FADING LIGHT - Part II

By

AllyinthekeyofX

SUMMARY - Mulder learns that promises, secrets and lies are not mutually exclusive and as Scully gets sicker, his faith starts to wane.

ARCHIVE - Anywhere, but please let me know.

DISCLAIMER - All characters contained within are the property of FOX and Ten thirteen productions.

FEEDBACK - Yes please. Everyone loves a review. It costs nothing but a couple of minutes of your time. The writing process takes MUCH longer and reviews make it worth it.

AUTHOR'S NOTES - This is part two. I was going to post each part separately but have listened to your feedback and am keeping everything together. I was also not going to post until part 2 was complete, but you are an impatient lot so decided to post each chapter as I wrote it. That way you get to come along for the ride lol. A HUGE thank you to the amazing feedback I have received for this story so far. And for the messages, favourites and follows. You have made a middle aged woman very happy and eager to get this done. So please keep reviewing!

Ally x

CHAPTER ONE

Georgetown Memorial Hospital.

The nosebleed when it came, was an unwelcome shock and for the first time, I was forced to acknowledge, really acknowledge that I've been a fool.

That I've been lied to.

So desperate was I on hearing that Scully's cancer was back that I didn't once stop to think that he would lie to me. I didn't believe it. I couldn't believe it. That after all these years of him wanting to own me, that his intentions would be anything but disingenuous was a scant hope at best but nonetheless it has been a hope I have clung on to.

But today that hope has been shattered in to pieces and scattered like fallen leaves around me.

It's almost three months since that morning where my partner was felled by that single bullet, a bullet that damaged far more than simple flesh and bone as it paved the way for a truth to be heard that she had desperately tried to hide from me for weeks and weeks. Even now, months later, the hurt is still there, burning inside me, corroding me even as I try to reconcile it. But knowing the reasons why she didn't tell me doesn't make the fact that she didn't any easier to bear.

And I know she feels it to.

But we don't talk about it. To keep dragging it to the fore is just too painful for both of us and, if I'm honest, wholly unfair on Scully as she tries once again to battle the demon that has taken up residence inside her. A demon that will continue to overwhelm her even as she fights against it with every ounce of spirit she has in that compact little body of hers.

She has good days and bad days. And in the beginning, the good days outweighed the bad by about two to one. Her headaches, although painful and debilitating, could be kept controlled with non opiate pills. Providing she kept up a pain management regime, for the most part, she did okay and when the pain got bad she stuck her chin out with the resolute stubbornness I know so well and despite everything, she carried on. She looked the same to me as she always had. A little thinner maybe as the pain medication suppressed her appetite for certain foods and made her stomach hurt, but for the most part she remained the same. No chemo means no sickness means no drastic weight loss. It also means of course that I am losing her. That day by day, she is slipping a little further away from me.

Her Mother has tried everything to persuade her daughter to start treatment again. And I think she still believes that it was the treatment that saved her the last time around. But Scully has resolutely refused to be swayed and on the surface at least, has remained hardened to Maggie's frequent tearful and occasionally, accusatory outbursts. But on more than one occasion I have had to hold Scully in my arms to prevent her from sinking to the ground after her Mom has taken leave of the apartment, slamming the door behind her in impotent anger that her only daughter seemingly doesn't care enough to even try to help herself.

It's the only time she really allows herself to cry. Or at least it's the only time she allows me to see it. The knowledge of what her decisions are doing to the woman she loves and respects so much continue to break her a little more every time one of the conversations takes place. And I know she despises herself for it.

She also refuses steadfastly to see her brothers.

And the most selfish part of me is relieved that I don't have to face them again. To be held in contempt for my part in all this is something I'm not entirely sure either Scully or I could cope with right now. Our hurt is big enough without it being added to by virtual strangers who are happy to stand in judgement over decisions and events they are neither willing nor open enough to understand.

Maybe when this is all over, when Scully is gone, they might seek to understand. Understand a chain of events that started so many years ago when this extraordinary woman walked in to my office and took over my life.

"Agent Mulder? Dana Scully; I've heard a lot about you."

So young back then. So vibrant. So damn trusting. Not yet tainted by her association with me, with everything she has lost along the way.

But I've tried not to think about how things were in the beginning, tried not to wish myself back seven years ago so I could turn her around and march her straight out of that office and back to the safety of Quantico. Away from me; away from this quest of mine that, over time crept up on her insidiously to also make it hers. She didn't deserve it. She's never deserved it. But she took it. She chose to stay and I have to respect that it was her choice to make.

So instead, I've pushed it to the back of my mind and tried desperately to focus my mind on what we have now rather than what has been taken from us and what else will soon be taken.

I no longer believe that the chip in my neck is anything more than a cruel deception by a sick man.

And I certainly don't believe that he ever had intention of saving Scully.

A sick fucking joke taken at our expense; a final act of betrayal from a man who trades in lies.

Today is Scully's Birthday. A day where she had insisted no fuss be made. She's done the final Birthday crap before and made it abundantly clear that she has no wish to repeat the experience. Because as much as I try to deny it to myself, I know that she will not be around next year. And that she knows it to.

But despite that, I couldn't let the day pass by totally unacknowledged and even though I guess you could say we have been a couple for several months now, the giving of elaborate gifts and platitudes are not really our style. I'm also painfully reminded that I too was guilty of participating in the illusion last time around, that everything was just fine. My partner's Birthday. Dinner and a gift. Which was all great had I bothered to acknowledge it in previous years.

And although she had playfully teased me about it at the time, I know that she knew damn well that it was my way of starting to say goodbye.

I was determined not to fall in to that same trap so this year I kept everything very low key. No sparklers, no gift, no fanfare.

Instead I took her to feed the swans in Rivergate Park. And then we walked through the fallen leaves, hands clasped tightly together, not speaking much, knowing that there was nothing really to say. No declaration of love from this woman could ever make her mean more to me that she already does and I know she feels the same. I see it in her eyes, feel it in her touch, the way she clutches at me when we make love. It's in the way she says my name. The way she presses herself against me when it rains and we only have one umbrella. It's in the way she asks the pizza place to only sprinkle mushrooms on her half and the way she laughs at me when I get stringy cheese caught on my chin.

She loves me in ways I didn't think were possible.

And that's why I took her to feed the swans. Because we no longer need affirmation of what we are to each other; material gifts are meaningless now.

We walked for a long time, along the beautiful rustling path that circumnavigates the lake, pausing sometimes to rest, exchanging soft touches, feather-light kisses under the canopy of autumnal foliage that makes the perfect foil for Scully's delicate colouring. Her leg still bothers her a little although she can now walk normally and bear weight without grimacing. I was amazed how quickly she recovered given the circumstances and the irony wasn't lost on either of us when her Orthopaedic surgeon signed her off with an assurance her leg was as good as new. That it would give her years of stellar service.

I had wanted to punch a fist-sized hole in the wall beside his head but Scully had simply bestowed him with a dazzling smile, shook his hand and thanked him for everything he had done. Until later in the car she had turned her face away from me in an attempt to hide the single tear that escaped to form a tiny rivulet down her beautiful skin. I had watched it hang, suspended for the merest moment before it fell on to the collar of her shirt. And right then, I had wanted to scream at the fucking injustice of it all.

Why her? Why her and not me?

It's a question that haunts me. It's the reason I did what I did. The reason I allowed that black-lunged sick bastard to finally get what he wanted. The reason I allowed myself to believe.

But that belief is waning. With each passing day as I watch my beautiful partner fade just a tiny bit more, watch her trying to hide her headache behind a troubled smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes, watch as it's becoming obvious that the bad days are starting to outweigh the good.

And today, as I heard her gasp, watched her hands fly to her face in an attempt to stem the sudden rush of blood that literally poured from her nose, drenching her in a frightening sea of crimson that dripped unchecked on to the golden leaves beneath our feet, I stopped believing altogether.

My belief was ripped away from me even as I caught her in my arms and screamed out to someone, anyone, to call 911, feeling the warmth of her blood, her life-force, soaking in to my shirt as I ran with her back to the small car park where, by the time I got there, I was unable to breathe through the fear and exertion and yet still I clung on to her as the waiting paramedics tried to prise her from my arms.

So much blood.

So much fucking blood I truly thought she was dead.

And now as I sit outside her room in the ICU, banished to the corridor while the doctors do their work I begin to cry. Wracking sobs that tear at my chest and threaten to break me in two. I am holding on to her cross that the doctors insisted was removed lest she require CPR and I twist it around my fingers in much the same way Scully twisted that piece of cotton around her finger three months ago when I sought answers from her. She should be wearing it. It's not right that they took it from her. I will return it to her later. And I hang on to that thought because it's all I have.

Happy Birthday Scully.

Continued chapter 2