Darkness and Light II by Leyla Harrison Disclaimer: I think I forgot to do this in the last story. Anyhow - Mulder and Scully and the rest of them don't belong to me, unfortunately. I only wish I could claim them as my own. Summary/Spoilers: Post-Gethsemane. You should read the story that precedes this one to get the drift. It's appropriately titled Darkness and Light. This is more of Scully continuing to get treatment for her cancer. So where the heck is Mulder, you're asking? Read on. Anything in < > is a character thinking, not speaking aloud. Classification: VA, slight MSR Rating: PG ******* The treatments are hell. I hate them. I don't want to continue them. I wake up on the day that I am scheduled to go in and I have a twisting feeling in my stomach, knowing what I'm in for. The agonizing nausea and vomiting, the dizziness, the feeling of not knowing where I am or what is happening to me - all of it makes me want to stop the treatments, to stop them for good. But I can't. My last set of bloodwork showed that after only one treatments, the cancer cells are just slightly less prominent than they were before. And there are signs of shrinkage of the tumor on my x-rays. The tumor has shrunk only microscopically, but it is an improvement. It is good news, for once. To stop the treatments now would be crazy. Suicidal. Plus, the last time I went, I saw Mulder. I have decided to allow my mother to take me to the clinic. I have decided to let her stay in the room with me while I doze through the infusion of the poison that is trying to kill my cancer. The question is, will it kill me too? That's what chemotherapy is, after all. It's just poison designed to kill cancer cells, but it also kills healthy cells. The hope is that it will kill more bad cells than good ones, that the body will be strong enough to withstand the assault of the toxins that are being introduced into it. So far my body has not fared well. I'm not an invalid. But I am weak. Weak enough to not be able to work. I knew that after more treatments like that, I wouldn't be much use to anyone for much longer. Not in that physical state. That part just about destroyed me. To have to go to Skinner and ask for medical leave. To hand him the signed forms. I could tell that it hurt him too. He had his glasses off and was pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers and had his eyes closed, as if he had a terrible headache. I'm sure he did. Losing two agents can't be easy for him, even if we were the ones who gave him the most trouble. I promised him I would be back. He didn't say anything to that. I had to turn in my weapon, but was allowed to keep my badge. Some good that would do me if I needed it. Not like it matters. I've always had a spare gun. Which is kind of funny, if you think about it. Most people keep spare keys, spare bedrooms - not me. I keep a spare firearm. My mother hasn't moved in - I won't allow that. Not yet, anyhow. But I stayed with her the night after my treatments, and the entire first day afterwards. I was too sick to be alone. I'm waiting for my mother to pick me up to drive over to the clinic for my next treatment. I brush my teeth, skip the makeup, and brush my hair back into a low ponytail. I am setting the brush down when I see the hair. The brush is full of auburn hair. I touch my head hesitantly, drag my fingers through it like a comb. Although my hair is still soft and fine, strands of it come loose easily from my scalp. I have been expecting this to happen at some point - but it stuns me anyhow. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are tired with dark circles under them. I look older, more weary. Oh, Mulder, I think absently. I'm so glad you aren't here to see this. So glad. My mother arrives to pick me up fifteen minutes later. I don't tell her about the hair. Although she is expecting it to happen eventually as well as I would, I don't want to upset her. Not now. I can see how hard it is for her to watch me go through this. She rarely speaks of it, but she is my mother and I know her and I can see it in her eyes. We get to the clinic and I go through the same routine - change into the gown, get the IV started, get comfortable in bed. My mother sits beside the bed, watching. The nurse comes in and starts the treatment, again starting with the anti-nausea medication. She is increasing the dose this time to try to keep me from vomiting as I did the last time. I'm already drowsy when she tells me that she's starting the treatment, and moments later, I'm asleep. ****** I open my eyes. Back in the basement again. I cock my head slightly to the side, unsure if this is a dream or a hallucination, or both. Mulder's desk is again in front of me, in darkness. There is no light for him to lean forward into this time. He must not be here. "Think again, Scully." I turn my head and he is behind me, leaning up against a file cabinet, under what seems to be a small floodlamp. It illuminates his whole face, his whole beautiful face. I get up from the chair and go towards him, close enough to be face to face with him. "What's going on, Mulder? What is this?" He's chewing absently on a sunflower seed. "Nothing's going on, Scully. Don't be so suspicious. I told you we'd see each other again." "But I saw you the last time I had this treatment. So this must be a side effect of the chemotherapy," I deduce. He shakes his head. "You know, Scully, you really live up to expectations." "What?" "You tell yourself and the world that you're a doctor first, a scientist, and there you go, acting like a doctor and a scientist." He looks very smug. "And I'm supposed to be acting like something other than what I am?" He shakes his head this time. "You're supposed to be you, Scully. Just you. Nothing more." I take a deep breath, then let it out. "So what am I doing here? Is this some sort of dream? Or are you going to tell me that this is your way of proving unexplained phenomena? That you're really dead and I'm talking to your ghost?" "Neither." He steps forward towards me, into more light, leaving the dark area of the office behind him. He takes my hands in his and pulls me one step towards him. For one breathless minute I think he is doing this to kiss me, but he makes no move to do that. He releases my hands. "What was that for?" "To bring you into this - " he gestures at that light under which I am now also standing, "with me." I feel the light on my shoulders, on my face, on my neck. It is warm and comforting. "I saw you this morning," Mulder says softly, sadly. "I'm sorry, Scully." For a moment I don't know what he's referring to, and then I realize he's talking about my hair, about the brush, about what happened in the bathroom. "How--" "Doesn't matter." And he's right. It doesn't matter how he knows. "I'm so sorry, Scully." "Don't apologize." Silence falls between us, but it is a comfortable silence as I look at Mulder, look over his face, take in his features again. God, I love to look at him. I always have. That has been the hardest thing about all of this, going through this without him, was not being able to have him with me, to see him. He is looking me over as well, carefully, taking in each detail of my face, with no pity. Mulder and I have always shared that special bond, that way of communicating without using words, and here, in this strange trance-dream-hallucination, or whatever it is, we are still able to do that. Are we really talking? Can he read my mind? I look at him questioningly. My eyes widen. "This must be a dream," I murmur. "It's not a dream, Scully. It *is* real." I test him. "Yes," he answers aloud. "As soon as it's safe. As soon as I can." He's coming back. I choke back a sudden sob. He's coming back. To me. "I know," I reassure him gently. "I know." He takes my hands in his again. They are cool. He lifts my hands to his face and kisses them softly. "You don't know how hard it is to watch you go through this. I know I never told you that before. I'm sorry I didn't. I'm going to make that up to you." I can't speak. All I can do is nod, my eyes glistening with tears. "Why did you...how did you manage to pull it off?" I ask. "Mulder, I saw you--that morning at your apartment..." "I can't tell you now. I promise I will later." "I thought you were --" "I know. Everyone had to think that for me to pull this off." "You couldn't tell me? Not even me?" "No, Scully. I couldn't tell you. I'm sorry." "So if you're not dead...how are we having this conversation?" I ask doubtfully. I am beginning to think that I am really dreaming this after all. Everything he's saying are things I have wanted desperately to hear. I wouldn't be that lucky to have it all be true. Would I? "Do you believe in me, Scully? Do you trust me?" A long pause. A long, loaded pause. "Yes," I finally answer. "I love you," he says. I begin to cry softly. This must actually be a dream. And it hurts. I'm going to wake up and this will all have been a dream, a terrible dream that has caused me nothing but pain. I'll wake up, and Mulder will still be gone, and I'll still be alone. And all I'll have is this memory, this dream of him, of standing here with my hands in his, with him telling me that he loves me. I shake my head. No. This is too painful. "I want to wake up. I don't want to have this dream anymore." "Scully, please." "No. Go away. Stop coming to me in my dreams. I can't stand it. I can't." I pull my hands from his and he winces, his face filled with pain as if I have actually physically hurt him. "I know you don't want to believe this is real, Scully," he says after a long moment of us regarding each other. "No, I don't." Mulder's eyes are locked with mine. I stare deep into them. And then, the moment crystallizes and I see the truth, that he is telling me the truth. He pulls me to him, crushing me against his chest, burying his face into his neck. I can feel him breathing. His warm lips on my skin, on my neck. He places a light kiss there. Then he releases me, still holding me in his arms, looking me over. "It's not over. You can't give up, Scully." "I haven't." He takes a deep breath, as if unsure as to what to say next. "That's because you think it's going to get better. Scully, I know...I've seen what this will do to you. This disease." "The treatment is working, Mulder. The test results showed an improvement--" "It won't last, Scully." I search his face. He's telling the truth. "I'm going to die." "Scully--" "Shut up, Mulder. Shut up. You're telling me I'm going to die. Is that what you're telling me?" My voice has become louder. I have known this all along, haven't I? I've known that I was going to die. That is something I have known since I was told about the tumor. It's not like it's news to me. But for some reason hearing this from Mulder is making it more real. "Scully, you have to be strong through this." His voice is thick with tears. "Fuck this disease. You can't let it win. You just have to be strong." "Strong?" I ask him incredulously. We stare at each other wide eyed. "Mulder, I can't," I choke out the words. I feel as if there is a lead weight on my chest, keeping the air from my lungs. "I can't. Can't do this alone. Not without you." I curse myself as the words slip out. I'm supposed to be strong. I've always done everything on my own, always handled everything fine. This disease, this fucking cancer, has forced me to rely on others for everything. And I'm afraid. Afraid to trust people and at the same time afraid that they'll let me down. And then where will I be? "I can't," I begin to sob. "Help me, Mulder." His own eyes fill with tears. "Scully, oh God, I wish I could. Right now I can't. Right now you have to have faith. You have to believe that I'll be there to help you. Just not now. I can't right now." "You said that before!" I exclaim. "Mulder, I need you." I can't believe I have uttered those words. When was the last time I have admitted that I have needed anyone? I don't care anymore. "Mulder, please. I need you. I need to feel your arms around me. I need to feel that. I need your help. Your support. Your love." He is crying freely now, as am I. "You have it," he murmurs, and his mouth is at my ear. How did he take me in his arms without me realizing it? I don't care. He's holding me. "You have my love. You have my support. You have everything that I am, Scully. Just hold on. Hold on to that, and I'll be with you soon." And then, he's gone. ****** "Dana?" I open my eyes, groggy. "Mulder," I breathe. My mother's face comes into focus and her eyes are sad. "No, honey, it's me." "Mom," I say, struggling to sit up. The IV is still in place, taped down to my hand, and I have to be careful not to dislodge it. "Mom, I have to use the phone." She looks at me strangely, but helps me anyhow. I dial a number and listen as the phone rings. Three rings. The answering machine picks up and I hear my own voice. "Hi, this is Dana Scully. Please leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can." I punch in the code and there are a series of beeps followed by a long pause. "You have one message," the automated voice tells me, and I wait, and listen. "Scully, it's me." I clutch the receiver tightly to my ear and begin to cry. "Honey, what is it?" my mother asks, concerned. I shoo her away for the moment. It's real. He's alive. "Scully, I'm coming over. I have to see you. I'll be at your place when you get back from the treatment." There is a beep and the machine rewinds. I hang up the phone. "Honey, what's going on?" my mother asks, concern etched on her face. "I have to get out of here, Mom. I have to get home." "Honey, you have to rest for another hour." "No, Mom, please. Please get the nurse. I have to get home right away." The urgency in my tone convinces her. ****** I can't believe that I have persuaded my mother to drop me off at home alone, to not even walk me in. But she has allowed it. "I'm calling you the moment I get in the door," she tells me, "to make sure you're all right." I can tell she thinks I'm already out of my mind. But since I started working with Mulder I think she's come to expect a little insanity every now and again. I take the stairs up slowly. My body is exhausted from the treatment, and I am still feeling weak and slightly nauseous. I reach my apartment door and pause, catching my breath. I stop there with keys in hand. Is he already inside? I unlock the door and close it behind me. A light is on in my darkened apartment - the small lamp on the end table in the living room. I step in cautiously, closing my eyes for a moment. I open my eyes. Mulder is sitting on my couch, looking right at me. My knees buckle slightly and I reach for the wall for support. He is up in a flash and at my side, helping me to the couch. Touching me. His arm around me. His body is warm and alive against mine. "You're here," I murmur once I'm seated. I touch his face, his forehead, his jaw. I even trace over his lips with my fingers. He nods. "I told you I would be." "I can't do this alone, Mulder," I tell him. "If I'm going to die, I can't fight this battle on my own." "You won't have to be alone, Scully. Ever. I'll fight with you. Every step of the way." He pulls me into his arms and holds me there, safe and secure. He kisses me on the forehead, his lips warm and moist. I want to have them on my mouth, to kiss him back, but I know that will come later. Right now I have been given a gift. Mulder has been returned to me. And the rest of it can wait. END --------------------------------------------------- "I just saw you, not exactly the most sexually spontaneous person in the world, about to do the wild thing with some stranger." --Mulder to Scully, The X-Files