dana. We promise." "But I am dying. Of cancer... the cancer I got from the implant.... I shouldn't have lived this long..." "Now, Dana, would your sister lie to you? You're not going to die of that cancer..." "Sweetie, it's all over...you're going to be fine. You believe your daddy, don't you?" "But I was diagnosed...I even sent in a biopsies to Libreville last year, it's terminal...I've been waiting for death..." "Now stop talking like that, Starbuck..." "Dana...that cancer is not of this earth, you will live..." "But how, Melissa.... Please tell me daddy...." "You have Malaria right now, Dana...I've seen it before..." "It's killing the cancer inside you, Dana... the cancer you contracted from the implant has no resistance to it...." The Voices formed into one. "You will Live, Dana..." A third voice appeared out of the light surrounding them. It was so familiar, yet unplacable. * I told you would never Die, Agent Scully * "Mr Bruckman? Is that really you..." "Yes it is, Dana.... It is Mr Bruckman..." "We are all here for you, sis..." "Just like I told you, Miss Scully..." Scully began to tear up, "Daddy...but I want to go with you and Missy...don't leave me..." "We'll always be with you, Starbuck..." "We always were, Dana..." "You mean it...I'm not going to die?" "You'll live forever, dearheart..." "You've touched the lives of thousands of people, Dana..." "You're a true Angel, Miss Scully..." Scully began crying softly. "Starbuck.... don't cry. Just write your Mother, she misses you terribly... and Billy and Chuck, too.... "And Don't forget Fox, too, Dana... "Sorry about Winky...uh I mean Queequag...what a dumb name for a dog.... he's still alive you know... a family from Atlanta found him wandering... "Goodbye, Daddy...I love you.....you too, Missy... and thank you Mr Bruckman.... "Goodbye for now, Dana....." Dr Dana Scully recovered from her dance of death with Malaria, the quinine from Kemboma arriving in time to quell the dread jungle disease. The migraines stopped, her nighty terror of waking up in blood ended, and she grew stronger day by day. Her children rejoiced, the villagers danced, and all was well in the forests of central Africa. Their Angel would stay with them for a very, very long time... J. Edgar Hoover Building Assistant Direct Mulder's Office Washington DC June 1st, 2001 Years after the dissapperance of his partner and the shutting down of the X-Files investigations had turned Fox Mulder from the spooky oddball joke of the bureau into a cold, calculating game player, who's skills in criminal psychology had propelled him to the directorship of the Violent Crimes Section. This morning was no different the last 900 or so. He arrived at his offcie early and started off by reading his daily office mail. *Attention, Director Mulder.* The Computer Assistant voice rang in. *You have 29 pieces of E-Mail and a Postal Letter in the Parcel Post Service Center from Gabon, sender unknown.* "And just where the hell is Gabon?" *Central Atlantic Africa, Director Mulder" "I don't know anyone in Africa..." *Would you want it directed to your secretary?* "Nah, I'll go pick it up, I needed a walk, anyway..." END Comments, Critiques, & Curses can be sent to RJChristen@AOL.com