EnemyWithinHer2

The Enemy Within- Exorcising Demons

DanaDrives
DanaDrives@aol.com

Disclaimer: I don't own these folks, as if you really
doubted that. CC does. Don't sue me. Please don't
distribute this without asking me- I'll say yes, it's just
nice to be asked.

Please let me know if you like this- feedback is a
good and happy thing- I even like the constructive
kind! (Flames will be deleted with glee, however.)
Completed July 1996. I can't pin down a date- I
change something everytime I look at it.
Time line: Post Apocryphia. If you haven't read
The Enemy Within Her you will probably be really
lost, and of course you will have missed one of the
greatest reading experiences of you're life, but it's
your loss.... ;-) (It's available at Gossamer if you
want to take a peek.)

I'd say this is pretty relationship neutral, though I
think my relationshipper UST-lovin' roots are
starting to show here and there....

Special thanks to my favorite group of folks in the
Cafe- y'all are the best editors I could ask for!

1/6
****
Friday night
9:45 PM

Freesia scented steam swirled through the room in
delicate wisps, covering the windows, blocking out
the mirror. Bubbles threatened to spill over the edge
of the old porcelain tub if its occupant made any but
the most subdued of movements. Luckily, she had
no intention of doing so for quite some time.

Dana Scully sighed as she swirled the bubbles
through her hands, letting the events of the previous
weeks move just as randomly through her mind.
She would go back to work in just a few days- the
end of a three weeks of mandatory medical leave
following her release from the hospital. She felt
stronger than she had in a while, nightmares fading
thanks to the Ambien she downed nightly and the
scientific lens through which she chose to view her
experience. Well aware that she *had* been
abducted again, she adamantly refused to accept that
the perpetrators were anything other than scientists
like herself.

<<Not quite like you>> she thought to
herself.<<You don't perform tests on people who
don't want them. Not that they can *tell* you they
don't want them...>>

Sighing again, she reached for the sponge behind
her, soaked it, and squeezed the warm, fragrant
water down her neck, enjoying the trickle over her
shoulders, between her breasts.

The incision had healed nicely, she noticed, there
would be only a very fine scar to remind her of the
mysterious tumor that had been removed- and would
undoubtedly resurface sooner or later. The other
wounds hadn't healed quite as well, the punctures
leaving tiny pock-marks at random intervals across
her chest and abdomen. Finishing the glass of
Merlot on the floor, she slid deeper into the water,
leaning her red head back and closing her blue eyes.

The tap on the door was loud enough to be heard
without being loud enough to awaken her, should
she be sleeping. The click of the deadbolt seemed
deafening to Fox Mulder as he turned the key.

"Scully?" he called out softly as he placed the files
on the table. The lights were on, she must be there,
but a tap at the bedroom door brought no response;
a quick peek, no evidence of her. Turning to the
partially closed bathroom door, he tapped once
again, pushed gently as the smell of warm, moist
Scully enveloped him. Some kind of flowers, and so
much steam...

Mulder couldn't help but raise his eyebrows and
purse his lips at the sight of his partner, always so
confident and strong, sound asleep in a tub full of
*very* feminine-looking bubbles. Her auburn hair
was piled loosely on top of her head though curls
were escaping, framing her sleeping face. One pink
knee poked out of the white foam obscuring her
body from view. Mulder felt his mouth go just a bit
dry at the thought of what was hidden by the frothy
whiteness. Averting his eyes from her peaceful
form, they rested on the wineglass on the carpet and
he frowned.

<<She shouldn't be drinking with the medications
she's on,>> he thought to himself as he leaned to
pluck it from the carpet. She shifted slightly in her
sleep, one arm sliding out of the water to rest on the
edge of the tub. Mulder froze, then slowly raised his
eyes to the smooth arm and found himself unable to
resist letting his gaze travel up to her shoulder, her
neck, down to the rapidly melting mass of bubbles
covering her. Breathing deeply and filling his mind
with the image of her certain fury if she were to
wake and find him there, he steeled himself to take
the glass and slip quietly out of the bathroom.

Scully-
        I guess you were asleep since you didn't answer
the door. The files you wanted are on the table- I'll
update you when I see you Monday.
                        M.

Dana dropped the note into the waste can as she
padded into the kitchen. She'd awakened cold and
waterlogged with a headache. She wanted to go to
bed but knew that the wine would spoil if it weren't
recorked and -

She stopped short when she noticed the glass on the
counter. She had fallen asleep with it...

Cocking her head and turning suddenly away from
the counter, she fingered the glass and raised an
eyebrow at the thought of her partner observing her
in the tub, then rinsed the glass, placed it in the
drainer, and opened the fridge to see if he'd taken
care of the wine also.

The wine was gone. Along with the beer that had
been at the back of the bottom shelf since August
and the bottle of Scotch she'd kept in an upper
cabinet for her father.

"I'm surprised he left the vanilla," she murmured to
herself dryly- but with a tiny smile- as she flipped off
the light and turned to her bed.

****

Monday morning
7:45 AM

"Morning Scully," her partner looked up from the
file in his hands as she entered.

"Mmmmm," was Scully's only response as she
dropped her briefcase on the chair and reached for
the coffee pot. After a long, almost greedy drink
she turned her attention back to him. "What did you
need?"

Mulder tried not to remember too vividly the last
time he had seen her, neck deep in rapidly dissolving
bubbles.

<<Well, not quite neck deep,>> the corners of his
mouth turned up in the slightest of smiles.

"Mulder?" his attention quickly returned to her
insistent voice.

"Um, actually I was wondering if you were done
with those files I dropped by. I think they may-" he
had actually just been thinking of her- worrying
would be a better word- when he was inspired to
send her an e-mail summoning her to the basement
that morning.

"Is this about your visit last night?" he looked
closely into her eyes, looking for signs of anger or
annoyance. "Mulder, I know what you're thinking.
I had *a* glass of wine and I stopped taking the
medication yesterday- not that I owe you any
explanations. I'm a doctor- I can be trusted to take
care of myself," and she sat, crossing her legs and
arms simultaneously to punctuate her indignity.

Inwardly, however, she was cursing herself for that
glass of wine- had been cursing herself all morning.
The wine had lulled her to sleep, but without the
stronger sedative of the Ambien to shield her from
her subconscious, Scully had spent the night battling
the demons and monsters kept at bay by the
medication. The nightmares which had almost
disappeared had returned with a terrifying force.

<<How many times have I been awakened up by
Mulder's cries in the next room- knowing that I
couldn't comfort him, that the demons he was facing
were his alone to face? Will I end up like that? Will
*he* be the one on the wrong side of the adjoining
door listening to the screams and sobs- all the while
fully aware that any comfort offered would be
refused?>>

Mulder watched the emotions play across her face as
she withdrew into herself. He knew that he had
overreacted the night before, but he hadn't expected
this response. She seemed outwardly peeved, but
he could see that there was something else going on
beneath the surface- something that she wasn't
telling him.

"Scully?" she started at the sound of his voice.
"You know you can talk to me, right? You don't
need to keep anything from me, you know that,
don't you?"

The soft look in his eyes was one she hadn't seen in
too long. She smiled sadly.

"I know Mulder, but I'm fine- really."

****
Monday
11 AM

"Dr. Kronke will see you now,"   the nurse told the
tall man primly. She wrinkled her nose at the strong
smell of smoke that enveloped him as he stalked past
her. He was a handsome one, she guessed, if you
liked those swarthy types, but that smell....

****

"So, Mr. Guerra, what can I-" the doctor bustled
into the office, studying the chart as he prepared to
see just one of the many patients he planned to see
that day. He was looking forward to the day- and
he knew it was coming soon- when he would be able
to give up his practice and concentrate on the
research- and funds- guaranteed by the tissue he had
stored in his laboratory. Strange tissue which he had
removed from one Dana Scully just weeks eariler
but which already promised to make him a rich and
well known scientist.

He never saw his attacker, his screams never
leaving his throat as the stiletto punctured his
windpipe, destroying his larynx as it tore open his
jugular.

****
Monday
2 PM

"Scully."

The trilling of her phone had interrupted their
discussion of the latest developments- or lack
thereof- in the case regarding the dead children and
her own re-abduction. Mulder watched as her face
registered surprise, then shock and finally
apprehension. "We'll be right there."

"What is it?"

"Somebody just killed my surgeon," she replied,
picking up her coat and sweeping toward the door.

****

The crime scene was unremarkable. The wound was
a single puncture to the throat, forceful and
deliberate. There was no evidence to speak of, no
weapon had been found, nothing seemed to be
missing from his office or home though both had
been ransacked. Someone had been looking for
something, but it was impossible to tell whether or
not it had been found.

"Scully, I don't like this," Mulder began as they
stepped down into the rainy street in front of the
doctor's home. "What were they looking for?"

"I don't know. But I have a feeling that whatever it
is is long gone," Scully answered grimly, pulling the
car door open and sliding inside.

****

Monday
11 PM

Fox Mulder sat staring into the darkness
surrounding the puddle of light on the desk, trying
to concentrate on the file before him. There was a
link here, he just had to find it. He knew what and
who, but how to stop it....

He found that his mind kept wandering back to her.
To the constant worry that she wouldn't be there,
that once again he wouldn't be able to save her. He
found himself wishing more and more often that they
*were* involved- not so much because of his
feelings or her feelings or even the obvious physical
attraction between them, but so that he would have
an excuse to keep her close, to protect her, to keep
them away from her.

She had worked so hard to keep it all away, to bury
it beneath her scientific facts and professional
facade. She had found a way to explain *who* had
taken her, but how long would she be able to hide
from the mystery of *why*? How long would it be
before whatever they had planted in her began to
grow? How long until they took her again for
another harvest of the nightmare they were creating
within her?

It had become clear to him during his *own*
investigation that they were using her- as well as all
of the women and young girls they had taken- to
develop some kind of gamete. Half a horror was
incubating in all of them and would continue to
incubate until some secret signal sent it into fruition-
and then there would be a consequence.

An unthinkable consequence.

And it would all start again. It was only a matter of
time....

Sighing to himself, he reached outside the pool of
light to the phone.

He just had to hear her voice....

****
Wednesday
11 AM

They had killed another child.

She was dead with no explainable cause thus far and
no family to mourn her. Scully couldn't help but
wonder as she stared down at the childish features if
this was the way Samantha had ended up- on a steel
table with a Jane Doe tag tied to one toe.

Using one gloved finger, she brushed the silky
blonde hair away from the still face knowing that
this child would emerge again in her nightmares, just
like the other girls, just like Betsy Hagopian, like all
those other women...

Turning away, she slid the safety glasses onto her
face and closed her eyes to shut out the face.
Instead, it joined the others looming in the darkness
behind her lids.

*How is this possible? Why isn't someone outraged
at what is happening to them?... To us?*

*Stop it! This is ridiculous. Do your job.   Stop
this. Fix it. Find out what is happening- and stop
it.*

*Breath in. Push it out. Force the emotion out with
the breath. Do it. *

Clasping her hands tightly to her stomach, she
forced her attention back to the body on the table .

*It's not a child. It's not a little girl. It's a piece of
evidence. What happened to it? Find what you
missed the last time....*

Adjusting the overhead light, she swallowed and
cleared her throat to activate the tape recorder.

Gradually she realized that the room seemed to be
spinning slowly, barely perceptibly, just enough to
throw her equilibrium off and make her want
desparately to lie down and rest. Rest however, was
not an option- there was too much to be done.

*Too many monsters to slay.*

She grasped the edge of the metal table to brace
herself, feeling the ting of the cold metal through the
latex of her gloves. Breathing deeply again, the
scent of camphor revived her momentarily and
allowed her to grasp the scalpel and begin the
invasive portion of the exam. As the blue-grey skin
pulled back to reveal the pinkish-purple tissue
beneath she felt, for the first time ever in her life, the
bile rising in her throat at the sight. Beads of sweat
sprang onto her forehead and the scalpel began to
tremble in her hand. Fear- panic- shrieked in her
head.

*Someone will do this to you. This will be you. No
one will be able to save you.*

Looking down again, she saw her own 8-year old
face on the table. She closed her eyes against the
impossibility of the image and turned away from the
dead child.

Crashing into the instrument tray, peeling the gloves,
scrubs, and glasses away frantically, in the throes of
a terror she couldn't identify or explain, she noticed
with a queer objectivity that the room had begun to
move again with a renewed intensity- the door
seemed suddenly impossible in its distance. Files
plummeted from the desk as she crashed into a
corner, pin balling finally through the metal door.

"Agent Scully?" the concern was apparent though
veiled by the professional air of the research
assistant.

Dana waved him away, closing her eyes as she sank
against the wall in an attempt to regain her
composure. She was already cursing herself for her
lack of control, for her inability to fence her fears.

"I'm fine. I'm going home. Put it away. I'll finish up
tomorrow."

****
Thursday
2 AM

The television played softly, covering the sleeping
form on the couch with a blue blanket of light in the
darkened living room. Finding herself unable to face
the formal acknowledgement of sleep that came with
"going to bed", Dana had begun allowing herself the
spontaneous comfort of her couch, finally
understanding Mulder's preference for the spot.

The drone of the TV eventually gave way to static
and the demons held at bay by the subliminal noise
of the now-silenced voices began to emerge. One by
one the faces of her past began to play before her,
each one asking in the same meaningless tone of
voice- empty eyes staring, empty voices falling from
gaping mouths-

"Why didn't you help us? Why can't you help us?
You'll become one of us. Help us. Help yourself.
You're dying too. You're failing." Missy, the
children, Betsy Hagopian, the other women from
Allentown who had been so resigned to their fates.

One by one they passed her as she struggled down a
long, dark passage. Their hands reached out to her,
their voices began increasing in volume and pitch.
She realized that they were beginning to display
signs of decay before her eyes- mouths deteriorated
into ghastly grins, eyes sank further into heads, skin
became mottled and peeled away, revealing black,
rotting tissue beneath.

She found herself running faster, hearing her own
breath in her ears, trying to get away from the
horrors that held her accountable. And then, with
the mercy that only sleep can provide, she
awakened.

Consciousness brought little release from the
nightmare, however, as Dana realized that she was
covered in perspiration- not the nervous kind she
was used to, but a drenching wetness that she
recognized as a physical response. Her eyes
suddenly ached with a hot stickiness and each
muscle felt as if it had been individually torn from
the bone. The room was beginning to spin again- if
she had eaten dinner she knew that she would
certainly be vomiting for the rest of the night.

Fearing these sudden symptoms more than the dark
world of sleep, she pushed the blanket to the end of
the couch and stumbled into her bedroom.

****
Thursday
4 PM

Scully stared intently into the microscope, finding
exactly what she'd expected to find- more of the
tumors which she had discovered in each of the
previous children. *Which someone else cut out of
you,* she thought to herself. With a sudden shudder
she realized that these tumors were the most
prevalent she had seen thus far- intertwined around
bone, muscle and organ- and that the child's internal
organs had begun to deteriorate, almost as though
they needed to shrink to make space for the tumors.

*Or were altered at a cellular level...* she thought to
herself, raising her eyes to peer into the space above
the instrument, unaware of the hispanic man outside
of the lab waiting for her to finish with the child.

****

"Mulder, I think we may have this all wrong. I don't
think it's the hormones that are killing them. I think-
what if-" she cut herself off, turned away slightly
and chewed her lip as she tried to choose her words
carefully. The dim light of his office made this kind
of discussion easier, but what she was about to say
sounded ridiculous. "Mulder, I think-"

"The tumors are really a permutation of existing
biological matter ?" he finished for her.
Astonishment slipped through her barrier, evident in
her eyes jumping up to meet his.

"How did you know?"

He rose and crossed to her, knowing that what he
was about to say would upset her, though she would
never admit it. His closeness might help to ease the
shock- it seemed to sometimes- and he knew that
only the subtlest of comforts would be accepted.

He gently placed his hand on her shoulder, peering
closely into her face for any sign to help him choose
the right words.

"Scully, I think there's a lot more here than we
realize. I don't think we're dealing with tests
anymore. They've moved on to production. And I
have a feeling they've begun their harvest. "

****

Thursday
2 AM

Scully once again found herself awake, staring at the
darkness surrounding her but unwilling to close her
eyes and shut it away. The words kept coming back
to her-

production, merchandise, harvest tests.

Lights from a passing car traveled across the wall
beside her, spot-lighting her possessions lining the
walls, the shelves. Her eyes followed the light in its
passing tour of her life as it was displayed for
visitors- both invited and not so.

She wondered briefly where the driver were headed.
Was it an impatient lover hurrying to a midnight
rendezvous? Or a frantic parent rushing a child to
the hospital?

Her imagination turned darker as she realized that it
were just as likely that the lights were the precursors
to another abduction or some such terrible
possibility. Would this be the last thing she
remembered this time? Lying on her sofa passively,
wondering if the release of death were better than
this unending nightmare- this terror growing in her?

Visions of the tumors that she was certain were
growing within her filled her mind, mixing with
memories of nightmares and dead children to form a
congealing dread that penetrated and filled her very
core.

The children were the worst. Knowing that no one
mourned them in the morgue, but that somewhere
there were parents hoping against hope that they
would be returned someday. Knowing that mothers
and fathers and brothers and sisters would hope and
search forever, but no answers would ever be found.

Closing her eyes against the ache in her soul, she
succumbed to the charms of sleep before she had
time to fight.

The dream that settled upon her was different, not
the familiar darkness and shadows she had grown to
expect. It was light, sunny and warm. She
recognized the scene- base housing from years ago.
She saw herself and her sister playing tag in the
yard, playing in the summer sun with the glee that
comes with the release of the school year.

*Were we ever so young?* she found herself
wondering as she watched the girls laugh giddily.
She found herself smiling at their joy and at the
long-forgotten comfort of dreaming.

As she watched, she realized that she was standing
on her parents' porch and the children had changed.
They were her children now, she knew with the
unquestioning certainty that only dreams can
provide.

The gentle breeze in the oaks began to blow more
urgently, bending the trees and whipping the girls'
hair about their faces. The sky filled with clouds and
Dana stepped down from the porch to call them
back to the house- away from the growing storm.
The screen door creaked behind her and the dream
began to blur. Mulder stepped from the house, his
footsteps echoing on the wooden planks, his smile as
warm as the hand he placed on her arm.

"I'll get them," he said, but his voice sounded odd,
like a recording on slow play. She stepped back
towards the door, watching as he descended the
steps into the yard. The girls ran to him and he
scooped the younger one into his arms easily,
grasped the hand of the taller girl and they continued
walking into the yard, into the force of the wind.

Sudden panic began to rise in Dana's throat as she
realized that he wasn't coming back. Why wasn't he
coming back? Rooted to the floor, she reached for
her children, trying to shout but finding her voice
silenced in her throat.

The wind was almost hurricane force by now, leaves
and branches falling into the yard, but the threesome
walked easily as though they were not effected. At
one hundred yards they stopped and Mulder's gaze
found her again. His eyes were glazed and empty,
his smile eerie in its wideness as he spoke.

"It's the only way. I have to find her. This is the
sacrifice you have to make. Nothing else matters, I
told you that. This is the price you must pay."

His lips never moved, but she heard his voice in her
ear as though he were right beside her.

And with that a too-familiar blinding white light
covered them from above, enveloping them in its
intensity, growing impossibly brighter while Dana
struggled to move, to run, to save them as they
stared up with innocent curiosity.

Nononononononomulderdon'tdon'tdon'tno!

The words choked in her throat emerging as nothing
more than a guttural groan, ineffective and
meaningless.

And her children were gone with the light.

And the dream gave way to merciful awakening and
looming darkness.

Unaware of the tears streaming down her cheeks,
she reached for the remote and switched on the TV.

To block out the demons.

****

Fox Mulder leaned his seat back and settled in for
the night as the TV lit the darkened apartment on
the fourth floor. The radio played softly in the
background as he contemplated the fact that she was
awake this late. He considered going up, offering
her the comfort he wanted so disparately when he
awakened at this hour terrified for her safety but
unable to reach out to her to reassure himself in any
way but this covert midnight surveillance.

****

Friday
10 AM

The call had come in early that morning- 6:00,
maybe 6:30- and Dana had found herself almost
relieved to have an excuse to pull herself from bed.
Her body ached for sleep, but her mind rebelled
against the terrible invasion of her nightmares. The
call forced her to silence both and attend to it.

"They've found another one. In New Hampshire- a
small tourist town on Lake Winnipasaukee called
Wolfeboro. I'll pick you up in an hour."

And that was all the information she'd received.

Now she found herself staring out the window at the
changing scenery as they sped towards to the scene,
her mind a jumble of thoughts and emotions as
image after image flashed before her.

Her body still longed to sleep but she couldn't allow
herself that privilege. It would do her no good to
battle another nightmare with Mulder sitting next to
her in the driver's seat- he would never believe that
she was "fine" after seeing her awaken wild-eyed
and panicked.

Mulder glanced over at his partner fighting sleep like
an over-tired child. She would begin to drift off and
then start awake, glancing at him surreptitiously,
guiltily. This was new for her- she had never
seemed uncomfortable about sleeping in front of him
before- and he worried at the change. He noted
with concern the thin sheen of perspiration on her
face.

"You too warm, Scully?" he tried to sound casual.

"No, I'm fine. How much farther do we have?"

"Several hours. Why don't you try to get some
sleep? You look kind of beat. You sleep okay last
night?"

"I'm fine, Mulder."

And that was the end of that conversation.

They both knew that she was anything but fine, but
each allowed the charade to continue- he out of
respect for her privacy, she out of simple fear that
any weakness on her part would destroy her
carefully contrived front.

Neither realized how dangerous their commitment to
the charade would become.

****

Thursday
11:30 PM
Lakeview Motel
Wolfeboro, New Hampshire

Mulder heard the sound of the television through the
door and considered knocking briefly, knowing that
she was still awake. She had made a point of
closing the adjoining door hours earlier, bidding him
good-night and making it impossible for him to
*not* realize that for the first time since they had
begun as partners, she wanted to be sure that the
door was firmly closed and bolted. Once again he
found himself wishing that he had some excuse to
open the door, to go and watch her sleep, to
reassure himself that she was there and safe and-

"No! Please! Go away!"

The cry pierced the silence of the night like a blade-
pulling him to his feet and the door before he was
completely aware that he was moving. The door
held firm under his hand- unyielding as his fists
pummeled the wood. Her cries continued, less
piercing but equally terrifying as he grasped the
knob and threw his body against the door.

"Scully!" he called- hoping to comfort her, to let her
know that he was trying, that he needed her help to
get to her.

Suddenly, the cries turned to sobs, pathetic and
heart-breaking, the cries of a lost child, but the
terror was gone. This was hopelessness, not fear.
Mulder suddenly realized that the enemy she had
been battling had been within her, that she had
locked the door because she had known he would
try to comfort her. That she had firmly denied him
the opportunity. That she had cut him out
completely.

Resting his forehead on the door, listening to her
sobs as they faded back into sleep, Fox Mulder
found himself lonelier than he had ever been in his
life.

****
Friday
8 pm

"You're right, Scully, this does fit the profile of the
previous cases. In fact, I don't find anything
different at all. I came up empty today." Mulder
stabbed another bite of his steak forcefully as he
emphasized his frustration.

"I know. " Scully pushed the salad around on her
plate, leaning away from her plate and crossing her
arms over her lap.

"Maybe. Maybe not. All I know is that this came
awfully close on the heels of the *last* victim. I
wonder if they've started picking up the pace, if
they're nervous that we're getting close. Did you
find anything unusual in the autopsy?"

Scully sighed and laid her fork across the top of her
plate. She knew she wouldn't eat anymore tonight
than she had last night, or the night before.

"Not really, just more of those tumors. They're ova,
that's for sure, spread throughout the body to the
point of destroying vital organs. That's what's killed
her, " she took a sip from the coffee at her elbow.

"Destroying vital organs? I thought we agreed that
the tumors were growing from the division of the
normal cells in those organs."

"I don't know- there's really no way to tell for sure."
She sighed her disbelief at the impossibility of reality
and pushed a lock of hair back into place.

They were silent for several moments as each
retreated into theories.

Mulder put down his fork and leaned forward,
suddenly shifting gears. "What's happened to the
body? Did someone claim it?"

Scully frowned, this had always bothered her. "I
assume that it will be cremated like the others. No
one has stepped forward to claim her, at least not
that I know of." *no one stepped forward to claim
any of them.*

"So there's no way of verifying the state of the
bodies at the time of burial- whether or not there
have been any further procedures performed?"

"Procedures? Mulder, what are you talking about?
I'm the last one to do anything to them. Once the
autopsy is over they go back to the county for
disposal unless someone steps forward to claim the
remains."

"But what if someone is removing all of the tumors
from the bodies before they're cremated? What if
someone is using them as incubators and then
harvesting these tumors *after* the tumors have
developed fully?"

Scully suddenly felt uncomfortably warm. The
thought made her nauseous again as she realized
with horror that he was probably right.

"Scully?' Mulder noticed with some concern the thin
film of sweat that had suddenly broken out over
Scully's face- her eyes were slightly out of focus and
she seemed to be holding her arms against her
stomach too tightly.

"Mulder, I'm going back to my room. I'm not
feeling very-" her effort to rise from the table was
stopped short by another wave of nausea. He
moved to her side quickly, not wanting to attract
attention to her illness but wanting equally to get her
into bed as quickly as possible.

****
Saturday
1 AM

Mulder sat next to the bed and watched his partner
huddle beneath the blankets, shivering. The chills
had come upon her almost as soon as they had
gotten back to the hotel- every blanket he could find
was covering her but to no avail. She was awake,
but staring blankly at the wall just past his head.

*This is killing her- having me in here while she's in
such bad shape.* Mulder thought to himself,
wondering briefly if he shouldn't go back to his own
room and leave her to her misery. It didn't take long
to decide that he would rather sacrifice her pride for
one night than abandon her to this fever.

"Scully? Why don't you get some sleep. There's
nothing we can do tonight and you-"

"How high is it?" The question came out in that
same sandpaper tone of voice he remembered from
the worst moments of their partnership. She was
barely functioning, her every energy forced into
forming those words. He hesitated for a moment,
unsure as to whether or not he should tell her.
"Mulder, tell me. How high?"

"It was just over 103 the last time we took it. You
need to sleep. I'll wake you in a few hours to take -"

"No." The determination in her voice made him
wonder what she was afraid of. She stared at the
wall as though her eyes would bore a hole through it
if she only concentrated hard enough. *I don't want
him to know what this is doing to me. Can't let him
see how weak I'm becoming.*

He lowered his head and his voice, whispering the
words as though he believed he could bypass her
ears and go straight to her heart. "Scully? They're
only dreams. They can't hurt you."   The silence that
followed was almost painful as she was forced to
acknowledge that he knew that she was frightened,
that he wanted to comfort her.

"I'm not afraid of what they'll do," she whispered.
"I'm afraid of what I'll learn from them." Her eyes,
when they sought his, were shining with fever.

"You can handle it. Dreams tell us things we need
to know once we're ready to know them." He
reached a hand out and brushed the hair from her
forehead in a long-absent gesture of intimacy. Her
eyes closed in response as she realized that the touch
was a comfort, a comfort that she needed
disparately. "Go to sleep."

But she already had.

The dream was familiar, the children playing before
her again. She saw everything just as vividly as
before from her place on the porch, but didn't allow
herself to be deluded that this was going to be
anything but another trip into the hell of her sleeping
consciousness.

She wasn't surprised as she watched, as they began
to grow oddly older, skin pulling tightly over their
laughing faces, growing mottled with age and decay.
Suddenly they turned towards her, their laughing
faces horrible, pointing to her as they laughed, as
they moved towards her.

Panic rose in her throat as the comfortable warmth
of summer turned to furnace-like blasts of air
coming from... where? Spinning rapidly, searching
for the source of the heat, she lost valuable time and
found herself overcome by the two children,
shredded flesh hanging from their arms, their hands
clutching at her, tearing at her-

"Scully, wake up. It's a dream. Wake up. Come
one. Wake up."

Mulder had watched the dream progress on her face,
hoping that she would ride it out, be able to continue
sleeping.   The horror and panic on her face had cut
into his soul, though, and he couldn't let it go on.
She sat up with a gasp, eyes wide, hands changing
from fighting to grasping in an instant. Her
breathing was labored, frantic, and she glanced
quickly about the room desparately seeking a sign
that the dream was past.

"Mulder, I-" she cut herself off to swallow and
remove her hands from his arms. He had moved
onto the bed and she was suddenly very aware of
how close she was, how near she was to throwing
herself into his arms. She slid away from him
slightly and ran one hand nervously through her hair.
"Thanks. I think I'm okay if you want to go back to
your room. I'm better."

The doubt was apparent in his eyes but she was
making it very clear that she wanted him to go.
Mulder stood as she disentangled herself from the
blankets and moved towards the bathroom.

"You sure?"

He waited for a response, but she was staring
intently past him. He stepped towards her to gain
her attention.

"Scully?" he peered into her face, followed her gaze
across the room, trying to ascertain the cause of her
sudden silence.

Dana, for her part, was startled to discover that
everything in the room had suddenly developed a
very distinct outline. She glanced around the room,
studiously *not* looking at anyone or anything,
waiting for them to fade.

Suddenly her eyes rolled back in her head and she
collapsed to the floor in a strangely tense slump.

"Scully!" Mulder leaned over her, reached to check
her pulse, her breathing- but before his hands could
reach her she arched painfully and began to
convulse violently before her partner's horrified eyes.

****
Monday
8 AM
Georgetown Hospital

Scully lay back against the pillows and peered out
the window at the bright blue sky. It was happening
again. How long would she have until...

The door opened. She knew who it was before a
word was spoken, and turned to face him.

*What do I say?*

Each thought the question, but neither had the
answer. The tumors had resurfaced throughout her
system- just beginning, but too widespread to be
treatable surgically, arising with a rapidity that
seemed impossible to the doctors. The seizure had
been caused be a small mass on the brain stem, the
fevers continued to rise and fall irregularly, there
seemed to be no way to treat this "undiagnosed
cancer ailment" she faced.

Words were unnecessary as he crossed to the side of
her bed, reading the fear and loss on her face.

*I don't want to die.*

*I don't want to lose you.*

Reaching for him just as he reached for her, they
huddled together on the bed, seeking sanctuary in
one another from the waking nightmare before them.

*If I just hold on, nothing else can happen. Just
hold on.*

Once again, they shared the thought as equally as
they shared the fear.

****
Monday
1 PM

"Dana," Dr. Sullivan took a seat in the chair near
the bed and leaned forward, her arms crossed
loosely over her knees. "We think we may have
something we can try, but we can't guarantee
anything. It seems that this condition is either
exacerbated by or is exacerbating the hormone
production in your system."

Dana's eyes closed in recognition of the symptom.
Just like the dead children. The hormones would
stimulate her body to change every cell into a
gamete, her vital organs would fail...

"We think that by removing your reproductive
organs as well as your pituitary gland we *should*
be able to halt the progression of the illness. I'm not
sure how much time it will buy you, but it *will*
give us the time to come up with other treatment
options."

Remove her ovaries and uterus? The idea shook her
to her core for reasons she couldn't identify. She felt
a lump rise in her throat and turned her face to the
wall in an effort to regain control.

"When do I need to decide?" she whispered tightly.

"Soon. Within the week. I'm sorry, " she squeezed
Dana's hand and turned to go as the tears pushed
through her tightly shut eyes.

*It's not like Mom doesn't have grandchildren. The
boys have seen to that.*

She felt a tear trickle down one cheek.

*I'm not really the maternal type anyway. I never
really thought-*

but the thought disappeared as the agony pierced her
soul and the tears came. They had taken everything
from her now. They had stolen her children, her
future, her past- everything.

****

Mulder listened as the doctor explained to Mrs.
Scully about the only treatment they seemed able to
suggest, felt the knife go through him at the words
that so clinically described the procedure they would
use to cut away the family he knew she had one day
presumed to have. For some reason, the pain was
more intense than any he had ever known.

*I did this to her. I didn't protect her. I did this to
her.*

The words echoed in his head as stood outside her
door and watched her stare silently out the window,
tears glistening on her otherwise impassive face.

****

Monday
11:30 PM

The dream settled upon her once again. The same
children, the same yard, the same bright sunny day
faced her as she noted with surprise that even the
medication couldn't keep the nightmares away. The
children played before her in the same manner as
before, laughing and shouting just as she
remembered. She watched herself as a child,
stumbling on the edge of the sidewalk and falling to
the ground, crying out in pain as she scraped a knee
as she had so many times in those days. The little
girl sobbed and rocked the injury, waiting for
someone to come and take care of her.

Someone did.

A woman stepped out of the shadowy edge of the
dream and knelt down next to the child, wiping tears
and whispering comforting words. A kiss was
placed on the scrape and then the girl was scooped
up into loving arms as the woman rose. Dana
caught a glimpse of her *own* face as the woman
turned and cuddled the child.

"You're all right," the voice crooned. "You're fine."
The blue eyes she knew so well looked out to meet
hers as the voice- her own voice- continued to
croon, "You can make it stop. You'll be fine.
You're the only one who can help you."

Dana watched herself- still carrying the crying child-
disappear into the brightness of the summer day.

****

Tuesday
11 AM

Mulder sat in the orderly chaos of the of the Lone
Gunmen and waited while Byers tapped quietly on
the keyboard. The usually jovial paranoia of the
place was quieted by the urgency of his work.
Langley and Frohike stood to one side, softly
discussing the comparative merits of different
contacts and sources.

Mulder had quickly explained the problem. They
had been keeping a record of Scully's medical
information for the past weeks and were in the
process of trying to feed it to as many outlets as
possible in the search for a treatment, a cure,
something that could be done without sterilizing her
forever.

It had only taken a moment in her presence to
realize that she feared the idea of "the procedure", as
she referred to it, almost as much as she feared the
tumors. Never one to wallow in self-pity, she was
doing her best to bury her pain away where no one
would see it. No one *would* have been able to see
it- except Mulder.

In that moment he had pleaded with her to wait a
few days, to let him check on some leads, maybe
they would find something. She had indulged him-
as well as herself- in what she surely believed was
nothing more than a fantasy, and had promised to
wait.

"Well, that just about does it." Byers turned away
from his computer and met Mulder's gaze. "We
now have all of our people working on it. We
should know something in the next day or so."

There was a moment of awkward silence as Mulder
turned to go.

"Thanks. I- I owe you one."

For most people that statement wouldn't have meant
much, but the three men left standing in the room
knew well how firmly Fox Mulder refused to allow
himself to owe anything to anyone.

Frohike sighed.

"Hell. I guess he does love her after all."

And he slapped a bill into Langely's outstretched
hand.

****

Thursday
10 PM

/You Have Mail/

Mulder-

We've got something.

****

Thursday
10:30 PM

"What we're talking about here is a type of
chemotherapy." Byers leaned against a table and
crossed his arms.

"The difference here," inserted Langley, " is that
instead of using the traditional medications, massive
quantities of designer hormones are used to destroy
the cells. Since Scully identified that estrogen and
progesterone were causing the ova-like cells to
appear, it would seem that mega-doses of
testosterone-based drugs would cause them to
atrophy."

"And once they have been reduced significantly, her
immune system *should* be able to clean out any
remaining cells." Byers finished.

Mulder stared at the floor, immobile, while his mind
whirled in a thousand directions at once. The pieces
settled quickly into his first question.

"Wouldn't that destroy her reproductive system
anyway?"

"Temporarily, it would shut her down, but not
permanently. Everything should return to normal
once the therapy is discontinued."

The pieces settled again to form his second query.

"Won't the tumors return as soon as the hormones
level out? Since that's what caused them in the first
place?"

Byers responded, "No, we don't think so. You'll
remember that they had to take her again to
reintroduce the DNA into her system- more than
likely into each individual region which is currently
host to a tumor. Once these are gone- barring any
further introduction of the stimulant- that should be
the end of it."

****

Two weeks later
Georgetown Hospital

Scully lay in bed watching the fluid pour through the
tube into her arm.

All tests so far showed the treatment to be working-
the tumors were shrinking and she expected to go
home soon. She found herself thinking of Betsy
Hagopian, of all the women who had suffered so
needlessly. She wondered if their surgeons- the men
who had removed their tumors again and again, who
had more than likely overseen each final harvest
following their deaths- would ever be brought to
justice, ever be forced to pay for their role in the
destruction of so many lives.

Pushing the questions away for the moment, she
turned her attention to the blue sky outside her
window, remembering the voice in the dream and
wondering if she would ever really be able to save
herself completely.

Mulder stood outside, looking through the small
glass window at his partner lying still in the brightly
lit room. They would send her home soon, and
things would return to normal- or at least as
"normal" as things could be. He had discovered that
Dr. Kronke had retained some tissue from Scully's
surgery, presumably tissue that he was killed for,
though this information would never be included in
the "official" police report. He wondered about the
surgeons in Allentown...

*Is there were any way to keep her safe?*

He let his mind wander back to the moments of
intimacy that they shared so naturally, so easily,
before one or the other of them retreated behind the
barriers they had constructed. What would it be like
to ignore those barriers for once? To let a moment
of intimacy progress as it would between any man
and woman? To allow her to protect him and
protect her in return?

As he peered through the glass at the woman who
had become such an integral part of his existence, he
found himself contemplating the only way he
*knew* to keep her safe.

Unfortunately, it would involve an even more
frightening risk to them both.
****

End.