OTM sheildOUT OF THE MAINSTREAM

18-TAE

SCULLY'S CASE FILES

TAEDIUM VITAE.

Scully closed and locked the door, slid in the security chain then simply flopped onto the sofa in the dark. She was upset and unsettled and worried that she couldn’t remember a thing about the ten minute drive back from the New Horizon Psychiatric Centre over in Quail Street. Her bandaged hand throbbed and she automatically cradled it. The cuts, fortunately weren’t deep, just painful. Even so, she wasn’t concerned about a relatively minor flesh wound. There were more critical matters on her mind.

The past two days had been particularly hard. Not so much the casework; they had encountered such things before and she was able to approach the investigation with a fairly open mind. No, her deductive reasoning continued to function as well as before.

Physically she was a wreck.

She was always tired now, and a frequent, mild headache threatened to become more than a nuisance. Sometimes she could detect the unpleasant metallic taste of blood in her mouth; her legs often felt weak and there was an occasional numbness in her fingers. She was becoming drug dependent and hated it. Sleep, even stamina was difficult without chemical inducement or support. She was losing weight rapidly but had little appetite to counteract it and more often than not had to force herself to eat. The doctors advised her to take it easy. It agreed with her own diagnosis, but somehow she had this impossible notion, fear really, that if she stopped working she, too, would stop.

She was scared now all the time. Not scared for herself so much although she was - but scared of her growing liability. What she saw tonight brought it all to crystal clarity. For the first time she actually had to accept she was dying.

Moved to restlessness by these thoughts, Scully hit the table lamp switch and struggled to stand. She stood a moment then stretched sore muscles. She felt every twinge and ache now. The mirror somehow beckoned and drew her two it. She studied her reflection as she went to slip the overcoat from her shoulders, but stopped. In the refracted light the face that stared back at her looked as if it had been made up for a halloween party. She was shocked by what she saw and backed away from the mirror quickly as if pushing the ugliness away. Close to tears she hugged herself tightly, fighting wayward emotions.

The doorbell rang. Scully frowned and went to use the peep hole to check who it was. She slid back the chain and opened the door to Mulder.

He entered with a curt nod. "You should have stuck around, Scully -" (was his tone just a little condescending?). "The case has taken an interesting turn." He suddenly paused, recognised his brusqueness and his face changed

to a softer, almost brotherly expression. "Sorry to disturb you again at home." He closed the door.

"It’s okay. What’s happened?" She turned to lead him to the sofa and they sat down.

"Harold Speuller’s roomate, er Chuck -" he struggled with the man’s last name. Scully helped him out. "Forsch. F-O-R-S-C-H, Chuck Forsch."

"Right, well the guy’s gone - what’s that term that you once used, wiggy?"

Scully nodded and Mulder continued. "He says he saw Harold in their room only half an hour ago. Harold was trying to tell him something but then vanished just as suddenly as he appeared."

Outwardly she showed no emotion, but the news hit her in the chest like a fist. Still, it was clear to her that something was missing to complete the picture, vital information that would confirm the terrible implications. Mulder read the urgent query in her eyes.

"Chuck’s records show his mental condition is as a result of an inoperable brain tumour. He’s dying."

His explanation only made things worse, and Scully’s whole bearing changed. For her, that was it, and she wanted nothing more to do with it. Her face was stern. "The case is closed, Mulder. The killer’s in custody. Forget it."

He was surprised by her answer. "Forget it? This is significant, Scully, it’s new evidence."

She sat back. "Perhaps but it proves nothing." She had made up her mind and she wasn’t going to let him persuade her to change.

"Scully, it proves everything," he said in emphasis.

"Only to you. It’s an inactionable case," she explained. "You know as well as I do it’ll be a ‘diminished responsibility’ plea. What’s the point of pursuing it?" she asked, and then added under her breath as an afterthought: "What’s the point of anything?" She looked away.

He picked up on that and paused to scrutinise her face intently. "Are you all right?" For the first time he saw that she did look pale and tired. His concern was genuine.

To Scully the question sounded stupid and it grated. She resisted the temptation to scowl at the ceiling and she almost blurted: ‘What the hell do you think? I’m dying for God’s sake.’ She didn’t, she said simply: "Yes."

Her difficulties were slow to dawn on him but finally Mulder realised. "You’re having trouble with this case, aren’t you?"

Scully shook her head quickly, unwilling to dwell on the personal. "Mulder, there is no case. It’s finished. Over."

He wasn’t going to have it pushed aside without debate. "I don’t accept that. How can it be when events remain unexplained."

By then she had had enough and so told him so. "You’re always right, aren’t you, and everyone else is wrong."

Stung, Mulder put his hands on his knees to flex his arms. "I’ve never thought that. I really don’t understand you, you know. Considering your background, sometimes you have such a closed mind. Where’s your scientific curiosity?"

Scully stiffened. That hurt, hurt deeply. "I have other concerns right now." She held Mulder’s gaze as if challenging him to read her thoughts, though certainly glad he couldn’t. She didn’t want this to develop into an argument but felt she couldn’t stop it from becoming so.

Placed under a pressure she didn’t at all need, she suddenly felt

light-headed and knew immediately that her nose had begun to bleed. With an annoyed grumble she got up and extracted a tissue from the box on the coffee table to stem the flow. Mulder also rose and put his hand out to try and help her. She backed away. "No, it’s okay." She swung from him embarrassed still and terribly depressed.

"Scully is there anything I can do?" He saw her place a hand on her hip

and bring her head up sharply. There was an odd, pregnant pause.

Suddenly she turned on him. "Haven’t you done enough?" Her eyes drilled into him.

Mulder latched onto her tone. It was spiteful. "What do you mean?"

She walked away from him, towards the fireplace. "Just leave it, can’t you?"

Mulder reacted to her body language. "Go on, say it, you’ve never been afraid to speak your mind before."

In her current mood Scully certainly felt like unloading all the irritations he caused her and dumping the lot onto him. It didn’t take much to do so. "All you can think about is the work," she accused him, still unwilling to make any personal insults. Her voice was measured and low.

He spread his hands. "That’s not true!"

In the heat of the moment she turned and let him have a full broadside. "It is!" She got a little more angry than she had intended to, yet went ahead anyway.

"Damn it, Mulder, you’re obsessed, you know that? Chasing after the impossible, the intangible, the invisible. Why? Where’s it going to get you - dead, you and everyone else you take with you. After all the warnings you’d think you’d have the sense to back off. No, you’re too bull-headed to listen to reason. And you expect me to follow without question!"

Mulder kept his own temper in check, and tried to appeal to her usually so abundant compassion and common sense. "Scully, I need you to question. The work has relevance, and not just in the realms of extreme possibility. Crimes are still committed, innocent victims as a result. I’ll admit there are times when I stray from the purpose of the work - you keep me on track; you’re the voice of my conscience."

His admission caused her to falter and she had to rethink quickly to maintain her anger. "The trouble is, Mulder, you have selective hearing. I sometimes feel I’m talking to myself. There comes a point when you wonder if any of this is worth the trouble."

He spread his hands. "Surely you just can’t deny everything that has gone before, to simply cast aside your natural sense of justice. Doesn’t the search for the truth outweigh the risk?"

Scully took a moment to consider. "Maybe, if there was only one to risk. But with you it’s boots and all. I honestly don’t think you’ve ever really considered the consequences on everyone else."

He clenched his fists. "How can you say that?"

Mulder could have taken the offensive. He was hurt and angered by the outburst and his posture remained ramrod straight. He wouldn’t take this kind of crap from anybody else. "What do you want me to say, that there is nothing more important? You know it’s important to me."

Scully almost clicked her tongue. "Right, to the detriment of everything else. Running off blinding to satisfy your own ego, to simply justify the work. And you still can’t prove any of it. You’re chasing shadows, clutching at straws."

Mulder frowned and his voice rose a pitch. "How can you say that after all you’ve been through, after all you’ve seen? There’s too much investment in this to walk away now."

Scully wasn’t buying the argument, much too wired to see his point of view. "Investment? Cost, you mean."

He understood her accusation. "There are broader issues here. Don’t you realise that? This has never just been about me or you."

Scully angrily wiped her nose and thrust the used tissue into her coat pocket. "I know that, but do you?"

Mulder walked towards her. "That’s not fair. I feel the losses, too!"

Scully moved further away from him."Do you; do you really?"

Mulder stopped dead in his tracks. "What kind of question is that?"

Scully folded her arms almost defensively. She looked down. "I sometimes think you’re seeking revenge, not justice."

Mulder couldn’t believe his ears. "Is that how you see all this, some kind of payback for taking my sister? A personal crusade?"

Scully looked up, unfolded her arms and straightened. "There are rules and regulations, Mulder, restrictions and safety precautions which you continually ignore. It’s reckless and irresponsible. And people get hurt." A sweep of her bandaged hand, a unintentional reminder and her expression, as she fumbled for another tissue conveyed the accusation that ‘this is all your fault!’ unsaid. It didn’t escape him.

"Don’t lay the blame on me. This has been just as much your obsession as it is mine. I’ve never twisted your arm. You took your own risks; made your own choices. I’ve always respected that." He held her gaze. "I’ve always admired your integrity and commitment."

She made a face and a derogatory noise. "Stop fencing, Scully and say what you really mean," he demanded.

"Integrity and commitment" she made the words drip with sarcasm and venom as she lashed out spitefully, raw emotions taking control. "And look where it’s got me."

Mulder got the drift. What she was saying was that all this was because of him, and it hurt more than he could have imagined.

"Don’t you think I know that? I would give anything to change what has happened? I know what you’re going through."

She was offended by his presumption. "How the hell could you? How do you know what it’s like to have this demon inside you, killing you just a little bit more every day, knowing there’s nothing at all you can do about it? I’m a doctor for God’s sake and that only makes it worse. "’Physician heal thyself’?" she almost laughed out loud at the total futility of the saying. She went on before Mulder could speak. "When are you going to realise the cost is too high? You’ve got the Medusa Touch, Mulder, you know that?"

The last was too much. Mulder squared his shoulders, almost seeming to shape up to protect himself from a flurry of fists. "You’re suggesting I get everyone killed?"

Scully did hit back hard. "Draw your own conclusions. All I know is that people perish around you." She’d lost almost everyone she had ever cared about. She was so close to telling him so to his face, instead she sniffed and turned her back on him to look out the window, to the darkened street, somehow wishing she was out there, in the shadows, hiding. Mulder took up the thread and knew what she was driving at.

"I can’t bring Melissa back," he said in a low, emotional voice.

Scully appeared about to burst into tears but he went on. "I feel her loss, too. I owe Melissa more than you know. If it hadn’t been for her…" he didn’t finish.

She glanced back at him. Scully never considered that there had been something between her sister and her partner. Neither of them had spoken of it. Her anger subsided a little, but she couldn’t bring herself to quite forgive him. Distracted she heard the sound of a distant siren, the distinctive pitch of an ambulance and she had the vivid mental picture of it racing to aid someone in distress. Nothing could save her now. Scully knew what a elegy was: a lament for the dead.

"Maybe this is the place and time, Mulder," she said, finding the words so hard to vocalise.

He blinked several times. "You think we’ve worked together too long?"

"I don’t know."

"You know what you’re saying?"

She didn’t reply. He shook his head in bewilderment. Why did he feel so hurt and angry? Worse still, rejected, just when she needed him most, just when he realised how much she meant to him. It was like a slap in the face, and he reacted as if he had been.

"Well, I won’t give up. I can’t. Do what you like. Throw in the towel. It’s your decision, but I’ll find the truth with or without you."

Scully stabbed the air with her finger. "Which truth? They want you to believe the lies and there are so many of them now how do you know which one might lead to the truth? It’s an endless line of questions with no answers. And it’s fraught with danger."

"I don’t care. It won’t stop me."

It was like talking to a brick wall. "Goddamn it, Mulder will you just listen to me? Why can’t you see I’m right?" She spread her hands then suddenly clenched her fists and drew them tightly across her chest as if she suspected they were shaking. Mulder saw that they were, and he understood why she was so upset. Scully was caught in a downward spiral of depression and she was lashing out, desperately needing a focal point to vent her frustration and anger. She needed someone to blame. He felt his emotions take a sharp turn. Well, he would be that someone. He would take whatever she could dish out.

"I know it’s been hard and that the further we go the harder it gets, but we owe it to those we’ve lost, we owe it to ourselves not to give up. Whoever is responsible for all of this, can’t you see, they want us to step aside and the truth will never be uncovered. Scully, I need your help to find it."

She remained silent. Mulder again took a step towards her. "You’re the only one who knows what I’m going through."

A tiny nod, lips tight, the glint of a tear. She looked up at him in anguish. "I don’t think I can any more." She saw that it was something he did not want to hear but it was getting to a point where she wasn’t physically able. She wanted so much to tell him so but didn’t want to admit to the weakness. He regarded her steadily.

"All this time," he said slowly, "telling me you were fine. Why?"

She could not tell him those reasons. "I’m sorry," was all she could say.

Mulder felt the impact of her apology, so unnecessary, and it moved him so much he actually felt the sting of tears in the corners of his eyes. She had tried to stay with him as long as possible, but the effects of the cancer were becoming more physical, its symptoms more noticeable. At first the nose bleeds were an inconvenience, now they were more frequent and unpleasant. She looked almost as waif thin and her face was near to haggard. The burden, however, showed in her eyes. Despite her best efforts to conceal it, he could see her pain. Scully was being systematically worn down, physically, mentally, emotionally. The strain was all too obvious to him now. He couldn’t help thinking that she felt her life was becoming unbearably wearisome.

In many ways she was right: he was to blame.

"Don’t let this demon come between us." he appealed to her quietly.

"I don’t want that either," she said.

Mulder felt relieve, more than he would have cared to admit. "I still believe the truth will save us, Scully. Together we’ll find it. All that I ask is that you trust me."

"I’m tired, Mulder."

He nodded. "I know. You can lean on me."

She shook her head. "I don’t think I can any more."

"Why not?"

"Because it’s too late." He anticipated her and waited for the words he so dreaded. "I’m dying, Mulder." Her voice chocked off. Was it a plea for help?"

He moved towards her intent on simply gathering her up and holding her to quiet her fears, but she backed away and raised her hand, palm up. "Please, don’t touch me."

He stopped abruptly. "Scully -" He wanted so much to comfort her.

"Mulder… I can’t. Just give me some time. Please understand. I’m asking you to leave."

He stood still and dropped his hands. Their eyes remained locked until he looked down and turned to walk to the door. As he opened it he swung to face her.

"Scully, I would die before I’d let anyone hurt you. You know that."

Her eyes brimmed with tears as she nodded, even so she said softly, voice breaking, almost inaudible. "I need to be alone right now."

He nodded with resigned acceptance. As he walked out and closed the door behind him, he could hear the soft sound of muffled weeping.

--end of file--

C L Goodwin 1998

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