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 FIVE

Georgetown Memorial Hospital 3:15pm

I am so much later than I wanted to be and guilt prickles at me as I make my way along one of the endless corridors that leads to Scully's room. If it weren't for the numbers on the doors, there would be absolutely no way of differentiating one floor from the next. My hand is throbbing sickeningly beneath the piss poor attempt I have made to dress and bandage it with the one fully functioning hand I have at my disposal. First aid isn't exactly my strong point, because after all, Scully is the doctor in this partnership and I've lost count of the amount of times she has had cause to patch me up over the years when I've fallen headlong in to one dangerous situation after another.

Mostly though, the injuries have either been caused by the actions of another or by my own occasional blindness to the risks surrounding me as I jump my size tens straight in to danger.

Self-inflicted injury is rare. Although not unheard of for me when the pressure builds inside me and demands release. Oh yeah, I've punched a few walls in my time and in the battle between man and solid object, solid object has usually prevailed; but I've generally been able to hide it from Scully. Who wants to admit to their partner that they have lost control just enough to make bruising their knuckles preferable to the kind of mental castigation I had become so adept in meting out to myself? That the prospect of physical pain was far, far less damaging than its mental counterpart?

But smashing a mirror with my bare hand? That's a new one on me and I was actually taken aback by how much it fucking hurt. And as I thrust my bleeding hand under the cold tap in Scully's bathroom, the sight of the blood from the deep cuts mingling and swirling with the water as it circled down the drain caused me to almost lose the precarious hold my stomach had on the crappy hospital food I had shovelled down earlier in the day.

I was exhausted, emotionally and physically from the events not just of the previous day, but of the weeks and months that came before and perhaps for the first time I admitted to myself that I was precariously balancing on the edge of reason. That at any point I would come crashing down and God knows who I might bring down with me. I had already proven today that my thought process was pretty screwed, first with that cancer ridden bastard and more crucially, with Scully's Mother. I should have at least tried to justify Scully's need to protect her from the worst that this disease could bring. To make her understand that this is Scullys attempt in some way to preserve a memory of her that wasn't tainted by blood and pain and the desperate fear of death.

For Scully I should have made her understand.

But instead I had just stood there and said nothing. Not one fucking word of comfort did I offer a woman who, like her child, has remained allied to me even in the face of so much heartbreak.

Bill Jr once stood before me and called me a sorry son of a bitch; and I hadn't found any good reason before or since to disagree with him, least of all today.

But despite the dread I feel at facing Scully, who, sick or not will surely require an explanation as to why my battered knuckles are swathed in a loosely tied bandage that the blood had continue to seep slowly through to bloom like a red rose on the cloth surface, there is one small light on my horizon, a light as always that came straight from her.

A call as I was engaged in trying to pack a bag for her. News that she was being moved out of the ICU and in to a general ward. Her vitals were all good. Oxygen saturation levels back within normal range. And while she still felt tired and nauseous, a few hours sleep had more or less returned her back to normal. Or at least whatever passed for normal these days.

But it was good news. The best news I could have hoped for given the circumstances and I had grabbed hold of it and held on, because it meant we were one step closer to her coming home. That this time, the darkness had been held at bay and whether we held it back for a week or a month or a year, each small victory was precious and to be quietly celebrated; small battles to be won even if we would eventually lose the war. And I would take each of those battles and store them away so we might draw strength from them the next time. Because, while I'm unsure of some things, I do know with a certainty that almost swallows me whole, that there will be a next time. That the battles will keep on coming until eventually the fight becomes too great and the battle too exhausting.

But for now, for now, we are winning.

And I will hold on to that.

I'm so deep in thought that I walk straight past Scully's room and have to backtrack a few feet. The door is slightly ajar but I still tap lightly to alert her to my presence. I think I expected her to be sleeping, or at the very least resting atop the bed. But in fact, she is standing at the window, forehead resting against the cool glass, as she observes the hustle and bustle of the grounds beneath her. The room is bathed in weak winter sunshine and it surrounds her body like a halo, blending the lines of her body in to an aura of white light; a perfect living silhouette against the bright light behind the glass. The effect is mesmerising, almost angelic. And I am quite literally rooted to the spot.

Scully is a deeply spiritual person. She holds her faith before her like a protective force and while i don't share her belief I can appreciate what it means to her; to be able to draw on that same faith in much the same way I have always found my own particular faith in the truth. But just for a moment, I can appreciate what having Scully's faith might mean; that even in the midst of so much darkness, the brightness of light will always prevail.

Dana Scully

My guiding light

And then she turns, smiling as she realises it's me. She is perhaps the only person on this earth who has ever smiled at me like that when she sees me, a smile that affirms every single time I see it that I am wanted. That I am still worthy enough for someone to be pleased I am there with them.

I dump the holdall on the bed and cross the short distance that separates us, scrutinising her face carefully even as I cup my hands either side and drop a gentle kiss on her lips. She still looks tired, frighteningly pale, the billowing hospital gown she wears serving to make her look so much more fragile than she really is. And of course she is shoe-less. The thin hospital issue socks on her feet add nothing to her height and I try to force back the realisation of just how weakened she looks. But her eyes are clear. Those beautiful blue eyes that on occasion, have almost severed my head from my body when I've got myself in to a stupid situation; eyes that can change from blue steel to soft velvet dependent on her moods. Scully's eyes, the windows to her soul and like me, the only part of herself that cannot lie, which is probably why in the past we have turned away from each other so many times. To hide truths from each other not ready to be spoken.

But today, now, I see nothing within them to mar their clear beauty. Her mind is peaceful. She isn't in pain. I don't need anything else.

But then as my lips track upwards, lingering for a moment on her forehead before I rest my chin on the crown of her head, dropping my hands to her waist as I tighten my grip on her, drawing her against me, I feel a subtle shift in her focus.

"Mulder your hand.."

Busted.

"It's okay. It's nothing."

But she won't be deflected, stepping out of the embrace as she catches hold of my wrist, brow furrowing as she takes in the blood soaked bandage, her doctors training, her need to nurture, to protect immediately rising to the fore and not for the first time I can't help but think what an amazing Mother she would have made. But that chance has been taken from her. Like so many other hopes and dreams have before.

I once told Scully that I had never seen her as a Mother before.

But now that she can't have it, sometimes it's all I see.

She guides me to the bed and pushes me gently in to a seated position, her deft fingers unwrapping the bandage that has loosened since my clumsy application. And she frowns as it becomes obvious that with each layer she removes, the more blood is apparent. Until finally the bandage is off, discarded carelessly on to the floor below and I can't help a strangled hiss as her fingers press around the edges of the deepest wound. An inch long, deep cut that starts at the base of my index finger and curves its way in a near perfect half moon around the knuckle of my middle finger. The skin at the top of the knuckle is missing and I am suddenly struck by the way it resembles a question mark.

"Mulder this needs stitching. What did you do?"

I refuse to look at her, ashamed suddenly that in the midst of everything she is fighting; her focus is for me and me alone.

"Would you believe me if I told you your bathroom cabinet fell on to my fist?" I try to keep my voice light but obviously my pathetic attempt doesn't fool her for a second because her eyes are suddenly so filled with sorrow I could scream.

I allow her to draw me towards her, feel her hand cool on the back of my neck tracing circles with her thumb, and even though I am aware always of that tiny ridge of scar tissue, she doesn't notice. And for that I am infinitely thankful.

"I'm sorry Mulder."

Her admission is unexpected because I can't think of a single thing she has to be sorry for. Until...

"My Mom came by. She told me what happened."

And then I understand.

"I shouldn't have put you in that position. I'm sorry."

I nod, keeping my eyes closed as I rest my face against the soft pillow of her breast. I am so tired I just want to remain there forever. Safe, protected, fulfilled in the arms of the woman who makes the very universe make sense to me. She doesn't mention my other visitor and I can only assume that Maggie had more important things to discuss with her.

Maybe I will tell her later.

Probably I won't.

"It's okay Scully." I say, even though nothing is really okay right now.

I feel her lips press in to the crown of my head and she remains there for a few seconds, breathing in the scent of my recently washed hair. And I'm not surprised by her whispered entreaty.

"Lets go home Mulder. I just want to go home."

XXXX

8:05pm

Despite Dr Zuckerman's protestations to the contrary, Scully had refused to be deflected. I could have told him he was wasting his time even as he quietly laid down all the reasons why it would be better for her to remain in the hospital just for one more night. One more night to ensure she was strong enough to return home.

He obviously had no concept as to just how strong this woman really is. And while I know Scully holds him in great regard, both as her Doctor and as a human being, she had made up her mind. Eventually though, she had reached a small compromise – she would remain resting in her room for as long as it took me to be processed through the ER and to receive treatment on my injured hand. He had raised his eyebrows questioningly when faced with the jagged mess of cuts and bruises that criss- crossed my bloodied knuckles and I had almost snorted out loud when Scully explained that the damn bathroom cabinet had fallen off the wall. Sometimes, just sometimes, she is so damn adorable I could cry with laughter at some of the things she says. It was one of the reasons I fell in love with her I think. Her ability to deliver the most outrageous reasoning while maintaining a perfectly straight face.

So I had obediently made my way down to the ER and tried to patiently wait it out as I was put through the rigours of the system; triage, X-Rays, stitches and a further wait at the hospital pharmacy to collect antibiotics to stave off infection. And it was over 4 hours before we were finally able to leave.

Scully refused point blank to leave in a wheelchair. She was perfectly capable of walking she insisted and the harried nurse finally shrugged in a 'suit yourself' kind of way and left us to it.

As we left the main building, I glanced at our reflections in the window. Scully was dressed now in the clothes I had brought from home for her; dark blue jeans, a soft cream turtleneck sweater and her brown suede jacket. And just for a second, I could pretend she wasn't sick at all. The holdall was slung over my shoulder, held lightly in place by my injured hand. It hurts like hell but it means my other hand is free to entwine fingers with Scully. Her hand feels warm in my palm and it's a good feeling.

We stop briefly outside the doors, breathing in the chill air, our breaths turning to vapour, mingling together for just an instant before disappearing up in to the darkness of night and as her fingers tighten slightly I stop and look down at her.

"You okay?"

She smiles at me then, and it's a smile that is tinged with sadness, because we both now she isn't okay. Not really.

But then her expression clears, her eyes catching the light from the lamps that border the hospital entrance.

"You promised me cake right?"

I laugh.

"Yeah. I promised you cake. And candles. Lots of candles."

"And ice cream?"

"Sure if you want."

Scully nods, considering my words.

"Cake makes everything okay Mulder"

And I think that tonight at least, that we are going to survive.

Continued chapter 6

Authors Notes -

I know this chapter doesn't move the story on at all but I needed to give them a break from the heartache for a while. And while there is an undercurrent of sadness running through it, I hope what I hoped to achieve with this chapter translates well.

Please keep reviewing. It means so much to me. I am humbled by how much feedback I've had for this story, a story that I first thought of way back in 2000. To be bringing it finally to life is an amazing experience.

Ally x