Date sent: Wed, 31 Dec 1997 18:11:34 -0500 Subject: After We've Said Goodbye (1/1) - Resubmission From: hereafter@juno.com (M C A) After We've Said Goodbye By M.C. Akimoto Spoiler warning: US4 -- Memento Mori, Max Rating: PG Classification: S, A, MSR Summary: Scully deals with the news from Memento Mori, and then she and Mulder receive some startling information Disclaimer: the characters of the X-files are the property of Fox Broadcasting and Ten-Thirteen Productions. No infringement is intended. Author's Note: This was written as birthday present for a wonderful friend and she suggested that I also share it with the list. Happy Birthday, M! Do I want feedback? Need you even ask? Of course.... AFTER WE'VE SAID GOODBYE By M.C. Akimoto (hereafter@juno.com) In the end it was so quiet. So simple. So....undramatic. One day she went in for her check up, and the cancer was not on the x-ray. Almost as if it had never been. There were no aliens with glowing hands. No sudden disappearances. No "miracle cures." The cancer had simply vanished. No explanation. No warning. Just vanished. Ironically, they decided at that point to hospitalize her. The doctors insisted on running every conceivable scan, test and imaging process available -- and she agreed. Whole-heartedly. As perplexed, and frankly worried, as they. But in the end, after three days of tests, the evidence was conclusive and irrefutable. She was cured. She would live. And her world ended. And began. ******** She'd been gradually pulling away for months. Pragmatic in her personal life as in her professional life, Scully had realized that her cancer diagnosis, despite Mulder's brave assurances, meant a definite time limit. She did the research and examined her records and blood work. She analyzed the records of the MUFON women, and calculated that she had between 9 and 12 months. The only mercy of this particular cancer was that the end, when it came, would be fairly swift. She began very carefully setting her life in order. She had had few close friends in her life, and since starting work at the X-files had maintained contact with only three or four friends from med school or the Academy. Over the next four months she made it a point to call each of them and arrange to see them: a lunch with Sarah, a dinner with Jim and his wife. She carefully kept each meeting casual -- never mentioning her illness. But it was a way to say good-bye. A way to touch that part of her life one last time and then let go. She ruthlessly cleaned her house -- sorting, organizing, taking things to Goodwill. She didn't go overboard, moderation had always been her watchword. She knew that her mother would need a distraction after Dana's death, but she wanted Maggie to have an easy time dealing with her things. She began making a list of her possessions that might have special meaning or value to her nieces and nephews -- the glass ballerina that Charlie's girl loved, the wooden sailboat for Bill's son. She discovered some pictures of Missy and herself -- taken during that first spring break at Berkeley. They were clowning around in the quad. She didn't think Maggie had ever seen them. They went in a neatly labeled envelope on top of her important papers, where her Mom would find them first. There was one picture in the batch that was just of her. She had been caught at three-quarters profile, her hair blowing slightly across her face. She must have been reacting to something Missy said -- her mouth was quirked in a half-smile and she had her eye-brow raised. She put that photo in an envelope marked ‘Mulder.' Her brothers were both at sea, and would be so for at least the next 5 months. She wrote to them regularly, as always. They knew, now, about her illness, and so she conscientiously included progress reports on her condition -- knowing that they'd hear the same things from their mom, but wanting to appear that she was dealing with the cancer. She carefully wrote around the fact that she had decided to not seek any treatment at all. She visited her mother regularly, and allowed Maggie to hover and fret. Each time she left her mother's house she felt a little more drained, but somehow her mom always seemed stronger, better. And that was what mattered. She did not visit Melissa's grave. It seemed unnecessary. ************ Working with Mulder was increasingly problematic. Every since the conversation in the hallway of the Allentown hospital she'd been unable to read him. His mood around her vacillated between mother hen and frightened indifference. In the weeks and months following Allentown, she slowly learned to roll with his changing moods. Learned to let him in a little or keep a longer distance in reaction to his needs. It never occurred to her that it was killing him too. If Mulder was unpredictable, but ultimately manageable, Skinner had gone from stone-faced enigma to the riddle of the century. Ever since the night Pendrell was shot, and Skinner had confronted her in the bar, he'd shown more than what Scully thought was a normal supervisory interest in the state of her health. He hadn't directly threatened to take her out of the field again, but he continually asked for copies of her latest checkups and twice mentioned upcoming clinical trials. She didn't know what to think, and as he always backed down, she shrugged it off. He'd recently lost an agent, and everyone reacts to stress differently. But still, she had the feeling that he was looking for something, something that he wanted her to tell him. Fortunately Mulder and Scully's case solve rate also remained sufficiently high for the first four months that Skinner couldn't get any leverage to take her out of the field. Then came that disastrous month. Three unsolvable cases in a row -- even Mulder couldn't come up with some outlandish theory to explain the disappearing crops in Iowa. And then she'd had a nose bleed in the middle of a debrief with Skinner. Skinner had gone white and then red -- furious, but clearly not with her. Then his Marine control was back. "Do you need a moment, Agent Scully?" "Thank you, Sir, I'll be right back." She left, clutching the handkerchief that she now always kept in her pocket, and hurried to the ladies room. She returned to catch the middle of an argument between Mulder and Skinner. "....should take immediate leave, until such time as..." "Sir! Agent Scully has been performing at or above normal capacity..." "Agent Mulder, as her supervisor, I have a responsibility. And, I have reached a decision." Oddly the cadence of the argument sounded almost rehearsed. As though they'd had this conversation before. Many times. She opened the door without knocking. "Did you have something you needed to say to me, Sir?" "Are you OK, Agent Scully?" "I'm *fine,* Sir." She decided that looking at Mulder at that point would be a mistake. "Agent Scully, I'm sorry to have to say this, but I am going to require you take a medical leave of absence. You may return to active duty as soon as you are certified..." he trailed off. She stood even straighter, and met his gaze with unflinching clarity, "Cancer-free, Sir?" "Yes." "I see. Why, Sir? We've had a couple of rough cases, but our overall solve rate..." His tone could have cut glass. "Agent Scully, this decision is not debatable. You will have two weeks of administrative duty to provide Agent Mulder with any final," his tone faltered ever so slightly, "assistance he might require with your open cases, and then you are on indefinite medical leave. We look forward to your re-instatement pending the successful treatment of your illness." She finally looked over at Mulder, but he wouldn't meet her eyes. "Yes, Sir." She turned on her heel and walked out of the room at military tempo. The two weeks of desk work were pure hell. Mulder alternated between embarrassment and sulking, but would never tell her what he thought of Skinner's decision. Her fury quietly escalated during those weeks. Mulder's utter failure to stand up for her staying on as an active agent seemed to her a betrayal of all that they built over the past four years. As she closed out her parts of case reports and field action notices, she felt that each piece of paperwork she completed was another small cut, further severing her from Mulder, from the X-files. In her rage, the growing distance felt right, comforting. On that last Friday, she was finally too tired to deal with it any longer. She stood to go look for a box to gather her few personal possessions, and suddenly, inexplicably, found that she couldn't. She couldn't do this. Oh no. The distance was wrong, frightening. She didn't want to leave this. She did not pack her desk. She simply picked up her jacket and purse. "See you around, Mulder." "I'll call you, Scully." "Yeah. See ya' later." As she walked down the quiet hallway, she thought she heard a chair creak and his footsteps, as though he had crossed the room to stand behind the closed door. ********* He did call. She hadn't actually expected him to, but he did. And oddly enough, at the distance of the phone connection they rediscovered their accustomed ease -- their intimacy. Their late night conversations would invariably begin with Mulder calling about some case. He still operated the X-files division and had convinced Skinner, for the time being, to not assign another agent to the division. Because he still had a partner. He still had Scully. So he'd call her every night. To tell her about the day, to hear her voice. And ultimately the conversations would begin to drift and turn. In those late hours they finally began to reach across the last chasm between them. Carefully, slowly they spun the fine strands between them. Remembering old cases, odd road trips, bad motels. And at last they began telling each other their pasts -- the last unknown -- they had shared the present and what they thought would be the future for so long. "I always thought Mom and Ahab had it all, you know? The perfect partnership -- kids, a home. I spent most of my life trying to recreate that. It took me so long to realize that I wasn't a failure just because I took a different path. " <> "There were some really good times, before...but then I spent so many years hating him, Scully. And then he died trying to do something that might..." "I know, Mulder. I'm sorry." Scully was the only person in the world who could say that and actually make him feel better. "....and so there Missy and I were. Caught red handed, so to speak. Trying to sneak back into the house, covered in red paint from our raid on the other high school, and there's Ahab on the porch, calm as could be, back 2 months early from his tour! We spent the rest of the Spring weeding Mom's garden, but God! It was so much fun." They bridged the final chasm between them. Spanning it with trust and shared laughter and unspoken love. The connection was a life line -- strong, true. He called her every night. But he didn't come to see her. And she didn't ask him to. She went to her doctor regularly. The tumor had begun to grow. Just slightly, but steadily. She recalculated her time. She began to quietly say goodbye to places, too. A last trip to the National Gallery. A last stroll through the Botanical Gardens. It was fitting, somehow, that she take these final journeys alone. She'd expected to find her free days oppressive, boring. Instead she adjusted to the pace, moved through the time at a new pace -- gliding through the days like honey -- slowly, steadily. Waiting for the days to crystallize into amber. To harden into stillness. But the nights. The nights were still liquid. She knew she was saying goodbye to Mulder in her own way. Knew he was letting go, too, by giving way. Knew that they allowed themselves this final connection because it would be...final. It would make it easier and harder for him, but they both knew that there was no time left. And they had both always believed in the primacy of truth. They laid their souls bare before each other. But they never said the words. And they didn't see each other. ********* And then she had to make the phone call. "Mulder, I'm at Georgetown Oncology. There's something you need..." He'd been waiting for this call. He knew she'd been in the hospital for three days. "I'll be right there." But he arrived to find his world upside down. "I'm fine, Mulder." The fine ironic undertone nearly escaping him. "We're at a loss to explain this, Agent Mulder, but the tests and conclusions..." "Have you told your mom, Scully?" "Yes, she's on her way." And then she was there, sweeping Scully into her arms. "Oh Dana! Is it true? My baby girl...." And because Scully women's tears always made him uneasy, and because he suddenly didn't know what to do, he left. The celebratory dinner had gone late. Maggie hadn't wanted to let Dana out of her sight. Finally, pleading that she had to go to *work* the next day, she was allowed to leave. The stillness of her apartment was suddenly oppressive, unfamiliar. What had been a sanctuary was now a cage. She realized that she was waiting for the silence to be broken by the telephone. For Mulder to call. He wouldn't call tonight. Oh. God. Tomorrow. What would she do tomorrow? What would they do? How do you go back when the safety of the moat is gone? They had said good-bye, but she hadn't left. In the hospital there'd been no time, no time to really consider the meaning of this. She was dying. She should be dead, and yet here she was. She and Mulder had built that final connection across the chasm so that when she left he would know the ground he was standing on. The ground where he would stand alone. But now.... Now they were both there: standing together, connected as never before, and she was suddenly terrified. She had always known that their lives were intertwined. But the links were submerged, unseen, unacknowledged. It kept them safe. They had acknowledged those links in all those late night conversations, because there had been no need for safety anymore. She had departed, but come full circle. What would they do? She was pacing back and forth and so was halfway to the door when she heard the knock -- had she known that he'd come? He looked tired. And frightened. And determined. "Scully?" A thousand questions in his voice. She wordlessly stood aside. Her living room was shrouded in half-light -- she hadn't gotten around to turning on more than the small lamp on the corner table. "Scully? Look at me." Pleading, fear. She looked up, her eyes unreadable in the dim room. "I know, Mulder. I know." "You're OK. You're coming back." Almost a question. "Of course, Mulder, what else would I do? Don't you want me to?" "Of course I do, it's just...." She closed her eyes, and gave a tiny sigh. "It's just that now we know, Mulder?" His heart stopped, stuttered, started again. His lion-hearted Scully. He reached out and allowed his fingers to trace her cheekbone. "Yes." She inhaled sharply, but stepped back. "It doesn't have to..." He followed her, cutting her off with gentle fingers across her lips. "Don't say it, Scully, don't say nothing's changed. It has. Everything has. "God, Scully, don't back away from this. I can't lose you again. Any part of you. I almost lost you." He was trembling. Instinctively she pulled him into an awkward embrace, their heights making it ridiculous. "Shhh. It's ok, Mulder. I'm here, I'm not going anywhere. It's ok, now. It's ok." And then she was trembling, too. The full meaning of the day's events finally making themselves clear to her. He buried his head in her shoulder for a moment, and then straightened and pulled her fully against him, resting his cheek on her shining hair. Holding her so tightly against his body that she could feel the pulse under his skin. They stood there for countless minutes. Reassuring themselves that they were real. That they were. Finally, reluctantly, she stirred. Loosened her hold enough to look up at him. "So what now? The X-Files..." He smiled. "Can wait until tomorrow." His eyes darkened and then caught fire. He brought his hand up and gently tangled it in her hair. "Scully. We got a gift today. I won't waste it. We can't waste it. These past few months..." His voice caught, snarled in the memories of the pain, the waiting. "What we shared -- it wasn't just the cancer. Well, it was, and it wasn't. It was just time, you know?" Her hand gently traced his collarbone, out to his shoulder. "I know, Mulder, but we have things left to do...to find, and the Bureau won't....." He cut her off again, "The Bureau doesn't matter right now, Scully, just you and me. Morning will come soon enough." Gentle, oh so achingly gentle. The first brush of his lips over hers was feather light, a blessing, a whisper. And then there was no fear. No doubt. No decision at all. Her breath caught in her throat as she moved deeper into his embrace, pulling him closer, farther in. Willingly drowning. He paused ever so slightly and deepened their kiss -- almost fiercely -- rejoicing in their lives, in them. She was lost. Adrift on a tide of desire, of arousal, of love. She was found. This was home. This was safety. This was truth. Nothing else mattered or even existed. In the end they moved beyond language. Their hands spoke for them of fire and water and air. Their lips told of now, of then, of forever. They moved effortlessly through the night. Liquid and sweet, hot and light. Carried on currents of passion, and intensity, and hope. Exulting in surrender. Finally they lay on her bed, at rest at last. Spent. Complete. Whole. There would be no more good-byes. END Many thanks to KL for beta reading and help. All feedback welcome! hereafter@juno.com