Title: Ending a Parallel
Author: Diandra Hollman
E-Mail: diandrahollman@yahoo.com
Website: http://thexfilesoutlet.tripod.com/main/index.html
http://dta_fic.tripod.com/main/index.html
Rating: PG? Maybe PG-13 for depressing situations. :)
Classification: V A
Keywords: Reyes POV, Character Death (sort of), strong DRF
Spoilers: 4-D (:::gasp::: Yes! I actually have a spoiler!) :)
Disclaimer: If I owned them I'd have a lot more money than I do
now...
Archive: Yup! Anywhere, just let me know please!
Summary: "I'm trying desperately not to cry. I'm trying to be
strong...for both of our sakes."
Dedication: To my fellow Doggett Torturers for your support.
You guys rock! :) Ahem...thank you. Oh, and to Lisa
for coming up with the title. Thanks Lisa! :)
Author's Notes: If you are looking for a happy little piece of
fluff, then turn your butt around and find something
else to read 'cause this ain't it! This has nothing to
do with either of my works in progress. Sorry... This
just came to me last night and I had to stay up until
nearly one o'clock in the morning to finish it!
Well...all that said, I hope you like it! :)


Ending a Parallel
By Diandra Hollman

My body feels heavy as I walk down the hospital corridor. It
feels numb. My mind screams at me to turn around and run in the
other direction until I can't run any more. And yet my body
keeps moving forward...I am powerless to stop it.

I open the door to your room, almost expecting you not to be
there. For a moment I wondered if - when Lukesh died -
everything had returned to normal...to the way it had been when
you walked into my apartment that morning.

My heart breaks a little more each time I see you lying there
in that hospital bed...helpless...hopeless...mute...until I
think I might die from the pain.

I know what I have to do now...God, I wish I didn't! This has
to be the most difficult thing I have ever done in my life. I
know it's the only way we can reverse the mess Lukesh created.
I just wish I didn't have to be the one to do it. But I'm the
one you asked. Who am I to deny you your last wish?

My mind rallies against that thought. I refuse to believe this
is the last time I will ever see you. I'll pull the plug and
the next thing I know you'll walk through the door and ask me
what the hell I'm doing standing over an empty bed. You won't
remember any of this. Maybe I won't either, but right now, I
find it impossible to believe that I will ever forget.

I close the door softly behind me and lock it. I can't afford
to let anyone interrupt me. I may never get the courage to do
this again.

Your eyes follow me as I walk to your side, my traitorous legs
starting to go weak, threatening to spill me to the floor in an
effort to prevent me from doing what I am about to do.

It feels like hours later when I finally reach your side. I'm
trying desperately not to cry. I'm trying to be strong...for
both of our sakes. I take your hand in mine, stroking the back
of it gently. Words seem unecessary and inadequate at this
moment. I can feel the tears pooling in my eyes, but I
stubbornly hold them back. I look into your eyes and see
everything. Your pain...your desperation...your trust...I close
my heart to the rest. Anything else I see would only serve to
weaken my resolve.

Before I can change my mind, I reach over to the monitors,
loathe to break eye contact with you in what may be our final
moments together... NO! I won't believe that! I can't...

I turn off the alarm. No one will come running to save your
life now. You wouldn't want them to... I pause before I flip
the cover over the power switch. It suddenly seems so
daunting... The voice in the back of my head reminds me that
it's not too late to change my mind. But I know I would be
betraying you if I did. If my theory is right, then you don't
need a medical miracle to be able to walk again. You'll simply
go back to being the man you were before this nightmare
started. But what if I'm wrong? What if your visit to my
apartment had been some sort of dream of mine? What if this is
the only reality?

I realize with a sudden clarity that it wouldn't matter. I've
been your friend long enough to know that you would not want to
live your life as a quadriplegic. If I'm going to grant your
wish, I have to pull the plug regardless of what the outcome
may be.

Dear God...please forgive me.

With my heart lodged firmly in my throat, I push the button. I
turn back to look into your eyes and I see gratitude, sympathy
and peace. You have accepted your death. If you could have
pulled the plug yourself, I'm sure you would have. You know how
painful it was for me to do it for you, and you appreciate that
I have faced that personal hell for you.

I feel your finger stroke the back of my hand - the only part
of your body that remains under your control. It is a gesture
meant to comfort me, to assure me that I have done the right
thing. I feel a sob rise in my throat. I can't be strong for
much longer.

I can feel the moment when your life leaves your body. A strong
sense of emptiness threatens to overwhelm me. I want to start
screaming and never stop. I can no longer hold back my tears;
they pour freely down my face.

What do I do now? What have I done? Oh, God, I hope I haven't
made a mistake.

I gently place your hand back on the hospital bed. I close my
eyes, hoping - more than I have ever hoped for anything in my
life - that when I open them you will be gone.

A strong wave of relief washes over me when I open my eyes and
see that my wish has come true. Confusion follows closely in
its wake as I realize that I'm no longer in the hospital. How
did I get back in my apartment? What happened to the clothes I
was wearing?

"Monica, forget the plates, will ya?"

I turn around, startled. I stare for a moment in disbelief.
Even though this is what I had wanted, I'm afraid I'll find out
it's just a cruel trick...of God, of fate...of my own mind. You
stop when you see my tears. As far as you're concerned, I've
only been gone for a few seconds and you don't understand how
my mood could have changed so dramatically and why. You will
never know what, exactly, happened to me. Hopefully you will
never have to.

You are asking me what is wrong. How do I explain it to you? I
don't even try. I just walk across the kitchen into your arms.
I hold on like I never want to let go. Perhaps I really don't.
You return my hug awkwardly, knowing that I need comfort, but
unsure of how to comfort me. You don't have any words to
reassure me, but I don't need them. I just need to feel you, to
know that you are healthy, strong and *alive*.

That is more than enough.


THE END