Title: Endings Author: AlexaFoxx Rating PG-13 I suppose for that word Subject: Mulder Scully parntership, possible romance Spoilers: Redux 2 and beyond Disclaimer: All X Files characters are the property of Chris Carter and 1013 productions. No copyrite infringment is intended. Summary: The scene we all needed to see at the end of Redux 2. Comments--Please feel free to archive anywhere as long as my name and disclaimer remain attached and you clue me in as to where my baby is going. This is my first attempt at fan-fic. All feedbafck positive or constructive criticism is very welcome. Send to Ruthsleuth@aol. com. Heartfelt thanks to Paula Graves, Alanna Baker and all the others who encouraged me to go for it. You guys are an inspiration and incredibly generous ENDINGS "I'm sorry, Dana. The PET scan shows no change." Dr. Weiss's words pierce my heart like an icicle--cold, sharp. It takes several moments before I can draw enough of a breath to speak. Once I have, all I can say is, "Thank you, Doctor." He gives me a weak smile, light squeeze on the shoulder, telling me to call for the nurse if I need anything then turns and leaves. Thank you? THANK YOU, my mind screams at me. The man has just told you that you're dying. There's no hope left and the best you can come up with is a fucking thank you? What the hell is wrong with you, Scully? I am walking a razor's edge between a rage so fierce, I shudder at the destruction it would leave in its wake if I ever acknowledge it and a sadness too intense to allow near my heart for fear it will seize in agony before it's time. I want to rant and rail against the injustice, I want to cry for all I am losing, have lost or will never have the chance to lose. I need to grieve, to vent my grief in some physical display of rage and annialation. I latch onto the vase of flowers on the night stand next to my bed, hoisting it in mid-air, preparing to send it crashing against the farthest wall. Cool water dribbles down my wrist from the tipped vase and I freeze in a moment of blinding clarity. Wild flowers, yellow and pink and purple. Flowers that Mulder brought me this morning. Oh God, "Mulder." I trap my lip between my teeth and bear down hard, to stifle the sob boiling to the surface. Pain to cover more pain. It has worked before, but this time it does nothing to sooth or mask my hurt. Losing another daughter to a nebulous conspiracy she's yet to fully comprehend will sure devastate my mother. For a while anyway. But she is a strong woman. And she has her faith to sustain her. Another sister gone, the result of the reckless whims of that self-obsessed master manipulator. That's how Bill will see my death. And his rage will consume him, leaving a heart filled with cold ash in its wake. His rage at Mulder. "Mulder." I whisper his name, quietly this time, on a faint breath. If I don't say it too loud. If I don't think about him too long, I won't have to think about what my dying is doing to him. What my death will do to him, once I am gone. But the evasion does no good. I know his heart as well as my own. And my death will surely tear what little joy and love there is left from his chest, leaving a cold, silent cavern behind. In my soul, the soul that has been linked with his through eternity, I know my death will give him license to finally loose that tentative grip he has maintained on his sanity and very existence these past several months. I have watched him spiral downward in an ever widening vortex of despair and destruction, as helpless to save him as I was to save myself. And as sure as I am that I have reached the end of my life, I know he cannot survive another loss and the guilt he will welcome as his penance. He will free fall now, without my hold to brake him. And without my shoulder to cushion his fall, he will crash, shattering into a thousand beautiful pieces. I want to cry for his loss, but I can find no tears. Not now. Because as much as I love him, cannot bear the thought of letting go for his life's sake, I sit in my sterile cage hating him as well. Hating him with each healthy beat I have left in my heart, for putting this responsibility on my dying shoulders. For treating his mortality as nothing more than a burden to be endured, while I have fought with every fiber of my being to keep hold of mine. Tears finally slide down my face, fast and bitter. For him and for me and I make no move to dry them. I do not want to hate him. I do not want to leave him. * * * "One sorry son of bitch." The words play over and over in my mind as I stand outside her room. I want to be strong for her sake. Suck it up Mulder. You did this to her. Now get in there and BE there for her. I just don't know how to do it. How can I sit at her side, hold her hand and pretend? The chip isn't working. How the hell could I ever believe that black lunged son of bitch long enough to think it would? What a bastard I am. Keeping secrets even as I vow to give her all I am during whatever days or weekds she has left. But old habits die hard, just like Scully. Even at the end, I cannot fight my need to protect her. I can't tell her about Samantha. Because she will see. She'll know just how hollow a victory finding Sam has been after all my quest has cost us both. I could put the best beltway spin on it. "Yeah, she's good. She's fine. You should see her, Scully. All grown up with a family all her own." And she would know. In an instant she would taste the bitterness, realize this it had all been for nothing. The years of ridicule and suffering and loss. Her loss. It had all been for abso-fucking-lutely nothing. Get in there you coward. Plaster a smile on your sorry face and give her your courage and strength. The strengths of those beliefs you're so proud of. You know, the ones you don't believe in anymore. I push the door open and poke my head in side, praying that she will be asleep again so I can just sit in silence as I did last night. Just be near her without hurting her anyomre. "What are you doing here?" she asks, her voice tight but still strong. "You have a hearing to go to." Those words are almost my undoing. "Mulder, you have an OPR hearing. If we leave now we might make it to the airport in time." In a flash I am back in Townsend, Wisconsin, back in time. Four years ago, when we first met Max. She'd been with me maybe a few months. How young she'd looked then. But how damned stubborn, determined to save me from myself. I look at the deepening shadows beneath her clouded blue eyes, the lank dull hair splayed limp against her pillow and my chest tightens with memory. Of how those blue eyes had flashed fire at my obstinance that morning, how her bronze hair had glowed under the early sun as she thrust her chin forward at each new transgression I perpetrated against the system she so believed in. She was so innocent then, had so much faith. I would give my life to give her back that faith, to have kept her from being defiled by all the darkness my obsessions have infused into her life. A life she will soon lose. She takes my hand and I lean down, laying my lips against her cool cheek before she can see the tears. An instant of peace I don't deserve envelops me and I squeeze her hand as much for me as for her. Even though I will lose her soon, I need her here now. Why didn't I pull her closer before. Why couldn't I have pushed her far enough away in time. * * * The sun slants low and golden through the slated blinds of my room. Finally I am alone. I'd sent Mom and Bill went home for a much needed rest, when Father McQue arrived. I could see Mom hated to go, but once again her faith led her heart. She understood I needed the time alone with my soul and my God. And strangely, since father McQue has gone, I am at peace. I have shared my grief and bared my soul. Fingering the tiny gold cross around my neck, I smile. I haven't called on his counsel as a desperate last minute plea for a reprieve. But as I tried to explain to my mother, I have allowed a piece of unproven technology to be placed in my neck searching for a miracle, yet continued to fight lifelong instincts, ignoring the one source of miracles I have always believed in. Or at least the source I had believed in the longest. And she'd understood. More than that, it made her happy. While I have done this for myself, I'm glad my decision has brought her some small iota of peace. Mulder on the other hand. God, I recognized the shock on his face when he saw a priest step into my room. Watched, as it quickly deteriorated to raw terror before he pulled his mask back into place. I know Mulder has seen Father McQue's appearance as more telling harbinger of my death than the doctor's prognosis. Because in his heart he equates it with a weariness and final letting go on my part. And maybe it is. I don't know. All I know is that it was something I needed to do. At least some good has come from my "Hail Mulder's". I smile thinking of his call from the J. Edgar Building a few moments ago. He is a free man. Still has his job. I don't know how all this has come to pass, but he has promised to come tell me all the details. I thank God again that he will have at least that much, once I am gone. A figure appears in the door and I turn to him "Mulder? What happened?" "It's me Dana." "Oh, Dr. Weiss.." His expression is strange, confused. "What is it?' "I just got your last batch of blood work back..." "And?" He is hedging, studying the lab results in my chart as if he expects them to change or explain themselves to him. Not a very reassuring sight. "I'd like to do another MRI." "Why?" "There are some inconsistences here." More tests. What possible difference can they make? I am too resigned to hope, to tired to argue. * * * It is almost dark by the time I reach the hospital. I have just dodged another bullet. Played my hunch as to who has been manipulating and running us like rats through a maze from the very beginning. Scully thought it was Skinner who was Cancer Man's puppeteer in the bureau tying our hands, jerking us around on a string. Of course I knew better. I knew of the deal he had made, refusing to allow me to sell my soul to save Scully, then offering up his own instead. I will keep this secret from her as well. I know the weight of guilt, and will not add that heavy burden to Scully's burdens now. No, I will simply tell her I named Blevins because he was the one who wanted me to implicate Skinner in Osellhoff's death and made one of my Spooky leaps from there. It won't be a tough sell, of that I am I am sure. Though the rest of the hospital floor is bustling with visitors and staff delivering dinner trays and evening medications, the chairs on front of Scully's private room at the end of the hall are empty. I see no sign of Mrs. Scully or dear brother Bill and icy fist clenches around my heart at the sight. I poke my head inside her room. She sits alone on her bed in the deepening evening darkness, no lights on, no Televison or family to distract her. "Mulder?" Though her face is a shadowy silhouette, I can hear it in her voice. It is raw and catches on even that one word. She has been crying, heavily. I knew this time would come. My Scully, always the strong one. It is her turn now, to let someone else be strong for her. To comfort her and let her be tired and vulnerable, if only for the short time she has left. I pray that I can be enough of a man to do at least this much right for her. "What is it?" I ask, buying my self a moment or two to kick my ass into gear and figure out how to support her without risking the Scully wrath, lest she mistake my my caring for pity. "Come here, sit." I am across the room in three quick steps,. "Tell me, please." I sit on the edge of the bed, ready now to give her whatever she needs. "It's the cancer." I lean in closer, wrap my arms around her, easing her against me gently. She rests her head against my shoulder long enough for a deep sigh. The hiccups that rattle her breathing, shatter my heart. "I know, I'm here," I whisper softly into her hair and I try to hold her closer. But she pushes me away. "No you don't understand. It's in full remission." * * * His hands grip my shoulders. His face shows no understanding of my words, his eyes wide, unfocused, uncomprehending. "Mulder, did you hear me?" I grab his upper arms and shake him back to reality. "I'm going to live." Then it strikes. His carefully controlled expression melts as understanding seeps through to his brain. And a smile the likes of which I have never seen spreads across his face. It is part eight year old seeing that Santa has left him that bike he's coveted all year, beneath the tree, part lovers gazing at fourth of July fire works wrapped in each others arms, part believer, seeing a divine apparition who then heals their crippling infirmity. They are all there in the curving of those soft, sexy lips, the sparkle of joy shimmering in his beautiful hazel eyes. And he crushes me to his chest. I feel his heart hammering against his ribs, against mine, laughter rumbling deep within his chest. Then suddenly he pushes me away, pinning me with his intense gaze. "You're sure. I mean, the doctors, they... He is babbling now and I begin to giggle, understanding. "They're sure. The tumor has shrunk dramatically. The latest blood work shows my immune system is rallying, fighting the rest of the cancer." His smile grows more joyous. It is a smile I have never seen on Mulder's face in all our time together. A smile I have imagined I would only see once in our lifetime--if and when he found Samantha alive and well, and held her in his arms again. That he has given it to me now in celebration of my recovery brings tears to my eyes again. I raise my hands to his face, cupping it as if I might capture this expression of his joy and hold it forever "How? Was it the chip, the chemo? Act of God??" he asks covering my hands with his. He is laughing now, even as tears fill his eyes. "Maybe one of them, maybe all of them," I say, no longer trying to control my laughter. "I don't think we'll ever know." "It's not important... Doesn't matter." He pulls me back into his arms, crushing me against him this time, squeezing the breath from my lungs. And I don't care. I don't need air. I need this. To feel alive, to feel Mulder's relief and happiness. I cling to him, splaying my hands across his back. Soon I feel his strong muscles beneath my fingers clench, ripple, then tremble. And I know those shudders are no longer due to laughter. "Mulder, it's all right now," I say, as a broken sob escapes his throat. He slides down my body, burying his head in my lap and cries, releasing all the fear, grief and guilt that has been festering in his heart. I try to massage his back, comforting him but soon my own emotion overwhelms me and I curl my arms around him and nestle my cheek next him, lips against his shoulder and let my tears loose. They blend with his, wedding our sorrow, happiness, months' long terror and new found relief. His arms rest around my waist, holding me firmly, as if to make sure I am real. I do the same, striving to bring every inch of him against my body. I am going to live. It is finally ending. It is just beginning.