*******
A Snatch Of Tiger Lilies
Chapter Six
*******
"Will you fight for the cause? . . .
And if, you said, I would go to heaven
Now maybe I'll try. . .
Heretics and hypocrites
wear the same face throughout the years
of telling lies
and laying blame
damn the fire
to feed the flame.
Don't dance, or sing, or try to think
Their image is planted in your head."
~Better Than Ezra, Heaven
*******
D.C. Hospital
Saturday
September 11, 1998
10:45 a.m.
*******
Mulder paced the cold hallway outside of his partner's hospital room anxiously. His head bent low, dark locks of hair strewn about the skin of his forehead in a jumbled pattern. His hands were shoved into his pockets and he lifted his head only when he passed by the small window set high in the hospital door.
As he passed by once more he lifted his head and stopped and glanced inside the room once more. He could see Scully lying cold and still on the hospital bed inside, Margaret Scully was sitting in a chair beside the bed, clutching Scully's hand. A small man stood behind her in a crisp white lab coat, Mulder vaguely recognized the man as the doctor who had brought Scully her x-rays the day before. The doctor stood behind her, his arms folded loosely over his chest as he delivered the somber news to Mrs. Scully that her daughter was dying.
Mulder gripped the doorframe with one hand, leaning heavily against it. It seemed the stress of the past few days was finally catching up with him, all he wanted to do now was lay down with Scully and sleep. Forget the Consortium and promises of things he could not accept, not even to save the life of a woman he cared for more than his own life.
Forget about the fact that she was moments from death and he couldn't do a thing about it. He shut his eyes and moved away from the doorway to slump into the bench pushed up against the opposite wall. He lowered his head into his hands and sighed heavily. She didn't deserve this, she had never done anything to deserve this kind of pain. This was all his fault.
All his fault, the knowledge came crashing down on him in waves of despair and guilt. They were doing this to stop him, Benedict had told him that. Benedict. . . Scully had told him that there was no way she would let him make a deal with Benedict and leave her.
The image of her lying on the bed across the hall from him returned to his mind and he shook his head miserably. How could he sit there and watch her die?
His self loathing thoughts were interrupted by a soft touch on his shoulder. The gesture was so familiar that he thought for a moment that it was Scully, telling him that she was okay.
Then he glanced up into the despondent dark eyes of Margaret Scully and blew out an exhausted breath. She swallowed hard at his expression, she knew whom he had been expecting. The elder Scully sat down beside him and gripped his hand gently.
"You can't blame yourself, Fox. So stop."
Mulder grimaced and glanced over at her, furrowing his eyebrows slightly. He could feel tears stinging the back of his eyes and he blinked them away rapidly.
"It's hard not to," his voice was a low rasp and he moved his gaze from her sad brown eyes to their clasped hands.
"Dana doesn't blame you," her voice was gentle and he nearly smiled as he recognized the same soothing tones that distinguished his partner's tone in her mother's voice.
"Dana loves you, Fox," she cocked an eyebrow at him and squeezed his hand. "You know that right?"
He cleared his throat gruffly and allowed a wistful smile to pass over his features. "I know." Margaret Scully studied the young man her daughter had worked with for six years silently. The sadness in his eyes that always seemed to cling to him, was so much brighter when her daughter was suffering. But when he spoke of Dana, his voice seemed to hold this tone of reverence. Margaret had heard it the first time she had met him, four years earlier when he had arrived at her daughter's apartment after Dana had been abducted by a madman.
She had seen the great love this man held for her daughter then, it seemed that everytime she saw the two of them together it was during a crisis, yet together they held strong.
She nodded slightly and squeezed his hand once more. "Um, the doctor," she cleared her throat. "The doctor said that she is in a coma. He doesn't think she will ever come out."
Mulder's face crumpled, the wall he had built around his soul to prepare for this collapsed at his feet at the older woman's words. He dropped his head into his hands and shook his head, he bit his lip hard to keep from crying, but the tears spilled anyway.
"It's too soon," he whispered in a gruff, shaking voice. "We were supposed to have more time. We were supposed to be able to be together. . . It's too soon. . ."
Margaret drew in a ragged breath and rested her hand on his back gently. "I know," her voice cracked slightly. "She's my last daughter. . . no mother should ever have to outlive her children."
They sat there in a quiet mourning for a long moment, each awash in their own grief for the woman lying dying in the room a few feet away from them.
Mulder glanced up at her again, "Can I see her?"
Margaret nodded slightly and scrubbed at her face with the palms of her hands. "Yeah, go on."
The room was dim as Mulder stepped into it, the only source of light was the golden rays of sunlight slanting into the room from the small window over Scully's bed. The beams of light danced about her head, lighting her hair with golden highlights and illuminating her skin with an almost unearthly glow. Mulder stopped for a moment, his breath catching in his chest at the sight of her lying on the bed. From where he stood she looked like an angel with her wings cut off.
He drew closer to the bed, reaching out to caress her cheek gently. He sat down in the chair Mrs. Scully had vacated moments earlier. He slid his hand down her arm to grip her hand gently. He clutched her small hand in his own and examined it gently, tracing her delicate bones with one finger. He brought the hand up to his lips to kiss it gently.
He lifted his eyes from her hand to her face, watching her for a moment, just content with the rise and fall of her chest that verified to him that she was still alive.
"Scully," his voice came out in a broken whisper, surprising him with the desperation he could hear there.
"Your mom told me that the doctor. . .." He drew in a breath "The doctor said that you might not wake up. . ." he laced his fingers through her own and bit his lip. "I . . . I can't believe that. Scully. . ." he shut his eyes, her words from a year earlier coming back to him.
"Scully, I can go to Benedict. I can save you. . . If I can save you, let me. . ." he leaned down to kiss her softly on the lips. For a breathless moment, he expected her to open her eyes and smile at him, as if in some fairy tale.
But Scully didn't even stir and he sat back into his chair, still gripping her hand. "But for now, Scully. I am here with you. . . I love you."
Still clasping her hand, he slumped into his chair and just watched her breathe.
*******
Benedict leaned back in his chair and gazed for a long moment at the scene playing out on the screen in front of him. His lips twisted into a cruel grimace, how sweet the two of them were, how in love. A brief emotion played across his sharp features, softening his steely eyes for just a moment. He had known love like that once. . . He swallowed hard and frowned, chasing away his nagging thoughts of a time long gone.
He stared intently at the screen, as if the woman lying cold on the hospital bed would transform and become her. As if the man gripping her hand was him in mourning.
In another time, it had been him, clutching the hand of the woman he loved on her deathbed. She had lain dying from a disease they had given her also, she had been given no cure.
Benedict furrowed his slender eyebrows and ran his fingertips along the smooth curve of the tube inside his coat jacket.
Things could be different this time around.
This time, she could live. . . and he could save her. . .
He could. . .
*******
Dana Scully's Residence
7:32 p.m.
*******
Mulder stood outside the doorway to Scully's apartment for a long moment, staring at the numbers on the door. His fingers played lightly over the lettering on the key he held in his hand. 'Scully' it read, they had exchanged keys years earlier after one too many mutants or psychos had attacked his partner . . . Mulder flinched at the memory of arriving to Scully's apartment four years earlier to be greeted by a hysterical Margaret Scully and broken glass. And blood. . . there had been so much blood. . .
He slid the key in the lock and pushed the door open slowly, wondering again why he was there. Mrs. Scully had sent him home to get changed and to sleep a little after sitting with Scully all day at the hospital, but he had just started driving and he had ended up here.
The warmth of Scully's home enveloped him. Her familiar smells of vanilla and something distinctly spicy and warm filling him and making him feel right at home for a brief moment, until he realized that Scully was not there.
Nothing was home if she was not there with him. . .
Gazing sadly around the empty apartment Mulder realized that he might never come home again. It was quite likely that he would never stand in this apartment greeted by Scully and little red headed hazel eyed children. . .
Mulder blinked abruptly and watched the vision fade before his eyes as quickly as it had appeared. Children? Where had that come from? Scully couldn't have children. . . and he couldn't have Scully. . . it was something that was slowly seeping into his brain as the inevitable despair set in. He moved across the apartment silently, maintaining a quiet air of reverence for this place that would never be filled with life again. He stopped at her bedroom, peering inside cautiously, half expecting her to be inside smirking at him over some outrageous theory. But the bedroom was as still and as empty as the rest of the apartment. The bedcovers were perfectly smoothed and tucked at the corners, the bathroom door hung slightly ajar, but the room was quiet. There wasn't a single drop of blood to betray the events that had occurred on that fateful night only two days earlier. There wasn't a single drop of red to show that a dying woman had lived
in this house only yesterday.
The only evidence that anyone had been there at all, was the slim book lying the table next to the bed. Mulder sat down on the bed gently, and ran his fingers along the plain cover lightly. He recognized the book right away, it was her journal, the journal she had written in the last time she had been in the hospital with cancer.
The journal she had written to him in. . .
He knew that he shouldn't open it, he would be betraying her trust. . . but something inside him niggled at him to open it. . .
He bit his lip and opened the journal, recognizing his partner's neat, flowing script immediately. He stopped at a particular date, only a few weeks earlier. He furrowed his eyebrows and paused to read what she had written.
'Salt Lake City. . . The words were my judgement. I turned in my letter of resignation to Skinner just an hour ago, stopped home to change clothes and continue my internal debate on how to tell him. Well the debate continues and I forgot to change, damn. . . he's expecting a call from me, I know he is. But how am I supposed to tell him? He should be happy, honestly. All I have ever done is doubt him, he should be glad to be rid of me. . . but still. . .. Somehow I just know he won't let me go so easily. . . that's my Mulder, not one to give up without a fight. . .. I'm going to see him now, I hope he can understand. . .' Mulder's eyes burned at the words, she had been giving up her career and yet she had only been concerned about him. He remembered the anger he had felt when she had pushed open his door with defeat and announced that she was leaving. And the cold, desperate fear that had quickly followed. She had been right, he was not one to give up without a fight, especially when it concerned her. Mulder pushed aside his
thoughts and flipped ahead a few pages until he found the date of September 8.
'Good news on the heels of our discovery. The X-Files have been reopened, we can go back to work finally, back to where we belong. I could see the happiness in Mulder's eyes when we sat in an office that contained just the two of us and a bunch of filing cabinets again. Just the two of us tossing around crazy theories and conversations no one else would understand but us. This is where he belongs, this where we belong. Things actually felt normal today, close to joyous. After the incident in Mulder's hallway a few weeks ago I was afraid things would be odd. . . but it's not. . . we seem closer than ever. That near kiss seemed destined to happen, but I still curse the bee that interrupted the moment. Mulder and I are still going strong. . .. Maybe someday I'll get that hallway kiss, but until then we are where we belong. That's all that is important. . .'
Mulder felt a wistful smile to pass over his lips. He had been happy that day, just to sit with her in their office and be back where they belonged. She really did know him too well . . . Nobody else knew how important the work was to him. . .
But she didn't seem to know how important she was also.
The next entry he saw was dated only the day before.
'My cancer is back.
Four little words that tore both Mulder and me apart.
I awoke covered in blood. . . stumbled into the shower and the next thing I knew, Mulder was there, shaking me back to life with gentle hands and frightened eyes. I still don't know what possessed him to drive to my house at two in the morning. I told my mother that he always just seemed to know when I am in pain, but this was uncanny. He arrived in under a half an hour of my discovery and I don't remember calling him. . .. I have yet to ask him why he was there, but maybe it is better that I don't know. I don't think I can handle many more surprises right now. . .
We were at the hospital within twenty minutes, probably waking up every doctor on staff thanks to my concerned partner. And by dawn I had the dreadful news.
My cancer is indeed back. It all seems to be some sort of slow moving dream state right now. Mulder drove me home and the look in his eyes scared me. He looked like he was slowly dying inside, while I got the break and got to die quickly. I swore I would tell him, I swore then that I had to tell him how much he means to me before I die. . . he has to know. . .
I love you Mulder. . .'
Mulder felt his eyes burn at the last four words. His heart swelled with love for this amazing woman and despair at the fact that she was indeed dying.
He turned the page slowly, blinking back tears as he moved his clumsy hands over her delicate writing. Something pressed between the pages fell into his lap as he turned the page and he glanced down to see a single blossom in his lap.
A single tiger lily. Mulder set the book down and picked up the small bloom, the petals were waxy under his fingertips and he set the flower aside to pick up the journal again.
This entry was different, not an entry really at all, but more of a letter. A letter to him.
'Mulder
If you are reading this, then that means that something did happen to me, and I died before I got the chance to tell you everything I need to. So here goes. . .
For the past six years we have been friends, and we have been through some hard times together. . . actually, I cannot remember a hard time that you were not there to keep me strong.
Yes, you kept me strong, Mulder. Remember that always, you were always there ( sometimes more than others ) but there nonetheless. And I love you for that. Well not just for that, I love you for everything that you are. I hope you know that. I was in love with you for quite some time, Mulder.
I do not fear death anymore, I fear your death more than I fear my own. I fear that without me you will not continue in the work. You told me not so long ago that you could not do it alone, well Mulder, if I'm gone, you may have to.
Please do not give up once I am gone, simply remember that I loved you and that I believed in the work as much as you do. Please Mulder, expose these men for what they have done. . . to the both of us and to the world.
I love you, Mulder. I will be waiting.
Scully'
Mulder sat for a long moment, re-reading the words she had written to him. After a long time he closed the book and set it back gently on the nightstand. He clasped his hands in his lap and swallowed hard, staring straight ahead at the wall.
After a long time he turned and plucked the tiger lily from its resting place on Scully's pillow. He studied the blossom for a moment. The day's fading sun beams played across the oranges and golds of the flower, as well as the hint of red that made the lily appear as though it was fire licking at his fingertips.
The colors were still vivid, the blossom still struggling to maintain a hold on life even though it had been plucked days before and taken from its natural environment, still the lily survived. But even as he held it in his hand, Mulder could see the colors fading and the petals drooping. The lily had begun to wilt.
It wouldn't be long at all before it dried up and faded forever. . .
*******
Benedict watched quietly as Mulder hurried from the building, a small flower clutched in his hand. He cocked a slender eyebrow as Mulder tucked the lily into his pocket and headed towards his car. He froze when he glanced up and spotted Benedict standing in the shadows of the parking lot, calmly brushing an invisible wrinkle from his expensive suit.
Benedict met his eyes with a grim expression and Mulder glanced around the empty lot. The place was surprisingly empty for nearly eight on a Saturday night and he glanced warily at Benedict, heading towards the other man with a sigh.
"What do you want now?" Mulder hissed at the older man. Benedict merely shook his head with an air of disapproval.
"You didn't listen to me, now look what's happened."
Mulder glanced quickly around the parking lot, still seeing no one, then turned back to glare at Benedict. "I want the cure."
Benedict raised his eyebrows, "I know you do, but whose to say that I will give it to you."
Mulder's eyes narrowed and he swung one arm out, pinning the other man against the wall. "Give me the cure!" He snarled in the man's face. He almost grinned as a flash of shock and something that resembled fear flashed over Benedict's bland expression. But all too quickly the mocking mask was back in place.
"Or what?" He gestured towards Mulder's gun still in his holster. "You'll kill me? Go ahead, you'd only be doing their work for them."
Mulder's features contorted in disgust. "Oh please, don't try to tell me that you're working by yourself now. I saw you meet Diana this morning, I know you're both working for the consortium."
Benedict nodded slightly. "You were meant to see us."
Mulder froze, "What are you talking about?"
"You have to understand that you can trust no one, not Diana, not me." Benedict sighed slightly and pulled the vial from his pocket.
"I am giving this to you because she doesn't deserve to die, no one deserves to die the way she is."
Mulder eyed the vial cautiously and took it from him slowly, pulling his arm away from Benedict. "And if I give this to her, I can never see her again."
Benedict nodded slowly, "I'm sorry, but it's the only way."
Mulder glanced up at the building, the vision of the hazel eyed children flashing before his eyes again, then fading forever.
"And they will never harm her again."
"Never," Benedict promised. "You administer the cure, but you must be gone before she wakes up. Otherwise. . ." he trailed off, letting the threat hang in the air.
Mulder nodded slowly. "I understand," he whispered hoarsely, staring at the vial in his hand. He glanced back up to Benedict and nodded slowly.
Without another word he turned his back on the man and headed slowly for his car.
*******
D.C. Hospital
8:14 p.m.
*******
Mulder opened the door to Scully's hospital room gently, standing in the dim light for a long time. Scully was motionless in the bed, as still as before, her chest rising and falling gently with the movement of her breaths. Mulder crossed over to the other chair and sat down in it, watching her for a long moment.
A tiny glimmer of gold attracted his attention and he smiled slightly at the sight of her cross still hanging around her neck. He reached out to touch it gently, the cool metal warming under his touch and a bittersweet smile lit his eyes. So many times this tiny crucifix had led the two of them back to each other. It had become a symbol of their faith in each other, not just of her once waning faith in God.
Mulder swallowed hard and drew his hand away, reaching for the vial in his jacket pocket. He studied the table next to him for a needle, finding one in a drawer beside him.
He sucked the golden fluid into the syringe, pulling out every drop. Mulder glanced from the needle to his partner's still form a moment, then reached over to push up the sleeve of Scully's thin hospital gown. He frowned, recalling the last time he had brought her back to life with a similar serum while an alien ship shook around him.
He slid the needle gently into her skin, pushing the cure into her blood, watching his life's work flow along with the gold colored fluid.
The regret in what he was losing was small now, as long as Scully was alive he had no regrets. . .
'I could die tonight, but it will have been worth it, if I could spend this moment loving you. . . I don't want to live without you. . . please, let's find another way.'
Her words echoed accusingly in his ears. She didn't want to live in a world without him, but this was for her. She could go on without him. . .couldn't she?
Mulder stared down at the empty vial and syringe in his hand and felt a wave of guilt wash over him. Had he done the right thing?
Before he could find an answer, Scully began to stir. . .
*******
end chapter six
*******