Author's Notes:
Story takes place before the events of "I want to believe". Medical reference is based on Google, Wikipedia and too many Medical TV shows.
Title is a working title and might change as I progress with the story.
Disclaimer: The X-Files belongs to 1013 and Chris carter. I am here to cause only suffering and pain to my fave characters.
"Closet of Eternal Sorrow"
Dr. Dana Scully peered through the room's glass window. The child in the bed appeared to be asleep. Her tiny bald form seemed to almost disappear amidst the bulk of her coverings and the various tubing protruding from her.
Scully remembered the first day she met Brylee. It was over a year ago. Brylee was five then, a feisty five, filled with exuberance and unable to stand at one spot for more than a couple of seconds. She was short for her age, but what she lacked in height, she made up with her impressive personality. She was sharp and witty, and Scully thought she was probably of above average intellect.
She recalled how Brylee used to dash through the hospital halls in those early days, before treatment began. She would smile at the sound of the young girl's voice screeching through the corridors, informing the staff that Brylee was about to arrive, and soon after she would be sprinting right into Scully's arms. Scully would cup the child's pointed chin in her hands and ask her about her day and Brylee was delighted to get somebody's full attention and she was eager to share every single detail.
Brylee was diagnosed with Neuroblastoma after her doctor noticed she was extremely pale and treatment for her anemia wasn't working. She was referred to Scully who had treated a number of children with the same condition and although Brylee's cancer was hard to treat, Scully was optimistic. Brylee seemed to be in the early stages of the illness and aside from her pallor, she appeared asymptomatic. But, despite high hopes and great efforts, the child declined rapidly over the year of treatment, and the once lively blond girls who roamed the oncology department halls, had become bedridden and stripped of even the most basic capabilities as the disease spread through her tiny body.
The final scans and lab results had left Scully no choice. Brylee's short life had reached its final stages. It was up to Scully to inform her mother of her daughter's upcoming demise.
Scully's gaze wandered across the room and landed on a huddled form, folded within itself. Miranda Sanders slept uncomfortably on a hospital bedside chair, her head tilted to the right, seemingly about to break apart from the woman's neck. Scully imagined how stiff she would be once she woke up. She knew Miranda was having back pain from her continued vigil over her daughter. The mother never said a word, but Scully would see her constantly rubbing the small of her back, attempting to untwist her shoulder blades or pressing firmly on the back on her neck, trying, in vain, to untangle her taut muscles.
It was time. Scully couldn't stall any further. She'd been trying to find a way out, a hint of hope for Brylee all through the week, but as the tests and scans amounted, she found herself constantly hitting dead ends. Whichever approach she took, she eventually ended hitting another obstacle, and then another, and another. Brylee's body was riddled with metastases, and they weren't responding to any of the treatments. She'd spent endless hours in the lab, trying to figure out a solution, but she finally had to admit defeat.
She heaved in a deep breath and pushed the door handle as she entered the sick child's room. The strong antiseptic smell attacked her nostrils. She was supposed to be used to it, but today her senses felt heightened than usual. She knew it was due to the fact that she was about to inform a mother that her child was dying. She worked with lost causes and she knew the consequences but it never became easier. Whenever she had to deliver a death sentence, she felt as if she was the one who was tying the noose around the child's neck, and the one who was pushing the stool from under him or her. At that moment, her senses became the sharpest. Every sound amplified, every smell intensified. Her vision was like a hawk's, catching the tiniest changes in a person's skin complexion as the news hit him or her. The sensation of touching a grieving parent would feel like an electric current coursing through her veins, eventually reaching her heart and she could feel each heartbeat as if it were lava eruptions from a volcano.
Despite her intense bodily reaction, she would keep an almost cool façade. It was a testament to the control of her mind over her body. She would know just the right amount of emotion she needed to express in front of the parents. She would never commit to her true emotions, she would never lose control. She would allow just a tiny dampness to appear in the corner of hers eyes, she would have a minor crack in her voice. Every detail of remorse was calculated. Nothing was left to chance. Nobody would know how deeply she felt about the loss of her young patients. Nobody.
She gathered herself as she approached the sleeping mother. As she stood before her, about to destroy all shred of hope in the woman's life, Scully remembered their first conversation.
"Ms. Sanders, my name is Dana Scully. I will be treating Brylee. I'm very hopeful about her prognosis. With aggressive treatment, I believe we can beat this disease."
Miranda was more than grateful. To Scully's surprise, the short petite woman stepped up to her and encompassed her with her arms. Her embrace was so strong; Scully feared she would stop breathing. Parents did embrace her, it wasn't uncommon, and yet Miranda's reaction did take Scully by surprise and she had to fight to keep her mental balance and not to shudder at the immense show of affection bestowed upon her by somebody who was basically a total stranger.
Soon after they had moved to first name basis. It was then that Miranda began trying in earnest to find ways to show her gratification to Scully. She'd leave her little trinkets; a cup of coffee in the morning, decaf and low fat soy milk, a tiny plant for her office (a collection of herbs), a beautiful blue scarf that complemented Scully's eyes. Scully felt very uncomfortable and as Brylee's health began to take a down turn, she felt far worse. The sicker Brylee got, the more gifts Miranda left, as if believing that her offerings to her medical Goddess would change the outcome. Scully found out that the bewildered mother was snooping around, trying to learn as much as she could about her child's physician so that she could find the appropriate gifts for her. Scully didn't make her life easy, being the private person that she was. Miranda was tenacious, but Scully managed to keep her at bay. She never found out where she lived, or with whom she was living and she had no clue regarding her illustrious past.
Some of Miranda's latest gifts took a strange twist. She would leave self-made dolls on Scully's desk that gave her the creeps. She didn't know exactly why. There was nothing logical about her feelings. It was just that all the dolls looked like little Brylees. Some were even dressed in clothes Scully distinctly recalled Brylee used to wear. The dolls resembled Brylee before her illness; some with lose blond bangs, some with braids or two pony tails. Each doll with an over exaggerated smile and huge bulging blue eyes. Scully would have preferred to get rid of them, but not wanting to offend Miranda, she'd kept the dolls in her room nicely bunched on her side cupboard. She began avoiding her office as more dolls were added to the collection. She had the strange feeling that the dolls were staring at her, as if they were trying to affect her and force her into curing Brylee. She tried to brush away the ridiculous notions, thinking to herself that she had had too much of Mulder in her head, but to no avail.
One such freaky doll was currently perched on Brylee's bed, glaring at Scully, almost as if it were taunting her. She resisted the urge to turn the doll facedown and averted her gaze. Her eyes now fixed on Miranda as she stood beside her. It had to be now. She wasn't sure she could hold on to her controlled appearance much longer.
She bent down slightly and tapped ever so gently on Miranda's hand. "Miranda?"
"What?!" the mother bolted upright with impressive speed, almost colliding with Scully's chin.
Scully managed to avoid the collision with Miranda's skull at the very last second. She quickly regained her equilibrium as she spoke softly. "I'm sorry. We need to talk. Can we talk outside?" She had to get her out of Brylee's room. The girl was receiving heavy doses of morphine, suitable for end stage cancer. She was mostly out of it, but she still had some lucid moments and sometimes sedated patients heard people talking next to them. Scully couldn't take the chance that the child would happen to overhear this conversation.
Miranda stared into Scully's eyes and Scully forced herself to keep a steady gaze. Her internal voice screamed for her to avert her eyes but her ever controlling logic saved her from behaving in an awkward manner. She was a fully-fledged professional. Nobody would ever suspect otherwise.
After what seemed like an eternity, the ragged looking mother slowly rose from the uncomfortable hospital chair and walked out of her daughter's room. Scully forced herself to keep in the relieved sigh she was holding as she followed her.
"Dana?" Miranda stared directly into Scully's eyes. Both women were of that same short build, although Dana Scully did wear high heels that gave her a slight advantage.
"I'm sorry Miranda—" Scully began, but as she'd expected, she wasn't able to finish her sentence. She'd taken that into account. She'd used just the right tone that made sure the parent in front of her got the message and Miranda was right on cue.
"NO!"
"Brylee hasn't been improving and the last tests show that the cancer had spread to her brain. I've tried everything in my power but I'm afraid we have reached the end of the line."
Miranda was sobbing heavily. She didn't hold anything in. What little makeup she had put on that morning had begun to mix with the flow of warm tears trailing along her cheeks, her skin turned puffy and red, her cries of terror and anger and sadness all mixed up into a terrible wail. She fell onto Scully, her face burrowing into the petite doctor's shoulder, her lament now muffled, but still quite audible.
Scully gently put her arms around the sobbing mother. She didn't crush her, but she made sure her embrace was registered. She waited patiently for Miranda to collect herself. There was a process to endure and it was almost ritualistic. Scully had practiced it too many times and she was well trained. She didn't stir. It was up for the grief stricken parent to make that move. Her part was essentially done. She just served as a wailing wall, accepting the pain and sorrow of parents engulfed by loss.
Scully expected Miranda to follow the pattern. Things were indeed going as planned. Gradually Miranda seemed to calm down. The audible cries gave way to quiet sobs that shook the mother's body as well as Scully's until the shaking too, died. Scully waited patiently for the next step. Detachment. Miranda was supposed to break away from Scully and go back to her daughter. Scully knew that usually at this stage the parent would withdraw within oneself and begin the process of acceptance.
So it was almost shocking for Scully when Miranda didn't stick to the program. She slowly pulled herself away from Scully but instead of walking back to her daughter's room she looked up and stared sharply into Scully's eyes and what Scully saw in her expression made her cringe inwardly. There was fierce hatred and unabated anger pouring out of them. "You promised she would be alright." Miranda said quietly and the low tone of her voice felt so ominous, Scully had to fight her reflex to run away.
"I know. I thought I could." She wanted to say she was sorry, but she knew better. It was pointless.
Miranda turned around and went back into her daughter's room. Scully remained standing in the hallway, unable to move. Miranda's extreme reaction was still lingering in the air. Scully could feel her heart begin to beat faster. She felt upset. Her façade was cracking. Tears began to well up in her eyes and throat. No! There was no way she was going to break down right outside the dying girl's room. She felt herself moving. She walked as fast as she could. She would have run, but running in a hospital meant an emergency and it drew attention. At the end of the hall there was a tiny empty closet she had used for just these moments, when she wasn't able to contain herself and had to let her controlled façade lose. She'd even nick-named her tiny place of recluse 'The Closet of Eternal Sorrow'. She was about to burst into a fully blown crying fit by the time she had reached the closet door. She tried to push the handle down only to be rewarded by it refusing to be pushed. To her utter horror her safe house was locked. It took all her emotional power to hold back her tears a bit longer as she hopped over to the nurses' station and informed the charge nurse that she wasn't feeling too well and had to go home.
She couldn't recall how she arrived at her car. Her feet carried her as if on their own volition. She was like a patient rolled on a gurney, unaware that he was being moved around. She was putting all her mental efforts into keeping her emotions at bay. As she traversed the parking lot, she still kept her meager control. She had to have some distance before she could let herself completely go.
Two Miles out on the road and her tiny Ford Fiesta filled up with cries that could move mountains. Dana Scully knew how to let go when nobody could see her. Finally she could take off the shackles of control and scream her heart out.