Disclaimer: They aren't mine. OK? None of them!! I wish they were (well, some of them at any rate). Mulder, Scully, The X-Files and any recognizable (that's the key word here, kids) situations or events belong to Chris Carter, Surfer Dude. Oh, and 1013 Productions has a little stake in it too. Me? I just take these characters out for little drives around my imagination every once in a while. I am glad you decided to come along this time (I just hope you aren't prone to car-sickness!). FYI, though the title may titillate some of you and lead you to believe that M&S tie the knot, let me assure you that is not the case...Also, I am told that the wedding band was there in "Unusual Suspects". Never having seen the episode, I am taking creative license. It never happened, you didn't see anything. Tell anyone about it, and...well, you know the rest! Send all feedback to Jen. Thanks!
Author's Note: Mare for a take on the idea that made a LOT more sense than my own. Ashley for cracking the whip even though I already have no less than 18 projects on my plate, begging for attention. Mare again for not killing me because of my short attention span with one of the aforementioned projects. Teresa because I know she'll always be there to laugh with (at?) me when I get on a roll. Mare, Ashley & Teresa as a group for reasons that are only known unto them, and as always the Bear, for making all my dreams reality.
--Jennifer Mauricio, 1998
Author's Note 2: *I am not a doctor*. I did brief research on the subject of cancer for this piece. And it's not a very comfortable subject for me for a variety of personal reasons. So if it seems it's not very thorough or detailed, that was merely to retain the author's sanity.
"Band of Gold"
He could still see her face the day they got married. Shining, bright eyed, full of love. Love for him. For a brief moment, he had actually owned a little piece of happiness.
Happiness for him had lasted three months, two weeks and one day. He used to know the hours-minutes-seconds count, too. But time had washed that much of his memory away. Sure, he could figure it out if he really wanted to. Why torture himself with that old tune when there were so many new songs on the play list?
"The Fox Mulder Hit Parade," he mumbled, staring at the plain gold band on his dresser. He took it out every once in a while, when he thought things were going bad. This always put things in perspective. At her funeral, he had been told at least twice, "It's better to have loved and lost..."
What a crock.
He had looked at the faces of the people there to pay their last respects. Many of them had stood in the same church only a few months before for their wedding. How fitting that a few of them were wearing the same outfits they had worn that late summer day. Only instead of big hats and bigger smiles, the only accessories they carried were rain coats and umbrellas.
In the near decade that had passed since her death, he hadn't spoken to anyone about her. There had been a few well-meaning souls at the Bureau who tried to approach him, and offer support. But he'd thanked them politely for their concern and sent them on their way. Even Skinner knew not to mention it. Try as he might, though, Mulder had never been able to completely erase the memory of her death and the pain that had followed. That pain was too deep, too personal to share with anyone. Anyone.
His marriage was the one part of his past he had never shared with Scully. Not that he was ashamed or trying to keep it secret from her. It just didn't have anything to do with their relationship. Samantha's story was different; it had direct bearing on their work. Andrea was...well, she was his and his alone.
There were other reasons, too. As the years had passed, and the friendship he and Scully shared had deepened exponentially, he had thought about telling her. But the events of the past year and a half made him all the more reluctant to tell her about his Andrea.
***
The couple had honeymooned in Florida; two weeks in the mid-September sun. The trip had been heaven, and ended all too soon. Not that Fox and Andrea were too terribly upset. They didn't need golden beaches to be happy. They just needed each other.
One early October morning, just as Andrea was stepping out of the shower, a bolt of pain flashed through her midsection. Doubling over, she cried out for her husband. He rushed in, only to find her bent over the toilet, sobbing.
"Ow, dammit, it hurts!" the tiny brunette cried out, moments before vomiting violently. She sat there for a few minutes, eyes glazed, staring at the back of the toilet. He turned to get her a glass of water just as she reached for the porceline again. He had his back turned, so he couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard her give a little giggle. If that's what it was, it was cut short by another round of dry heaves.
When she was done, she turned to him, with, of all things, a huge smile on her face. He handed her the glass of water, completely at a loss for the sudden change in her expression. She jumped up and nearly ran to her bedside table. He watched her pull out a calendar and count backwards.
"Are you ok?" Mulder asked, following her to the bedroom.
She giggled at him. "I wasn't quite sure what to make of that at first, but I think I have an idea. Remember how I was complaining about my stomach being sorta bloated and getting rounder? And you said it was all the left over wedding cake I was eating? It makes perfect sense." Her eyes sparkled as she gazed up at her husband. She didn't have to say a word.
"Already?" Not that he didn't want kids, or plan to have them. He just never thought things like that happened immediately. He put on a smile quickly as he watched her face fall in dismay.
"It would be great, but let's not get our hopes up," he cautioned. "After all, it could be some bad cheese or something."
She smiled, the clouds disappearing from her eyes. "There is only one way to find out." Picking up the phone, she called her doctor and made an appointment, the glee evident in her voice when she specifically told the nurse she was coming in for a pregnancy test.
Fox floated on a cloud the rest of the day. Nothing the Behavioral Science Unit threw at him could dampen his spirits. By five o'clock, he was damn near skipping to his car.
As he pulled the car to the curb, he glanced up at their apartment. Not a light to be seen. Now, this was not unusual. Andrea sometimes liked to go out with friends from work to unwind. But today of all days, he thought for sure she would be waiting to tell him what news the doctor had given her.
As he walked in, he called her name softly. Pausing to listen, he heard water sloshing softly in the bathroom. "Honey?" he called out again. No answer.
He approached the bathroom cautiously. Pushing the door open, he saw his wife, still partially dressed, immersed in a bath.
"Andrea, what is it?"
"Well, I am not pregnant," she paused, taking a deep breath. When she was ready to continue, she looked up at her husband, but couldn't bear to meet his gaze. "Oh, it's bad, Fox. So bad." Her entire body shuddered with the force of her sobs.
"That's okay, it's only been a month since we got married. We have the rest of our lives to have kids!" Somehow, this seemed like the only to say at that moment. Sure, being pregnant would have been great, but NOT being pregnant wasn't the end of the world, was it? Looking back, he realized he had been a stellar idiot for not being a little more receptive to what his wife had said.
"No, you don't get it. The doctor...he found, he found a lump during the internal exam, when he was feeling for my uterus. And he was worried about the placement, so he ordered an ultrasound. In the...in the ultrasound, it showed that there wasn't a baby. It's a growth. He took a biopsy. It could be..." her words faded out.
Mulder's horror grew with every word his bride uttered. He had no idea what to say to her. Sinking to his knees, he drew her into his arms, tears falling into her soft, chestnut hair.
Cancer scared the hell out of him. He had watched both of his grandmothers die of different forms, and the sights of their wasted, bloated bodies had never left his nightmares. It was one disease where the treatment was worse than the sickness in a lot of cases. He didn't know if he had the strength to fight this. But for her sake, he would give it all he had.
Over the next month, the doctors threw around many different theories about her prognosis. One thing was certain. Andrea had a rather advanced case of ovarian epithelial cancer. The lump the doctor had found was not the beginning of the battle. It seemed the war had begun without their knowledge, and they had to scramble to catch up. However, the doctors were confident that the spreading had been limited up to this point, and that containment was still an option. That news had been hard to take; you wanted to think that the doctors were infallible, that they didn't make mistakes. But in this case, it was obvious that they had missed something. Together, they decided it was time for a second opinion. He asked around the FBI labs, and got a recommendation for an oncologist that just happened to be someone's sister-in-law. Hell, it couldn't hurt, right? Andrea was slightly comforted by the fact that the new doctor was a woman. Fox only hoped that this doctor knew what the hell she was doing.
To this day, Fox still wondered if the second opinion was a good idea. Sometimes, not knowing was better, right? The second battery of tests revealed that Andrea's doctors had been further off the mark then either of them had thought possible.
"I know how hard it is to hear, especially since you have already been told one thing by a doctor you trusted," Dr. Cynthia Ballard said softly. This was the part she hated. She could have kicked her doofy brother-in-law for getting her into this. She watched as the couple took a collective deep breath as if to steel themselves for whatever bad news she could give them. "Andrea, Fox. The cancer has spread considerably. It is quite possible you have had it for some time, and never noticed the symptoms before. The bloating and swelling of your abdomen is due to fluid in your peritoneum. That is the sac that contains your ovaries, intestines and uterus. Your shortness of breath can be explained the same way. The fluid is putting pressure on your diaphragm."
"What about treatment?" Andrea asked quietly.
Dr. Ballard took a deep breath. Their options were few and far between. "Well, we can surgically remove the diseased tissue. The technical term for it is total abdominal hysterectomy and bilateral salpingo-ophorectomy with tumor debulking. That is the removal of the ovaries, both fallopian tubes, the uterus and as much of the cancer as we can identify and safely remove without compromising other organs and systems." She watched their faces as they tried to absorb all this. This was the hardest part of a terribly difficult job.
"Will she have chemotherapy or radiation? Would either of those help?" Fox asked.
"I don't want that," Andrea interjected. "No surgery, no treatment. Just give me some pain pills and let me die in peace."
Fox stared at his wife in horror. He had never imagined her to be so selfish! What about him? Was she just going to give up and leave him here to pick up the pieces? He turned to Dr. Ballard. "Can she do that? Refuse treatment?" He was praying the doctor would talk some sense into her. They could beat this.
"I am afraid so, Mr. Mulder. She is well within her rights. Though I do hope she will reconsider. An aggressive treatment could save her life." 'Though I wouldn't bet on it," she thought, sad that she was so completely oblivious to the human pain of impending death. She had seen it too many times for it to effect her.
Without another word, Andrea Mulder picked up her purse and walked out of the office. It was apparent that her decision had been made. "Thank you, doctor," Fox said, rising to follow his wife. "We'll be in touch."
Dr. Ballard never heard from the couple again. And that didn't surprise her at all.
***
Andrea withdrew from life- and from him - completely. By early December, she was a shell of the woman who had walked down the aisle to his side. Nothing the cancer did to her body could compare to the effect it had on her spirit. It had destroyed her love of life, and her will to fight. He lost her before they ever got the chance to start their life together. And while he was ready to take this thing on head first, Andrea just seemed to curl up and accept it as her fate.
He had tried to get her to at least discuss the treatment options, but she wouldn't hear of it. He bothered her about it so often that she finally told him to leave her alone.
"You're being selfish!" he argued, gently. "We've just started our life together! You can't just give up and leave me all alone!"
Andrea looked up at him for a few moments, not saying a word. "Now who's being selfish?"
"That's not fair-" he stammered.
"Not fair? NOT FAIR! Fox, don't you get it? I am 27 years old, and I decided today that I am going to die. The treatment Dr. Ballard outlined is worse than the pain I have day in and day out. I don't want to have all my insides scooped out and then have to have radiation and injections of chemo just so I can maybe beat this and maybe have a 'normal' life! You still wanna talk about what is fair and what is not? It's my life - my *death*. Let me do it my way." She stood there, staring at him, challenging him to tell her she was wrong.
There was nothing more he could say to that. When he had first heard the doctor utter the word 'cancer', he had resolved to fight it every step of the way. To win his wife back from the disease. Maybe he should have asked her if she wanted to fight it. He just never imagined she would give up so easily. He saw that he had two choices: he could try and push her into fighting this against her will, or he could obey her wishes and make the time she had left here on earth as comfortable as humanly possible.
He could hear his heart breaking in the silence that stood between them. "You're right. It's your decision. I guess I just never thought the 'in sickness and in health' part would come so soon, let alone 'till death do us part."
***
She died three days before Christmas.
He'd gone out to get the biggest tree he could find. She'd been too tired to come along. This was nothing unusual. When he finally got it upstairs, she was waiting to decorate it, smiling wistfully.
"It's beautiful."
"So are you."
She merely smiled again and turned away, looking tired and sad and happy all at the same time.
When the tree was done, he had gone into the kitchen for some hot tea for the both of them. He stared at the medications on the counter, his heart growing heavy. He hoped tonight would be easier. If what the doctors said was true, things were really looking up.
He stacked the tea cups on a tray and walked back out into the living room. Andrea was sitting in the couch, her eyes closed, a small smile on her lips. She was clutching the Angel tree top he'd bought for her a few days ago. When he brushed his hand across her forehead, it was alarmingly cool to the touch. Panic set in, rising as he grabbed her wrist, feeling for a pulse.
"Andrea? Andrea, please! Not on Christmas, please, NO!" Kicking the tea tray aside, he grabbed the phone and called 9-1-1. Choking as he pleaded with the dispatcher for an ambulance, he kept rubbing Andrea's hand, hoping to bring her back with the mere touch of his skin to hers.
The rest of the night passed in a blur. People coming and going. Talking to him, and about him. The day after her funeral, he'd gone in and requested that they reopen the X-Files, and assign it to him exclusively. The change of pace would help ease his mind, he claimed. Not to mention, it would be temporary; something for him to keep his skills sharpened until he was ready to go back to full duty.
Little did he know what awaited him in the basement of the J. Edgar Hoover Building.
***
No matter how much he wanted to tell Scully about his lost wife, he never could. Her wounds were still fresh, and did not need to be reopened. True, the experience explained many things about him. His unwavering devotion to his sister (at least there was always a chance she was alive), why he slept on the couch, when there was a perfectly good bed in the back of his apartment (he hadn't slept in that bed since the night before she died), and his obsession with The X-Files. They had given him something to go after, something he stood a chance against. While Scully, of all the people he knew, would understand the best, this was his burden to bear, and he would never foist it off on her.
When Scully was at her sickest, he'd actually brought his dead wife's ring to the hospital with him. He didn't know why, for it was indeed a strange thing to do. Maybe if Scully had died holding something that had been Andrea's, the two women would find each other in the afterlife, and maybe then, he wouldn't have to worry about the two of them being alone. But this time, he'd given up on her too soon, underestimated her will to live. If only Andrea had possessed half of that desire to go on.
He dropped his ring into the velvet bag in which he kept it hidden away. Back into the sock drawer it went. The band of gold, the circle that had represented the happiest time of his life, was now nothing more than a cold, hard piece of metal. Andrea had died, and for a long time since, he'd been dead, too.
He thought of something that Maggie Scully had told him when Scully was fading fast, and the end seemed all to close. "Life is for the living, Fox."
It sure as hell was.