EMXC 1st Year fanfic- October 1, 1994 thru October 1, 1995
Archived: 10/01/95
==============================================================


                  The Best Medicine

An X-Files short story 
By Rob Lieberman 
(Dweeberman@aol.com)
(© 01/15/95)

Disclaimer and Preface:  Hooooookay, guys, my twisted and demented mind has
finally schemed up another one.  I've always wondered what it would be like
if one of our heroes came down with a nice little terminal illness...heh
heh heh, bet you're worried now!  I'd just like to mention that this story
is *extremely* suggestive - the events that transpire here can be
interpreted several different ways, and not all of them are necessarily
conventional.  The way you see it just depends on the extent of your
knowledge about certain things, I suppose.  In any case, I hope y'all enjoy
it - at least as much as I did writing it.  Once again, an extremely warm
thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou to Katie and Annie Reed for
reading it (and they LIKED it!), and to Brian Safdie (who read it, said it
was corny, and told me I should fix it - shows how much *I* pay attention),
who is not nearly the fool he thinks he is, and also to The Great and
Powerful SciNut (trumpet fanfare sounds), who is known far and wide and
Throughout Several Kingdoms to be the One True E-Mail Goddess!  Couldn't do
this without ya, Sci!  There, I think I've paid my homage for a little
while.  Oops, almost forgot the usual rattle - ::turns on tape recorder:: 
"bbzzztt...crackle..snap...'The X-Files' and all characters contained
therein are the sole property of Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions,
and the Fox Television Network.  No copyright infringements were
intended...bzt...zork...pop...snap"

Bon Apetite!
                           **********

     There was nothing left to do.
     Out of all the tests, all the intrusive and dehumanizing procedures,
out of all the samples, the injections, and the surgeries, emerged nothing
but bleakness and death.  His condition baffled even the most intelligent
minds available.  There was simply no diagnosable illness, and thus no
treatment could be afforded, and no cure could be found.  His condition was
utterly hopeless and degenerating rapidly, and though all best efforts had
been made to save him, the final medical proclamation was that of terminal
illness, of a disease which could not be cured, and of a certainty which no
one wanted to face.
     And so he had been taken home to die.
     Now Fox Mulder was lying in his own bed, wrapped warmly in his sheets,
trying to fight the inevitable darkness with whatever strength he had left.
 Scully sat silently beside the bed in one of Mulder's hard-backed oaken
chairs, holding his hand.  She was still having a hard time accepting the
fact that she could do nothing for him, and that science, that abstract
religion that she had built her entire world around was unable to help him,
either.  Never in her life had she felt so helpless, so frightened, or so
thwarted.
       His condition, as it were, had been identified as a sort of
retrograde heart disease - basically, the bottom line of it was that the
cells in his cardiac tissue were simply refusing to divide.  Nothing
worked, no known treatment would suffice to save him or even prove to
marginally increase or better his condition.  They had tried everything -
she would have no less, and she had forced the doctors to run the gamut of
possible regimens, from simple medication to advanced electrocardial
stimulation techniques, but all for no avail.  A tissue transplant might
have saved him, but, she thought, with a heated fire of anger and animosity
growing inside of her, there was no suitable donor.  His parents were
nowhere to be found - apparently, they had been out of contact with Mulder
completely for several years now.  If they had cared the slightest bit for
their son, they would have come here in the blink of an eye.  No, no, they
didn't care at all, and Scully wondered how such a kind, compassionate, and
wonderful person like Mulder could ever have been spawned by such cold,
callous, and heartless people.  Mulder had no other family members, at
least none living, and no brothers or sisters...
     Well, he did have a sister...  
      In any case, in the end her options were reduced to slowly and
painfully watching the ailment take form.  For several weeks now, from the
earliest onset of symptoms, the cellular mitosis rate in those same cells
had slowed to a rapidly decreasing rate, which would, in only a matter of
hours, be reduced to zero - and then...
     No.  She refused to think of that at all.  She gazed compassionately
at his still, silent figure.  He was so peaceful, and she had to admit that
this was probably the most relaxed that she had ever seen him.  Of course,
this was not a conscious decision of his - due to his degrading health, he
was very tired, and she wondered if he could even speak.
     At least he wouldn't be alone.  Even if his real parents (and she
scoffed at the word 'real', pondering the faint possibility that Mulder had
actually been adopted) could not be here with him, he still had friends
that loved him more deeply than he realized.  Her own mother and sister had
been here recently, not more than a few hours ago.  They had all just sat
there, in silence, and watched the clock, and waited for the inevitable. 
They would still be here, too, of it were not for Mulder's specific request
that his final few hours be spent alone with Scully.
     Scully reached out, and slowly caressed his cheek with her finger.
     "How are you feeling?", she asked softly.  Mulder gradually turned his
head to look at her.  He coughed twice, then his dry, parched lips parted
and he spoke.
     "You mean besides the fact that I've been told by five of the area's
most distinguished surgeons that I'm going to die in about three hours? 
Pretty terrible."
     She almost smiled at that remark.  At least he could still retain that
witty, offbeat sense of humor.
     "Do you want to talk...about anything?  If there's something you need
to say, I want you to know that I'm here to listen."  He gazed solemnly at
her, his deep hazel eyes trimmed with a watery lining from the anguish and
pathos that raged behind them.  There was so much he wanted to tell her, so
much he needed to say...but the words to voice his emotions were lost to
him.  Scully touched his cheek tenderly.  "Are you okay, Mulder?  What's
wrong?  Please...tell me..."  
        As she looked, his face and his expression began to twist into a
horrible facsimile of his true self, and expression racked with pain and
sorrow.  She heard the first whimpering sniffs quickly rise in emotion and
power, until they became heart-wrenching, guttural sobs that shook his
entire body with force and emotion.  It was terrible enough that he was to
die, but to see him like this, in this state of utter desolation and
despair, tormented by pain and the knowledge of his own mortality, was more
than she could bear to watch.  The simple image of him lying there, his
faltering strength and last gleams of life slowly draining away tore her
heart to pieces.  Almost instinctively, she moved swiftly closer to him,
and in a single, swift motion caught his head and cradled it in her arms. 
She caressed his scalp, running her fingers through his soft, dark hair,
and gently nuzzled his cheek.  She was no longer sure how much of him, of
his senses, of his consciousness remained, and physical contact might be
the only way to make him realize that she was still there with him, for she
had no intention of leaving.  She pressed her own face close to his, and as
she listened to the debilitating sobs emanating from deep within him she
felt her own bitter, salty tears running down her cheeks and mixing with
his own.  Mentally slapping herself, she fought the impulse to cry.     
     Dana, you're all he has left, can't you see that?  You can't cry now,
you have to be strong, because he can't be.  Whatever will you have you've
got to give to him, or else he really is lost. 
      She straightened, and rocked his head back and forth soothingly in
her arms until the tears ceased to run down his pale, pallid cheeks.  She
gently caressed his face with her hand, and asked softly, "Mulder?  Can I
get you anything?  Just tell me, and I'll get whatever you need."  She saw
his pale lips move, and heard the whisper of faint words that she could not
interpret. She leaned down closer, and she heard him say softly and with
fading breath, "Hit the 'Enter' key, please".  She gave him a confused
look.  Enter?  What for?  He motioned to the computer sitting across the
room at his desk.  She slowly lowered his head back onto the pillow,
touched his cheek, and then walked silently over to the machine.  She
lightly tapped the "Enter" key, and the indicator light on his CD drive lit
up, as soft, romantic music began to emanate from the speakers and flow
slowly through the room.  
     She smiled.  He was such a sly devil, always ready for the extended
dinner-date with what's-her-face that never was.  Oh, well, at least it
gave the room some atmosphere, and replaced the cold, monotonous, unending
silence that so constantly reminded her how little time was left.  She
turned, giving him the best disapproving stare she could muster.  He smiled
weakly, and her expression softened.  She walked back over to the bedside,
then stopped.  Oh, what the hell, she thought.  This might very well be the
last night they would have together, and damned if she wasn't going to try
everything she could to stop him from going.  Gently, she pulled back the
sheets, and carefully moved him over in the bed.  Trying not to jostle him
about unnecessarily, she slowly slipped into he bed next to him.  She
noticed with some amusement his wide eyed and foreboding stare.  He was
definitely getting the wrong idea about all this.  She pulled the soft,
linen sheets back over them both, and sitting up straight in the bed,
reached out and held him tightly against her.  She felt the tenseness of
his body, the cold, rigidness, almost clamminess, but as she held him she
felt him go slack in her arms, felt him relax and slip away into the depths
of repose.  She checked his pulse, and noticed with dismay and alarm that
it was erratic, and realized now the full, cold, terrible truth of the
matter, that he could go at any time now.
     Scully clasped Mulder's hand in her own, with force and devotion that
were clearly communicated to him by her touch.  She squeezed his hand, and
said quietly, 
     "Fox?"  He winced at the sound of his name, which she enjoyed more
than she had expected to.  At lease this indicated that he was
still...here, and that he could hear correctly.  She rubbed his palm
affectionately.  "Mulder, I never could understand why you hate that name
so much."  He started to speak, but she bent down and whispered into his
ear, "Personally, I always thought 'Fox' was a very... sexy name", letting
the last few syllables roll lazily off of her tongue and lips.  She saw his
eyes roll upwards to encounter hers, and she grinned puerilely.  He
returned the grin, and closed his increasingly heavy eyelids.  
     "Dana...", he began - well, if she was going to call him Fox, then he
was simply going to return the favor.  "...I - There's so much I want to
tell you, but...".  He found that he could not finish the sentence, as a
thousand or more ideas dashed madly from his mind to his mouth, all
attempting to squeeze into the same sentence.  "I'm sorry," was all he
could manage in a rather hoarse whisper.  
     "Sorry?  Why?", she inquired.
     He shook his head.  "I don't know...for anything...anything I did to
hurt you...and for keeping you here with me.  I...I just..."  His voice
trailed off into silence, as he swallowed in a dry throat.  
     "No, no," she said, rocking him slowly back and forth in her arms, "I
don't remember you ever hurting me.  I don't think you're capable of that. 
And," she added, "don't you even dare to think that me being here with you
is any inconvenience.  There's no place that I would rather be..."
     Mulder blinked once, then closed his eyes again.
     "Thank you so much, Dana," he said.
     "My pleasure," she responded weakly.  Mulder sighed.
     "Dana," he began, "I - I just want you to know how much you mean to
me, how much I care about you.  I can't recall anyone ever willingly being
so close to me, helping or supporting me so much - I feel so privileged to
be able to call you my friend.  It - It's just - oh, I'm so sorry, Dana, I
can't - I can't put into words this - It's just not-"
     Scully rested her finger lightly on his lips.
     "Shhh," she murmured gently, "It's okay.  I understand.  I couldn't
think of enough nice things to say about you, either, and somehow I think I
know exactly what you want to say.  Just - you're just as special to me,
okay?  You have to know that."  She squeezed him tightly, a gesture which
he gladly welcomed.  They lay there for several long minutes, each savoring
the other's presence for what little time they could.  Presently, Scully
said,     
     "Mulder?  I - I know how much your work means to you, and I - Mulder,
what I mean is that I would be honored to be your progenitor, your
successor."
     Mulder shook his head fiercely.
     "No, no," he said, "I can't put you through that.  No, I can't do that
to you.  It was my work, just an obsessive compulsion of mine, and it's
jeopardized my safety more times than I care to remember.  I can't do that
to you.  I don't want to.  Losing my own life is bad enough, but I could
never deal with being the cause of your injury...or worse.  Maybe - maybe
I'm getting my just desserts after all.  They finally won, Scully.  I saw
too much, and this is my punishment.  I'm just sorry I have to leave you so
soon."
     "No!," she responded.  "No, that isn't true.  Mulder, you're
forgetting that for every time your life was in jeopardy mine was too.  We
were - are - partners, and friends, and I just can't go back and forget all
that happened to us.  I've seen too much to just let it rest.  I think - I
think you've converted me, Mulder," she remarked with a laugh.  "I mean,
I'll still stick to logic and careful thought, just like I always have, but
I do have a curiosity now, a wanting to know just what the hell is going on
out there.  And no one has the right to do this to you.  No one."  She
breathed in deeply.  "I don't want to just let your entire life's work
dwindle and disappear in front of me," she said, not willing to add like
I'm seeing your life dwindle and disappear in front of me right now.  "I've
always been proud to be 'Mrs. Spooky', right along side you.  I'm not
ashamed of that now."
     There was another long pause, before either of them spoke.
     "Dana?"
     "Yes?"
     "Will you do me a favor?"
     "Anything."
     "Don't be sad, Dana.  For me?"
     "It's not going to be easy to stay happy without you there, Fox.  But
I'll try."
     Several more minutes passed in silence.  Then, Mulder's voice broke
the tense air a second time.
     "Do you think there's a God, Dana?"  Scully was a little unprepared by
the offbeat nature of the question, considering what they had just been
discussing.
     "Oh, I - I don't really know," she admitted.  "I hope there is,
I...would like to believe that there is one."
     "Do you think that there's really a heaven and a hell?"
     "Maybe.  I hope there's a heaven."
     "Do you think - where do you think I'm going to go?"
     "Now this I'm sure of," she responded.  "If there is such a place, you
are without a doubt going up there," she pointed at the ceiling and the
starry sky above it.  "I simply can't imagine how such a kind, trustworthy,
honest, caring, and compassionate person like you could have any less. 
And," she added with a hint of humor, "if there does happen to be a mix up,
you can bet that when I get up there someone's going to have an extremely
rough time until I get you up there with me.  Paradise isn't paradise
without your best friend to share it with you."  Mulder smiled.
     "Thank you, Dana.  I really needed to hear that."
     "Anytime, Fox.  Anytime."
     For what seemed like an eternity to Scully, she and Mulder were silent
again, unspeaking, and she found a rapidly growing desire to hear his voice
again, to know he was okay still.
     "Mulder?", she asked tentatively.
     No answer.  Her pulse quickened.
     "Mulder?", she inquired again, trembling fear edging it's way into her
voice.  Still no answer.
     Oh, God, no.  It couldn't end like this.
     She reached over to touch his cheek, and almost sobbed, "Mulder?  Can
you hear me?  Fox?"
     Her touch was rewarded with a slight, quivering motion, as he turned
his head painfully upward to meet her eyes.  She sighed, and pressed him
closely against her, thankful that he was still with her.
     "Mulder, I - as a doctor, I pledged to keep all life as sacred, and to
do my best to protect and preserve it.  I have tried my best to live up to
that oath, and I'll be damned if I'm going to just sit here and let you
slip away from me.  What we have means too much to me, and, "she said,
hugging him to her fiercely, "we're gonna fight this thing together, okay? 
Just like we always have.  Mulder and Scully, side by side.  We always pull
through together."
     "You got it, Dana.  I won't leave you if you won't leave me. 
Promise?"
     "Promise."
     Mulder smiled deeply, and sank down, nestling into her arms.
     "Still," he remarked contentedly, "what a way to go, right?"
     They both laughed.

                       **********

     Mulder found that he was bathed in darkness, a cool, penetrating,
constricting darkness, an inky blackness that threatened to envelope him
and break his bonds with the rest of reality.  In fact, there were only
three things, three ties still firmly holding him back, guarding him
against the blackness that was at this moment sapping his very life away -
his work, Samantha, and Dana.  Ever since she had been taken away,  Mulder
had always relied on his faith and his assumptions about her, that they had
come, that they were the ones who had taken her from him, and that someday
he might find his little sister again.  Whenever he felt as if life was
ending, as if his struggle was finally over, as if he could not go on any
longer, he had told himself, Fox, just think about where Samantha is now,
in a place of torture and pain, of suffering, and Fox, she needs you, you
have to find her and be strong, or else she really is dead.  His work had
been devoted to finding a way to reach Samantha, to find his sister again,
and he fiercely believed that he would one day accomplish this, no matter
what...until now.  Faced with the very real prospect of death, of
mortality, and of failure, he found his faith waning as he struggled to
keep hold on something...and found Scully.  She was still there, this he
knew, and even though his senses were dulling rapidly he could still feel
that she was there, partly physically, and partly in another, different
way.  She hadn't left him, he knew she wouldn't, not until he really was
gone.  He was unsure of his feelings toward her now - before, she had been
Dana Scully, his friend, his best friend, his only friend, but
now...something was different, something he couldn't quite pinpoint.  He
knew he did love her, but not in the romantic sense, more along the way
that a brother loves a sister, and he had a hunch, more than just a hope,
that the feeling was mutual between them.  It was like Samantha had gone
and she had taken her place, and would continue to, until he found her
again...if it was not already too late.
     No, no, dammit!, he thought, fighting back the darkness, trying to
open his eyelids that now felt as if they were fastened permanently to his
face, no!  He was not going to give up his life, his dreams so easily, and
he simply refused to leave everyone behind, especially Dana.  He forced his
eyes open, willed the muscles to lift his eyelids, and saw that his head
was resting against the silky softness of her neck.  She looked...different
somehow, something he was not quite sure of, something - and as his senses
returned to him sluggishly, had he had the strength he would have jumped at
the sight of her.  Somehow, she was glowing faintly with the most beautiful
rings of colour he had ever seen.  There were resplendent, radiant rings of
colour surrounding her entire body, ebbing and flowing in gracious,
delicate patterns.  He suddenly realized how cold he was, how deprived of
heat and clammy he felt, and he marveled how warm and cozy she was.  It was
almost like her body was a generator, a furnace even, and he basked in the
emanating warmth and heat that seeped forth from it.  He realized, somewhat
belatedly, his own hand, and saw that it, too, was covered in rings of
colour, but his were uneasily much dimmer and fainter.  He felt drawn to
Dana now, drawn to the inextinguishable source of warmth, and he gathered
up enough energy to twine his arms around her neck and snuggle closely
against her chin, against the pillow of satiny soft skin.  He felt her own
arms slip snugly around his waist, and simply hold him there in a
compassionate, loving embrace that so wonderfully characterized her
feelings for him.  He saw with fading vision something marvelous as their
rings touched, her own bright, vivid colour seeping into his own, and at
once he felt immensely good and comfortable as the transcending heat
diffused into his skin, permeating his very soul and reaching out to every
part of his body in a continual chorus that split the iciness like an axe
and replaced it with a safe, comforting feeling of lovely warmth.
     "Mmmmm....you're warm", he muttered, and abruptly sank into a
contented, well-deserved slumber with a small, sanguine smile on his lips.
     Scully bowed her head in order to kiss his hot, feverish forehead, and
felt a tear trickle forlornly down her cheek.
                          
                    ********** 

     When Mulder awoke, he found himself amidst curious surroundings.  He
felt soft, cool sea breezes on his back and face simultaneously, and
looking around, he saw the world in an indistinct, almost blurry form, with
edges and corners smeared like creamy pastels.  He realized that he was on
a boat, a vessel of some sort, and that it was a bright, clear, virtually
cloudless day.  The gentle rocking of the boat brought tangibility and
substance to the world, making him feel less of the queasy, drifting,
almost nauseating sense that had been previously present.  The gentle calls
of the seagulls, the quiet splashing of the water as it lapped up against
the sides of the boat flooded his senses and made him aware.
     Suddenly, Mulder saw that he was not alone.  There were several people
here, men and women, all dressed in conservative, heavy black clothes, with
dark, ominous black hats or veils.  For some reason, the simple sight of
them made him uneasy - it reminded him of a funeral, as if death rode on
the shoulders of the black cloths covering their bodies.
     Then he saw her.
     Dana.
     Dana was here...
     And she was crying!
     Swiftly, Mulder moved over to her.  Yes, it was indeed Dana, the same
Dana Scully he had grown to know for the past several years, but he doubted
that he had ever seen her like this.  It was so unnerving, seeing her
plunged into such depth of despair and utter devastation, and he felt a
tight, achy feeling in his chest, as if his heart were constricting and
tightening.
     Dana, he said, or tried to say, Dana, it's okay, it's okay, I'm here. 
What's wrong, Dana?  Why are you crying?  Please, talk to me.  What
happened to make you hurt so?  Oh, Dana, please don't cry, you never cry,
you're always the strong one, and it's so scary to see you like this...
     Mulder tried to put his arm around her, to comfort her, as anger,
compassion, and fear brewed and bubbled simultaneously within him, and he
felt that he should like to kill the person who had inflicted this kind of
pain on her.  Suddenly, and horrifically, Mulder realized that he could not
put his arm around her because he had no arm, and it was then that he saw
the large, terrifying, polished, cedar box lying on the ground directly in
front of him.  Without warning, the top flew back, and he gasped inaudibly
at the sight of his own, cold, lifeless dead body resting in eternal
slumber, horribly peaceful, never again to wake.  He saw, rather
detachedly, Dana leaned over to caress his colorless, pale cheek, and
whisper, "Goodbye, Fox".
     He really was at a funeral.
     His own funeral.
     Mulder had to stop and appreciate the simple irony at work here.
     You wanted to kill the man who put Dana in so much pain?  Sorry, looks
like someone beat you to it.
     Without warning, the box was snapped shut, and two men lifted it up
onto their shoulders, and promptly discharged it over the side of the boat,
down, down in to the cold, dark waters, and he felt himself being whisked
away down with it, down, down deeper, away from Dana and all the people he
loved, endlessly downward until no errant rays of light dared penetrate the
inky darkness surrounding him, and he found that he was inside the box, in
the sarcophagus with himself, staring at his own face, his own still,
unmoving, forever closed eyelids, and he screamed in utter terror, and then
the blackness crept swiftly in like a horde of angry insects to devour him,
and he remembered nothing more.
                         
                         **********

     It was morning when Dana slowly awoke to the sounds of chirping birds
and softly rustling leaves outside the window.   God, she was so tired -
she felt completely drained for some reason, both emotionally and
physically.  She groggily tried to remember where she was, and suddenly
found that there was a great, pressing weight on her chest, stomach, and
legs.  Then, she remembered - Mulder.  She expected that the life had
drained out of him now, that his body resting on top of hers was just that,
a body, a shell of the former man he had been, and she found that she could
no longer contain or subside the impulse to cry, and she wept for him
openly and unreservedly, the bitter tears running down her face in torrents
of emotion.  At length, when her eyes had run dry of tears to cry with, she
reached a hand out to close his eyes should they be open, and to confirm
the inevitable, only hoping that his passing had been quiet and painless
for him - and all at once felt his hot breath on her hand.  How cruel does
this have to be?, she thought angrily.  Why couldn't they have let him pass
during the night, in peaceful slumber, just leaving in his sleep?  How much
more torment do we have to endure?  Why is this happening to him, to me, to
us?  Feeling suddenly near tears again, she reached out to take his pulse -
and nearly jumped when she saw that it was not the erratic, skipping pulse
that he had possessed last night, but the steady, even pulse of a healthy
man.  She felt his forehead - it was no longer hot, and she could feel that
the cold, clammy feeling of him had been replaced with a normal, warm and
soft feel.  Throwing all logical thought and reasoning aside to make way
for sheer hope, she leaned over, and kissed his cheek.
     "Fox?", she whispered uncertainly, then, louder, "Fox?"
     "Mmph...D-Dana?  Geez, you don't have to yell so loud.  I'm right
here," he slurred.
     "Oh, my God!", she exclaimed, then hugged him with more feeling and
emotion than she knew was humanly possible.  "Fox, Fox, you're back! 
You're not going away, Fox!  Oh, Fox, you're going to be alright now!"  She
knew she sounded childish and extremely silly, but she didn't care, and she
was simply so happy that she had no idea what to do with herself.
     "What?", he asked uncertainly.
     "I said you're not going away.  You're staying right here with me. 
Your fever's gone and your pulse is much better now.  Okay?  You're alright
now, Fox.  You're okay!"
     He smiled broadly, and sighed, closing his eyes.
     "I'll call for an ambulance," she said.  "We'll still need to put you
in-"
     He caught her hand as it reached out to pick up the receiver of the
phone.
     "Don't - not just yet.  I mean, if I'm okay, then there's no rush, and
if I'm not it's going to be pretty pointless anyway.  Just stay here with
me a little while longer, okay?  I just feel so tired.  Can I rest a little
bit?"
     "Rest as much as you want.  I won't leave, Fox.  I'm not going
anywhere."
     "Neither am I", he said, and slept, confident of the fact now that he
was going to wake up, after all.


end.