Author: Rebel
E-Mail: CDRebel@aol.com

Category: MSR, A
Keyword: Cancer
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Elegy
Disclaimer: I don't own any rights to the x-files characters.
            Chris Carter, Fox, etc. own all the rights.
            No infringement intended. No money made.
Summary: Scully agonizes over her cancer.

The Hardest Battle

Scully unlocked her door and stepped into her apartment.  She
closed and locked the door, then leaned against it wearily.
Flipping on the light switch, she let her eyes wander around the
room, noting an object here and there.  <Everything is neat and
orderly.  A place for everything and everything in its place.
Or, as the saying goes, 'ship shape and Bristol fashion', as
befits the daughter of Captain Ahab.  Everything under control.
Everything clean and dusted.  Lifeless.  Just like me.  Only I'm
not lifeless yet.  And I have absolutely no control.>

Pushing herself away from the door, she forced herself to the
living room.  She  picked up the decorative orange ceramic cup
from her bookcase and slammed it against the far wall.  It
shattered, leaving a mark on the wall and a splash of color on
the floor below.  <That's better.  Now at least it looks like
someone actually lives here.>  She looked around and eyed the
coffee table with its neatly stacked magazines and carefully
placed candle.  With one sweep of her arm the magazines went
flying about the area, with the candle landing somewhere under
one of them.  She twisted the pictures on the wall so they hung
crookedly.  Finally, she stepped back and inhaled a breath of
bitter contentment.  She felt better now, and the room looked
more like the turmoil she felt.

<I might as well get changed now out of my office clothes.  How
long will I be able to continue working?>  She could already feel
the cancer draining her energy.  And seeing Harold Spuller's image
in her rearview mirror tonight had shaken her.  She was dying.
She was dying and there was nothing she could do about it.

Stopping at the door of her bedroom, Scully took in the precise
arrangement of each item, even the book she had been reading the
night before.  She kicked off her shoes into the middle of the
room and left them there.  She moved quickly to the dresser and
yanked the drawers forward, each a different amount to appear
uneven.  She slipped off her nylons and wrapped them around the
handle of one drawer.  Stepping back, she smiled, pleased at her
handywork.  Then she slipped off her jacket and maneuvered it till
it hung lopsidedly from the corner of another drawer.  Satisfied,
she then pulled open the closet door and hung her slacks on the
knob.  She gazed at them.  <Black.  Every thing is black.  I'm
already wearing my funeral clothes.>  Fighting back tears, she
hurriedly reached in to the straight row of clothes hanging on
the rod.  She pulled a few forward here and there to make it look
untidy.  Then she took a deep breath and let it out.  For some
strange reason, it made her feel alive.  It gave her a sense of
having some control over something.

The bed received her attention next.  Pillows went flying, followed
by the comforter and sheets.  She looked at the mess on the floor
with a sarcastic smirk, then sent her blouse to join it.  Glancing
around the room, the window caught her eye.  She pulled the left
curtain over to the far right, then lifted the right curtain and
looped it onto a picture on the wall.  The effect was wild.  Next
she carefully adjust the blinds so that one side was hanging well
below the other side, swinging crazily.  It gave the window a
disheveled appearance, as though it had been long neglected.

Scully slowly surveyed the destruction.  Yes, this looked the
way she felt now.  Her life was a mess.  Nothing was the way she
planned.  Her world had gone topsy-turvy.  She sank down to the
floor next to the bed, hugged her legs close to her chest, and
pressed her face to her knees.  She felt completely helpless.
When she was young, because of her small size she had fought hard
to get on teams.  She had fought hard to get into and through
medical school.  She had fought hard to get to where she was in
the FBI.  But now her opponent was inside her.  It was herself.
How do you fight yourself?

She was so tired.  Maybe, if she just stayed here with her eyes
closed for long enough, maybe she wouldn't have to open them
again.  Maybe she could just stay like this until she no longer
existed.

********************

Mulder shifted restlessly on his couch.  The police had Nurse
Innes and the murder weapon in custody.  Scully had gone home
without talking to the police.  Mulder told them what she had
told him, and assured them that Agent Scully would give them her
statement in the morning.

He reviewed his conversation with Scully earlier that evening.
"I know what you're afraid of. I'm afraid of the same thing."  He
knew he was afraid.  And he had seen in her eyes tonight that she
was afraid, too.  He had already known, in spite of the strong
image she tried to project.  He had been willing to let her keep
up the pretense that she was "fine".  Until tonight.  Even so he
hadn't pressed her, just gently chided her not to hide the truth
from him or from herself.  They could only fight this together if
she was honest with him.  <Don't shut me out, Scully.>

<Scully IS afraid.  So much so that she even left without giving
her statement.  She would never do that.  Is she really alright?
Did she make it home?  The others saw the images because they were
dying.  She said she was fine, but is she really?  SHE COULD BE
DYING RIGHT NOW.  ALONE IN HER APARTMENT!>

Mulder jumped up, grabbed his jacket and hurried to his car.

Mulder locked his car and glanced up at Scully's windows.  Her
lights were still on!  Why were her lights on at (he glanced at
his watch) 1:30 in the morning?  Something was wrong!

When Mulder reached her door, he stopped and put his hands and
forehead against the smooth wood.  His heart was pounding, and not
just from the sprint from his car.  What would he find on the other
side of the door?  After a few moments, with his breathing more
under control, he knocked lightly.  If she had just been exhausted
and had fallen asleep, he didn't want to wake her.  He slipped his
key in and turned it slowly, trying to be silent.  He turned the
knob gingerly and eased open the door.

He stared at her apartment, momentarily stunned.  Then he had his
gun out and was crouching, searching for the intruders.  He moved
cautiously from room to room, his panic almost getting the better
of him.  He had to force himself not to call out to Scully.  That
would alert the intruders of his presence.  His whole body ached
from the effort not to run to Scully when he saw her huddled
against the side of the bed.  When he was sure he and Scully were
the only ones there, he approached her carefully so as not to
startle her.

"Scully?" he whispered softly to her.  Getting no response, he
tried again, a little louder.  "Scully?"  Still nothing.  Reaching
out with shaking hands, he gently pulled one arm from around her
legs to check her pulse.  She didn't resist.  Her pulse was slow,
but steady.  When he released her arm, she curled it back around
herself.

Stroking her hair, "Scully, what happened?  Are you alright?  Do
you need a doctor?"  No response.

"Scully, you're scaring me here."  Again, nothing.  "Scully, honey,
if you don't give me a sign soon, I'm going to have to call the
paramedics."

After a moment, she gave an almost imperceptible shake of her
head no.

Alright, she didn't want the paramedics.  "Are you hurt?"  Again,
as though it was taking all of her strength, a slight shake of
the head.

Mulder couldn't help the slight quaver in his voice, "Scully.
I...I can't just leave you here."  After a pause, a slight nod of
the head.  "No!  I'm not leaving!"

After a moment's hesitation he scooped her up and stood looking
around her room.  The sheets were off the bed.  He could put her
on the couch while he made the bed.  Looking down at her limp body,
he decide to keep her where he could watch her.  He set her gently
back on the floor and turned to make the bed.  He hurried, almost
frantic with worry.

After laying her on the bed, he got a facecloth and washed her
face.  He washed and bandaged the hand injured when Nurse Innes
had attacked Scully.  He pulled a nightgown out of one of the
open drawers and put it on her.  He tucked her in and started
looking for clues.  What happened here?

There was blood smeared on the fragments of orange pottery by
the wall.  There was a little on the right side of most of the
pictures that were askew.  Mulder returned to the bedroom and
studied the woman on the bed.  Then he examined the clothes he
remembered seeing her in tonight.  <Actually, that would be last
night now.>  He could tell from the slight bloodstains that she
had undressed herself, without considering the cuts on her right
hand.  SHE had hung them like this.  Checking out the curtains,
he realized she had done that too.  And quite deliberately.

Mulder walked over to the small, still figure on the bed and
brushed her hair back with his fingers.  <Oh, Scully, what have
you done?>

After a while, he shook himself and looked around again.  <She
can't wake up to this.>  He set about quickly but quietly
straightening up Scully's apartment.  Every couple of minutes
he checked on Scully.  He picked up the larger pottery pieces
and decided not to run the vacuum till the next day.  Most of
the orange on the wall came off.  They could put a touch of paint
over it later if they wanted to take care of the rest.  The blood
came off the picture frames and woodwork no problem, but he set
aside her suit to be cleaned later.

The apartment was once again the way he knew Scully kept it.  But
he wasn't going to leave her alone here.  He went back and knelt
beside the bed.  He took her hand and stroked up and down her arm.
"Scully, what should I do now?  You're the doctor."  He sighed when
he got no response.  He patted her cheeks lightly.  "Hey, Partner,
just open your eyes for me and let me know you're alright.  Then
I'll let you sleep."

Scully was struggling.  She didn't want to come back from that
place where she had retreated.  But Mulder was calling her.  He
sounded lost.  Was he lost, too?  He only wanted her to open her
eyes.  Then she could sleep.  She could do that for him, couldn't
she?  Then she could go back to the darkness.

Mulder could see her eyes moving beneath their lids.  With what
seemed a great deal of effor, her eyes struggled open in a heavy-
lidded gaze.  Mulder almost cried with relief.  "Are you alright?"

Scully seemed to ponder the question for a while before giving a
slight nod.  She managed to mumble, "Tired."  Then her eyes slipped
closed again.

With relief still washing through him, Mulder went to the living
room.  He took off his shoes and prepared to sleep.  After turning
out the lights, he check on Scully one more time.  She was still
asleep.  He looked back to the living room, then made his decision.
He turned out the light on her nightstand and sat down in the chair
to watch over her.  <No way I'm leaving, Scully.  Deal with it.>

End