Title: Symbiosis (1 of ?)

Author:  Xenith and KatVictory

Disclaimer: The X-files belong to Chris Carter and
1013 Productions, not me. I'm
only borrowing the characters for now.  I'll put them
back when I'm done.

Rating: PG

Category: SA, Muldertorture, Scullytorture, Angst (big
time)

Spoilers: Thru 7th Season

Archive: Sure, especially Spookys!

Feedback: Love it! Love it! E-mail us!

E-Mail address: xenitha@yahoo.com, dev1025@uswest.net

Discussion List:  Yes!!! Yes!!!

Summary:  "You, Fox Mulder, have the luck of
a Buddy Holly, a Stevie Ray Vaughn, and the
entire lot of steerage passengers aboard the
H.M.S. Titanic.  Your body has been invaded
by equivalent of a Symbiote black widow.  I will
live off your passions, 'til it kills you.   I'll
record
every grueling moment of it for you, Fox baby.
And in the process I'll get what I need to keep
living.  I'm sorry to do this to you, but this is
how I stay alive."


SYMBIOSIS


Marker Date: 06-07-2000AD Archive Flag One
Planet Name
(local): Earth Subject: Fox William Mulder


The transmission you are receiving is the
recorded report of a Symbiote assigned to this
planet.  That you have activated the translator
and are hearing this message now, signifies
you are not of our species. You are welcome to
listen to this piece of the Archive and to learn
about our kind.

Scattered throughout this planet, you will find
many such reports, which all form a part of our
archive. Sample any and all you wish to hear.
Our people are by our very nature, a people
that honors the sharing of knowledge.  That we
Symbiotes owe our existence to sharing, we
recognize the universal truth -- when one
shares it glorifies all. So, recorded here,
sharing this history, is our archivist-detailed
knowledge of the carbon based life forms who
so graciously shared their bodies, their lives
and their world with us.


Report of: #8\18081957/Fox 
Local Name: Miriam *****

You don't know this, but three days ago, your
body became the new home for an alien life
form, thus beginning a symbiosis that has
existed between your kind and mine for almost
4 millennia.

Your part in this companionable relationship is
of course the host. Our hosts provide us with a
comfortable atmosphere in which to live and
the necessary chemical on which we feed.

The Symbiote, in turn, helps maintain the host
by manipulating his cells, keeping them running
in peak condition and aiding the body's natural
defense mechanism in combating disease. A
Symbiote/host alliance will last, on average, for
40 years of mutually productive co-existence.

You, on the other hand, Fox Mulder, have the
luck of a Buddy Holly, a Stevie Ray Vaughn
and the entire lot of steerage passengers
aboard the H.M.S. Titanic.

Out of the 8 million Symbiotes on this planet,
you had the unbelievable misfortune to draw
me. Look at the cards you were just dealt,
Agent Mulder -Yep, that's right. I'm the original
Dead Man's Hand.

Your body has been invaded by equivalent of a
Symbiote black widow. I will live off your
passions, 'til it kills you.   I'll record every
grueling moment of it for you, Fox baby. Should
make interesting reading. And in the process I'll
get what I need to keep living.  I'm sorry to do
this to you, but this is how I stay alive.

So, we are heading into the first chapter.
Fasten your seat belt, it's going to be a bumpy
ride.

*****

The joining occurred at Bethesda. You were
there with your partner, waiting for her to finish
up an autopsy. I, of course, was occupying my
former host, who had already been
autopsied.  I didn't enter the coroner who
performed that autopsy because he wore
gloves.  You, of course, didn't.

Since old George Stevens, now ex-Rear
Admiral and former Forensic Pathologist of the
U.S.Navy was deceased, I heard none of your
conversation until I entered you.

I soon gathered you had asked your partner,
Agent Dana Scully, to examine the corpse of a
woman who had died in her sleep. (You both
are Special Agents with the Federal Bureau of
Investigations and were on a "case". I note that
she is also a medical doctor which means that
my work is going to have to be even more
convincing than usual.)

 Also, from here on out I'm referring to her as
"her". I don't like her. At all. We do tend to a bit
possessive of our host, but you got yourself a
card carrying member of "Ball Breakers of
America" for a partner, Mulder. I think we'll get
you a medical leave A.S.A.P.

Apparently, your request that she do this bit of
forensic detective work , (without looking in
advance at any charts or reports on the
deceased) is a game you two like to play.  More
on this and what I've discovered about your
occupation later.

She had been autopsying the body of the old
woman for almost three hours and was
finishing up when you leaned against the table
old Georgie was lying on.

That's when I sensed that my new mobile home
had arrived, and I went in to check the place
out. Now, here's the strange part, and I'm
learning very quickly that with you, unusual is
the norm. -- You felt me enter you. In my 3000
years, this has happened, a host actually
feeling me at the moment of entry, less than
half a dozen times. You're strange AND unique,
Fox Mulder. Almost spooky.

She glanced up, seeing you straighten, your
face twisted in a blend of surprise and disgust.
Quickly, almost stumbling, you hurried over to
the sink and began scrubbing your hands,
rubbing frantically at the point where I'd joined
up with you that soft web of skin between the
thumb and index finger on your right hand, . I
don't wash off that easily, and anyway, by that
time, I was already inside and making myself at
home.

She strolled over to the table, checking quickly
to see what my ex-host had might have died of.
She had assumed you'd gotten something on
you;  some sort of body fluid after noticing your
disgust and frantic attempts at cleansing the
area. She checked because you weren't
suitably attired for this bio-hazardous area and
you never can tell.

"Mulder, are you okay?" She asked, leaning
over the sink to watch you scrubbing your hand
raw under the hottest water you could get.
"Yeah...I'm fine. Just got...something..on my
hand." You continued scrubbing, almost
compulsively. Skin be damned, the way you
were wielding that nailbrush, you were going for
blood.

"Mulder, let me take a look."  She gently pulled
your hand out from beneath the spray and
examined it closely.  Aside from the crimson
rash made by your obsessive attempts at being
next to godliness, the skin looked clean and
whole.  I pride myself on the subtlety of my
invasions.  "Nothing there, Mulder.  Does it hurt
or is it numb?"

You pulled your hand away and tucked it
behind your back.  "No, Scully.  Nothing like
that.  I just got something on it. I'm okay,
really."

She gave you a doubtful look but returned to
my ex-host, picking up his file.

"It's pretty obvious that the shotgun blast to the
head is what killed George Stevens. And I'm
fairly certain that it was self-inflicted" She
scanned the file and I could see her eyes
tracking over the lab results. You didn't hear
her sigh of relief when she discovered that
George had not killed himself because he was
HIV positive.

No, actually George blew his brains out
because he had just received the news that for
the third time in just under 3 years, he was
going to have to begin yet another round of
chemotherapy. My buddy George  Steven had
been diagnosed with, then gone into remission
from, cancer three times in the two years he
was my host. The disease had occurred in
three separate sites.

Get the picture, Agent Mulder, of what lies
ahead in our relationship? Most would assume
that Admiral Stevens was a very unfortunate
man to have such luck. He was a Jonah, that's
true. He became my host, and I'm very, very
good at what I do
.
You made an excuse and got the hell out of the
morgue just as soon as you could.  Your
partner was waiting for us outside the men's
room door, undoubtedly listening to the sound
of water running during the eternity you once
again began what had become a ritual.  I
spotted her glance at your hand, now red and
bleeding, when you opened the men's' room
door, but she said nothing. She didn't have to,
'that look' said it all.

*****

I didn't figure out the details of your relationship
with her until we were sitting in the hospital
cafeteria and she was eyeing you, one auburn
brow creeping upward toward her 'only her
hairdresser' knows for sure roots.

She'd asked you why you'd had her bother
autopsying the woman before we left the room,
but you'd not answered. You were still
somewhat shaken from perceiving my entry
into your life. The look of faint disgust on her
face, easily readable had you not been so
distracted, told me she assumed your lack of
interest on everything but your hand was
squeamishness on your part. It puzzled her, yet
it seems she's used to puzzling behavior from
you.

"Penny for your thoughts, Mulder." She
interrupted your train of thought. You stopped
rubbing that offending triangle of flesh, then
heaved a loud sigh.

"Huh? What was that?'

"Mulder, since we were in the morgue you've
been in another world. Care to share your
thoughts with me?"

"Oh, I was just thinking... how unfair it is that
life is so fragile it can slip through our fingers
and vanish before we even realize it's fading,
but death is so strong we almost always feel its
shadow. I mean, I know the fight makes us
stronger but..look at how George Stevens
fought off cancer twice, stood up to death,
battled it for his life, then killed himself instead
of taking a chance at winning a third time.
Why? Why was death able to outlast his will to
live?" 

You were absently messaging THE SPOT
again, and I saw her quick glance of notice.
"Maybe I'm getting old, Scully.  I just don't see
myself as indestructible anymore. I did at 25.
Well, maybe not indestructible but I wasn't
jumping at shadows like I am now."

She sighed, a belated echo of your own and
settled into her chair.  "I know, Mulder.  When I
had the cancer I came to understand just how
precious and fleeting life is.  That's when I
realized that we have to focus our what's
important. I think I finally learned to appreciate
and  make the most of what I have: my work,
my family, my faith."

"Yeah, well I was thinking maybe I might buy a
sports car, y'know?" Mulder grinned but her
eyes were only puzzled.  She didn't understand
your point.

She ended her attempt to decipher your unique
mental patterns and the subject returned to the
relatively simple riddle of the corpse that she'd
so recently dissected. 

"So, Mulder, why did you want me to autopsy
that woman? She was at least 80 years old and
obviously died of natural causes."

You sipped your coffee around your grin.  "No,
she wasn't.  Scully, she was 25 years old, I saw
her records.  Here.." You smoothly passed her
a file.  Her face clouded even before she
opened it, growing darker each moment that
passed during her study of the pages inside.

"Mulder, this just isn't possible.  Even if she had
progeria it would show up in her medical
history. Something must be wrong with the
identification of the body. This can't be the
same woman."

"I double-checked that the correct dental
records came with the body.  You id'd her
yourself."  You stopped mid sentence and grew
suddenly still.

"Mulder, what's wrong?" She gazed at you
anxiously.

"I...just feel weird, that's all.  Like something's
not right inside...no, no pain or anything.  I
just...feel ...strange."

Well, no wonder.  When one of my kind settles
in, we have to spread out.  My tendrils soon
incorporate themselves along all the nerves of
the body, and that can cause some unusual
sensations in the host.  But normally, it is very
subtle and not noticed by my new host--Mulder,
you are one sensitive guy.  Ours should be a
very pleasurable relationship, for me at least.

Scully frowned at you then announced,
"Mulder, come on back into the M.E.'s office.  I
want to examine you."

You protested, but she won. Does she always
win all the arguments?  Must do something
about that.  She led you, almost but not quite
by the hand, to the morgue office and began to
examine you.  I had no worries, of course. I've
been fooling people for 3000 years.  Your blood
pressure was optimal, your heartbeat was
regular and every test she gave you drew a
textbook response.

At the end of this hastily planned but thorough
physical she was the epitome of relief, but you,
however, were still troubled.

"I'm sorry, Scully, but I just can't describe it any
better.  I just feel...weird."

"Weird.  Is that a clinical term?" She folded her
hands across her chest and gave you a solemn
look, one brow raised.

"Mulder, you don't have to attend autopsies,
you know.  I can give you the reports myself." 

"Scully, I've been an FBI agent for 10 years.  I
am not developing a weak stomach this late in
life..." You suddenly ran out of steam as the
import of your defiant claim hit you square in
the face.  Yep, Fox ol' pal, you aren't a spring
chicken any more, but hey--who's counting?
After the first 1000 years time starts to blur
anyway.


*****
As is customary and in order to better
document my observations, I will include, along
with my archival account, excerpts from Fox
Mulder's journal


JOURNAL OF FOX MULDER June  15, 2000

That I am basically a loner by nature is not
something I need to document here.  That my
inner thoughts and musings are being shared
with no other human being, but are always
related here in these pages which can claim
with me as its sole readership, speaks for itself.

What I'm struggling to understand, the point I'm
pondering as I write this installment, is my
concern over what exactly is causing my
normal self awareness to be so askew.

I grew up with the knowledge that if I did not
take care of myself, no one would. So I have
always been able to say, with the greatest of
confidence, I know Fox Mulder.  I am
completely aware of how each cell in my body
should feel when all is running smoothly in the
Mulder machine.

Right now, I can tell that I am experiencing
some sort of malfunction, but I cannot tell what
that might be. It is this aspect which troubles
me the most, for my entire life I have been able
to trouble shoot my body accurately.  This
ability to gauge my limits has enabled me to
keep working long past the point of exhaustion.

Something is definitely wrong. The problem is,
it's something I've never dealt with before and I
don't even know where to begin to fix it.  I don't
know what's happening to me.  I feel strange,
distant, disconnected from myself.

I feel like something alien is taking root inside
me, growing into my very being, subverting my
body to suit its own ends.  If I had any recent
memory lapses, I would suspect that I had
been infected with the black oil.  However, my
memories are complete and I'm not in a
cryogenic freezer, so that's not the problem.

Part of my agitation is that I feel as though my
ability to communicate with the only other
person who can truthfully say they know me
has virtually disappeared. Usually, the so called
normal methods of interaction between my
partner and myself are not even necessary.

Scully and I never had to suffer through one
lousy seminar to learn to achieve this almost
symbiotic rapport we share. What she and I
have is all natural, purely instinctive and didn't
come from any stupid office furniture tower
building workshop.

But right now, I haven't told her that I *know*
that something is really happening to me. I can't
articulate whatever this is that I'm feeling to
Scully. 

I did try to tell her.  She didn't believe me.

"Mulder, there are absolutely no clinical signs of
illness in you,"  Scully laid her stethoscope
down on the desk as I was putting my shirt
back on.  

"Your blood pressure is normal, no heart
abnormalities, no neurological deficits and you
have no objective symptoms of any problem. 
Even the bruising on your hand is fading.  And
the only complaint you can make is your
subjective feeling that something has invaded
you."  She stood, arms akimbo.  "Mulder, I have
news for you, *every* human being is a host for
a variety of bacteria and enzymes, not to
mention the occasional virus.  We are definitely
not alone, we just pay no attention to it."

"Scully, It began at the Coston autopsy, in my
hand...when I got something on it or in it.  I
could feel a sort of tiny prickling ripple which
ran up my arm, then throughout my body. My
hand still hurts, that is the focal point of
this...thing. "  I held up my hand and she
examined it yet again.

"Mulder, all I see is bruising, caused by your
scrubbing at it so violently.  There is no
dryness, patchiness or evidence of a chemical
burn.  At your request, I biopsied the skin and
found nothing: no chemicals, no cancer,
nothing.  There's nothing there to find."

I felt uncharacteristically stubborn.  When
would she ever learn to trust my instincts? 
God, they'd saved our lives a dozen times! 
"Scully, I don't have anything objective that you
haven't already seen.  I don't *feel* right,
something's off.  Please, can't we do some
more testing?"

Scully sighed. "Mulder, I took the blood sample
you gave me yesterday and sent it to a medical
lab.  Here are the results: normal, normal and
normal.  You don't  have so much as a
hangnail.  And you didn't pick up any new bug 
from Amber Coston's body, you never touched
it.  Have you considered stress as a cause for
your feeling?"

I just stared at her.  "You mean you think I'm
finally losing it?"

She hemmed and hawed but finally said, "Well,
Mulder, it wasn't so long ago you were
hospitalized because of that alien rubbing.  But
the new CT scan shows normal brain activity,
so it's not that.  But the entire experience was
stressful for you."  She paused and looked at
me compassionately.  "You were dying, Mulder. 
That's a life-changing event. You're just
reacting to it now."

I had finished with the shirt and was finishing
with my tie.  "If that's the most that you can say,
Doctor Scully, then all I can reply is that you are
wrong.  This isn't post traumatic stress disorder
and I'm not burning out.  This is real."  I
grabbed my coat.  "Now, if you will excuse me,
I'm going home."

I caught Scully's glance at the clock: 3:30 p.m.
on a Wednesday afternoon.  Here eyebrows
raised, but I didn't give a damn and slammed
the door on my way out.

The feeling of, well, possession was stronger
than ever as I went to my car.  And with it I felt
a wave of dizziness and a strong feeling of
unreality.  I stood swaying on the concrete until
it passed, then I got into the car and drove
myself home.

Scully's been blinded by her own insistence on
objective evidence to the fact I truly know that
something is terribly wrong here inside of me. 
This sense, this knowing, started that day in
the morgue, when Scully was doing the
autopsy on Amber Coston.

My ability to work hasn't been affected; when
would I let any type of illness, body or mind
ever do that?  So, until I have something more
concrete, or at least have found some clear,
reasonably lucid way of describing my
symptoms, I'm not going to bother Scully with
any of this.

It's there, this..something.  Right now. I know
it's taken up residence inside of me. Now and
then I sense it traveling along the network of
my nerves, sometimes the maze of veins and
arteries. It as though some silent ghostly entity
is moving about my body, like a spirit
wandering though a house haunting the various
rooms.  I don't like to admit this, but I am afraid.  



Title: Symbiosis (2 of ?)
Author:  Xenith and KatVictory

July 7, 2000

We got another body, similar to Amber
Coston's.  Michael Gillette, DOB 10/13/62, had
recently retired from the Alexandria P.D. at the
rank of detective.  He was found dead in his
bedroom and, to all appearances, he died of
old age.  He was exactly one year younger than
I am, and now he's dead.

Scully and I went to the scene and surveyed it
carefully.  Mrs. Gillette was there and gave us
what little she knew.  She and the kids had
gone to visit her folks over the weekend. When
they got back, she found him dead, looking
wizened and old beyond his years.  

When she told me his date of birth, I looked at
him more closely.  He left behind a wife and
two children, both under the age of ten.  He
had a house, two golden retrievers and an
SUV.  In short, he had the life I have longed
for, but never have managed to acquire. I
sighed and leaned over the body, which had
the appearance of a man of at least eighty
years.

"What do you make of this, Scully?" I asked my
partner. She was busy studying the body,
carefully examining the wrinkling and other
signs of aging.

"I just don't know, Mulder.  I'll have to do an
autopsy to be sure, but he seems to display all
the same symptoms as in Amber Coston.  I
went back and double-checked the labs for her
and I can find no cause for the accelerated
aging--not even a sign of any buildup, such as
the 'heavy salt' we were exposed to."

She ran a gloved hand over the corpse's chest. 
"Hey, what's this?"  She removed a shiny silver
religious medal from the palm of his hand.  She
held it up to the light.  "Amber Coston had one
of these in her effects."

"So what's so unusual about that?  You wear a
cross yourself."  I examined the medallion.  It
wasn't the usual Christopher medal I'm used to
seeing.  The saint it celebrated was...St. Jude.

"The patron saint of lost causes..." I murmured.

Scully nodded.  "An unusual medal.  I don't
think I've ever seen one quite like this.  And it's
heavy.  I think it's solid silver.  Maybe we can
trace it."

She called Mrs. Gillette over to ask her about
the medal.  

"Oh no, I never saw Michael with any kind of
religious jewelry.  He was an agnostic.  I have
no idea where that came from." She turned as
a little boy, maybe five years old, ran into the
room.  While she was soothing him and leading
him away, I was struck by the incongruity of the
situation.

"Scully, this guy was a year younger than I am
and he was retired."

"Yeah? So?" She gave me a look that said
'Mulder, you're cracking up on me'.

"Nothing, Scully.  It's just that he was too young
to die of old age.  And he had so much to live
for: wife, kids..."

"A normal life, you mean," Scully sighed.
"Mulder, I've stopped reaching for normal.
These days all I hope for is a clean motel
bathtub at the end of my day."  She turned
away and began conferring with the detective
that had just entered the room.

Is that all she has left to hope for?  Have I
reduced her to this?  She used to fight, struggle
for the hope of a 'normal' existence.  Now, has
she chosen this life for herself or has she given
up?

The spot on my hand is still bothering me.  It
has taken on an odd brownish color that I find
disturbing.  When we got back to the office,
Scully caught me rubbing it again.

"If you do that any more, Mulder, you'll just
bruise it worse," she said and turned back to
her file.  I heard her tone, had read her
expression.

I'm the living, breathing definition of obsessive.
Paranoia is my middle name. I just might be
sliding headlong into hypochondria and that's
such an unattractive affliction. Even though
Scully appears to be currently lacking most of
her normally skillful perception, she has been
sharing with me useful nuggets of information
that comes from her vast medical expertise.
Now let me see if I heard this right. If I rub this
dark spot with greater frequency, it'll bruise
more severely. Wow, imagine that. She's
probably right. Seriously, I am keeping my eye
on it. Biopsy, be damned!  It just doesn't look
right to me.

Another thing I'm not mentioning to Scully are
the strange dreams I've been having.  I hear a
woman's voice in my head, speaking to me. 
She tells me her name is 'Miriam', then her
voice drops down to a soft whisper. When I
can't understand what she's trying to say, I
start to shout at her, begging her to speak
louder, but she just continues to murmur, below
my hearing.  

Somehow I sense that I must discover what
she has to tell me. I know that it's vital I hear
what she has to say.

There's probably some Freudian meaning
behind it all, but haven't got a clue what it might
be. Naturally, being it's my subconscious and
that we are talking about Freud here, the
interpretation is bound to be chock full of
fascinating insights into my sexuality. Scully
would tell me that I've been watching too many
porn videos and I'm dreaming about them now.
Do I still have "Miriam makes Manhattan"? I
think I loaned it to Frohike


ARCHIVAL ENTRY

Entry no: 2000/7/7 Report of: #8\18081957/Fox
Local Name: Miriam

 *****

I've begun to make myself at home.  It certainly
is strange that Fox can sense my movements.
Well, it only adds spice to the whole
proceeding.

I have begun to alter the cells at my point of
entry, encouraging the growth of melanoma on
the webbing of his hand.  I do find this cancer
useful.. It's one of my favorites  because it
metastasizes so easily, but begins so simply. 
They never know that there's a problem until
it's too late. It is truly a biological work of art. 

Of course, I delayed it until his doctor friend
was fed up with examining him.  I am no novice
at the art of self-camouflage, and cannot afford
to be found.

I find Fox's journal entry troubling.  Can he
actually hear me?  Surely not.  Nobody has
heard me in over 2500 years.

I will continue to observe my host and record
his reactions to the disease which awaits him.

I should add a note about the nature of my life
form, and about my nature in particular. 
Symbiotes are genetically adapted to reside
happily within a host, gathering data and living
off the body's waste chemicals.  This normally
results in an abnormally long and healthy life
for our hosts, because we thrive on such
substances as "bad" cholesterol, alcohol in the
blood stream, carcinogens and other pollutants
from the environment.  Accordingly, Symbiotes
chronicle long, healthy, happy lives and devote
themselves to details of cultural  and historical
events experienced by their hosts.

I am different.  For one thing, history and
culture began to pall 1500 years into my long
life.  I began to crave excitement, the drama of
human terror.  I became especially curious
about the human experience of death and how
it affects those about to die.

Then the 20th century came along, and with it
modern chemotherapy drugs.  My reactions to
chemo drugs in my host's system is akin to that
of a human on heroin.  After a host of mine
developed cancer, I discovered that I was
hooked, both on her terror and on the drugs.  I
needed more.  

I ensured that she survived the first three bouts
of cancer, but she succeeded in killing herself
during the fourth.  This pattern has been
repeated through multiple hosts over the past
years.  With the death of each new home, I find
myself craving even more drugs and drama.

I am already thrilling to his unease.  Admittedly,
he's the first in a long time capable of sensing
my presence.  Thank goodness for this modern
age which believes nothing which cannot be
measured by their very primitive science.

Entry no: 2000/8/4 Report of: #8\18081957/Fox
Local
Name: Miriam *****

Today I accompanied you to the doctor's office. 
You quietly made an appointment with a
dermatologist, and lied to your partner to keep
your appointment today.  She thinks you're
getting your teeth cleaned.

The dermatologist examined your hand
carefully, then took a biopsy.  He told you that it
was probably nothing serious, you only have a
mild, bruise-like discoloration after all.  But it's
always safer to check these things.  I try not to
mar my hosts physically if it can be avoided
while getting what I need.

JOURNAL OF FOX MULDER
August 4, 2000

This morning when I got to the office, she was
whistling as she replaced some files in the
drawer.

"My, aren't we bright and chipper this Friday," I
commented as I entered the office.  "Got plans
for the weekend?"

She smiled at me, a full 1000 watts.  "Yes, as a
matter of fact I do.  I'm going to the Symphony
tomorrow night.  They're playing Copeland's
Appalachian Spring, I can hardly wait."

She looked so light and carefree that I couldn't
help but beam back at her.  "So, you going with
your mom?  Can you use an extra?  I've always
loved that piece."

Her face fell a little bit.  "Uh, Mulder, I'm going
on a date.  With a guy."

I could feel the ground slipping under me.  "Oh? 
With who?"  Yeah, Scully, what kind of lowlife
is taking you out tomorrow?  And where can I
find him to kick his ass?

"His name is Philip Huffman, and he owns a
bookstore.  I met him in church."  She couldn't
meet my eyes. Small wonder, she'd see the
betrayal glowing there.  Tamp it down, Mulder,
don't let her see she's hurt you.

"Oh.  Probably a good Catholic, huh?  I bet
your mom likes him."  I was watching her
closely, trying to read her.

"Mom hasn't met him yet, but yeah, he's a
Catholic.  He runs a religious bookstore, as a
matter of fact, called Ave Maria Books." She
looked up and waited for me to make the snide
remark.  I just turned away and picked up a file
off my desk.

"Oh, well I hope you two have a good time," I
said as though she'd announced she was
having her home sprayed for ants.

"Thanks," she said, and moved back to the file
cabinet.  She said nothing when I told her that I
had a 3:00 dentist appointment and didn't react
when I told her I wasn't coming back to the
office today.

Scully's got a date tonight.  I don't know how I
feel about that.  She does have a right to her
own life, after all, and it's not like she's
romantically involved with anybody....  I mean, I
don't have any rights to her time, do I?

I went to the dermatologist that Byers
recommended.  Dr. White said that the
discoloration could be cancer, or could be
nothing.  He took a biopsy and will notify me of
the results.

August 14, 2000

Not what I'd call a 'good' day.  First, Scully
came in smiling and relaxed for the second
Monday in a row.  She has that glow around
her that says she's getting some and loving it. 
I've been trying to bite back sarcastic
comments for a week, and it's getting tougher
and tougher.  

Damn, she has the right to her own life but how
could she date this relic salesman!  She told
me the name of the bookstore, so I had to
check it out.

The bell on the door jingled as I walked in.  The
interior smelled of candle wax and incense.  I
wandered over to the book display, past the
rosaries (encasing genuine Lourdes water) and
took a quick look at the crosses set with real
chunks of stone from Bethlehem.  I glanced at
them.  They looked like pea gravel.

While I scanned the back cover of a book by
Thomas Merton, I heard 'Phil' greet a
customer.

"Why Mrs. Mackey, how are you these days?"
he greeted her effusively.

"Not so well, Mr. Huffman.  My arthritis is
getting worse.  The doctor says he can't do
much for me."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.  You know, that
when human cures fail you must rely on the
Great Physician for help.  Have you tried some
miraculous water from the shrine at Lourdes?  I
have some in the back.."  His voice dipped in a
persuasive croon.

"Really?  You have water from Our Lady's
shrine at Lourdes?  How much?"

Twenty five bucks later, she left with what
looked like half an ounce of tap water in a
vinegar cruet.  I shook my head at human
gullibility, then quickly ducked behind the book
display as the doorbell tinkled and I heard a
familiar voice.

"Phil, are you ready?  The restaurant starts to
fill at lunch time." I could see Scully move
forward and plant a kiss on his lips.  He kissed
her back, harder.  Tongue.

I gritted my teeth and tried to keep from putting
my hand through the cardboard book  display.

"Almost done here.  I have one more customer,
then I'll turn the shop over to Sylvia.  Go and
wait for me in the car, sweetheart.  I'll be right
out."

Sweetheart.  He called her sweetheart.  That
scummy, lowlife, bastard who peddles water to
suffering little old ladies called my *partner*
sweetheart.

Then that jerk had the nerve to come up to me
and ask if he could be of any assistance.

"No thanks, I was just leaving," I snarled and
left.  I did take care to make sure that Scully
didn't see me.

I was still fuming this morning when Scully
breezed into the office, wearing that "I had the
orgasm of my life last weekend" look.  All I
could do was look at her, then quietly go back
to my work.

An hour later the phone rang and the day got
even better.  

"Mulder," I answered crisply.  Can't let Scully
know I'm upset.

"Agent Mulder, this is Dr. White.  Your test
results have come back. I'm sorry to have to
tell you this, but it's positive for melanoma.  I've
scheduled surgery for you on the 16th at 2:00
p.m."

"Whaa...what?"  I slumped back in my chair.
"It's cancerous?  How serious?"

"I believe it's stage 0 at this point, that means it
hasn't spread to any other parts of the body. 
This is the least serious type of melanoma, but
you are at risk for a recurrence."

"What are my treatment options?" I could see
Scully's ears perk up at that.  She looked up at
me worriedly.

"Surgery for now, and monitoring to make sure
it doesn't recur."

"All right, surgery it is.  This will be at your
office?  Fine. I'll be there at 2 p.m. on 
Wednesday."  I put the phone back into its
cradle, then studied my hand intently.

"Mulder?  What's wrong?" Scully's anxious
voice traveled across the room.

"Nothing you need be concerned about.  Just
some skin cancer I need to have removed."  I
held up my hand and showed her the
discolored spot.  "It's a melanoma; the biopsy
results just came back."

Her mouth formed a silent 'o'.  "Mulder, I'm so
sorry I doubted you..."

I got up and grabbed my suit jacket.  "Yeah,
well, there's nothing new in that, is there?"  I
left the office and Scully behind.

Title: Symbiosis (3 of ?)
Author:  Xenith and KatVictory


Entry no: 2000/9/10
Report of: #8\18081957/Fox
Local Name: Miriam


I must apologize, but I've been remiss in my
duties as an archivist.  However, life with
you, Fox,  has been pretty busy of late.  I
am encouraging an emotional distance
between
the two of you by tweaking your brain
chemistry a bit.  Fortunately, Scully's new
relationship is helping things along as well.

Lunch with Phil three times this week, huh?
Somehow yogurt with bee pollen and you just
doesn't appeal to her anymore. Well, never
mind.  We'll find you some nice woman who
doesn't ask too many questions.  From your
conversations with Scully, I gather that you
have a long and checkered medical history,
and the apparent ability to survive just
about any physical trauma.  Very good.  You
and I will have a long and (for me)
satisfying relationship.

Because of *her* sharp eyes, I am moving a
bit more slowly with you than I normally do.
You are beginning to have bouts of nausea and
your appetite has dropped off.  But since
*she* no longer lunches with you, she doesn't
notice.


I must admit that you do have an interesting
life.  Your newest case is very
entertaining.  Another body has been found,
dead of old age like the others.  This victim
was a 14 year old gymnast named Teresa
Scartini.

You pulled yourself out of bed with Scully's
knock on the door of your apartment.

"God, Mulder, you look awful," she blurted,
eyeing you up and down.  You have lost
weight, more than you've noticed.
You leaned against the door, preventing her
from walking in.  "Yeah.  The flu will do
that to you.  What's up?"

I could see her noticing your leaning wasn't
the nonchalant variety; rather the doorframe
was keeping you from falling over.  I gave
your blood sugar a quick boost and you
straightened up.

"Another body's been found, just like the
other two.  But this time it's a child."

You grimly nodded and moved away from the
doorway, wandering into your bedroom to find
a suit that wasn't too big.  I could hear her
rustling around the apartment, taking in the
messiness and general air of illness.

"Mulder, maybe you shouldn't come out on this
one.  You're still sick." She called from the
living room.

"No.  I'm fine," you said through gritted
teeth. You walked carefully from the bedroom,
preventing yourself from swaying by sheer
willpower. She gave you a quick look, then
followed us out the door.

*****

The 'crime scene' I think you call it, was
surreal.  We entered a room that was the
epitome of 'sugar and spice, and everything
nice'. Little girls are made of bedrooms like
the one you surveyed. Sunlight filtered
through the frilly, pink curtains, to shine
upon a pink rag rug. Sitting in front of the
window was a French provincial style desk.
The computer sitting atop this study area
was new and fairly impressive. Beside it was
an open text book, a number 2 pencil rested
in the fold, holding the place where study
had stopped the night before.

The pale pink walls were adorned with posters
of the Backstreet Boys, Brad Pit and one lone
announcement of the frightening teen years
that would have come, a Death Metal band,
disgustingly called "Dismembered Fetus".
Your stomach began to churn with the
knowledge that somewhere among all this
sweetness and innocence was darkness and
cruelty, the body of a child. Scully was
waiting for you beside the canopy bed. Lying
beneath the ruffled bedspread (pink) was a
small body, dressed in baby doll pajamas
(blue, thank goodness).  The face was
wrinkled beyond recognition.

You started when you saw her, quickly
glancing away, once more taking in a bedroom
that could have been Samantha's. (Yes, I know
about her.  I've discovered a lot about you
during my tenancy).

Agent Scully began a quick examination, when
you heard a light 'clunk'.  You knelt on
the floor and spotted a coin-shaped object
that had just rolled under the bed.  There
among the dust-bunnies you found the now
familiar silver medallion of St. Jude.

"Think there might be a pattern here?" you
commented dryly, carefully handing her the
medallion with your gloved hand.

She looked at it closely.  "Yes, it's the
same medal that was found on Amber Coston
and Michael Gillette.  All of the...Mulder?" 

She had turned to confer with you but found
herself speaking to empty air. 

I'd heard her words through the door of the
bathroom where you were busily losing your
breakfast.

"Mulder?"  When the soft tap on the door
wasn't answered she entered and watched,
worried frown in place, your final (from the
toes)  moaning retch. Still too shaky even to
stand, you rested your head on the toilet
seat, taking in deep, gasping breaths.

Her hand was cool against your neck, "Mulder,
you still have the flu.  Let me drive you
home."

All you could do was nod, your eyes closed,
the padded ring still all that was keeping
you from sinking face down on the floor. She
was still standing in the doorway, quietly
waiting when you finally were able to lever
yourself upright, using the bathroom sink.

Scully had stepped aside to let you pass when
her cell rang. "We'll go in a moment,
Mulder.  Let me get this. Scully....Oh hi,
Phil..."

She retreated into the bathroom, shutting the
door for privacy. Propping yourself against
the wall to wait, you couldn't help
overhearing every word. Her voice had taken
on a musical quality, making it clearly
evident that she was very, very glad to hear
from him.

*She thinks she likes him.*  I gently
encouraged those impressions in your mind. *
She thinks she likes him because she really,
really does, Mulder.  She likes him a lot.  I'll bet
lots more than she does you.* I whispered
these thoughts into your subconscious.

Don't worry though, she isn't right for you
anyway.  The quicker we can get
this bitch away from you, the clearer my
field of operation becomes.

I gave you another jolt to the blood sugar,
so you would start feeling better.  Of course
that fueled your jealousy-inspired anger a
bit, too.  A dark, brooding cloud had
swallowed you up by the time she came
through the door. You turned, just as she was
putting away the cell phone and she greeted
you with a broad, sunny smile.  "Okay, Mulder,
why don't I drive you home now?"

Seeing her happiness made the rain just come
down that much harder on your parade."  "No,
Scully, I'm fine.  There are a few things I
want to look at first," Your reply was cold
and an icy front moved into the pink
bedroom.  For the next hour you resolutely
conducted a thorough and detailed examination
of the scene, politely but firmly cutting off
any and all suggestions from her that you
might not be fit for duty.

By the time you were quietly certain you
would die from sheer nausea, you opened your
cell phone and called a cab.  She heard your
request and with a puzzled frown walked over
to your side. " Mulder, call back and cancel.
I told you I'd take you."

Your face had frozen into a blank,
inscrutable mask, "We're going opposite
directions, it would be a waste of time."
That settled the matter, until the taxi
pulled up in the drive. She followed you
outside.

"Mulder, I don't mind driving you home." A
faint edge sharpened her tone and she eyed
you with growing suspicion.

"That's just the point, Scully.  I'm fine and
I don't need you hanging over me.  You go
ahead and do the autopsy.  I'll go home and
write my report.  And give my best to Phil."

Your last view out the back of the taxi was
Dana Scully, standing dumbfounded on the
driveway in front of the Scartini home,
watching you drive off into the sunset.
Bravo.



Entry no: 2000/9/11
Report of: #8\18081957/Fox 
Local Name: Miriam

You appeared at work, bright and early this
Monday morning.  I couldn't help admiring
how  neatly you were dressed, how calm,
composed, and collected you seemed even
though you hadn't eaten anything since lunch
yesterday. You were the picture of J. Edgar's
finest, even though you'd spent half the
night in the bathroom because even the ginger
ale wouldn't stay down.

Controlling your nausea manfully, you greeted
Scully with a cool glance as she settled into
her area with her morning coffee.

"Mulder, I've been thinking about those
religious medals.  They really are unusual,
and we might be able to trace the killer
using them."

"So you do think that this was murder?  I'm
surprised," you commented, with just an edge
of sarcasm to your tone.  "I thought for sure
you'd find that a virus or something caused
all this."

She frowned,  but refused to be baited.  "I'm
not ruling that out, but since the medals
were found with the bodies it's either a case
of a contagious disease or a purposeful act
by somebody.  Either way we locate the
disease carrier or the murderer."

"So, where are you going with this?"

"Phil knows about religious jewelry; why
don't we ask him about these medallions?"

She seemed surprised when you exploded.
"What?  That creepy relic-peddler?  Scully,
the only religious artifacts he's familiar
with come in plastic and have Hong Kong
stamped on the bottom!"

Her face froze and she reached into her desk
drawer for her car keys.  "I'm going out to
consult with him, Mulder.  You can either
come with me or stay here.  You decide." She
was halfway out the door before you
grudgingly followed her.

I think I'll let Mulder tell the rest of what
happened. The man does have a way with
words.


JOURNAL OF FOX MULDER September 11,
2000


Phil Huffman is a pompous, egotistical,
manipulating, womanizing asshole. I can't
believe that I let her talk me into going to
that idiotic bookstore.  I got to finally meet Phil
and can safely say that I hated him on sight.  If
he were a dog, he'd be a poodle.

He looked even more down at heels today than
he did the last time I was in the store.  He didn't
remember me, thank goodness.

He was at the counter when we came in,
wearing a Sears Roebuck heather tweed jacket
with patches on the elbows.  To look even
more professorial, he was smoking a pipe.
Give me a break.  His brown hair is
blow-dried in a 'do' that barely hid his bald
spot. That is, if it's his own hair at all.

Scully just simpered up to him.  "Phil, this
is my partner, Agent Fox Mulder."

"Glad to meet you, Fox," Phil reached out a
clammy hand and shook mine.  I tightened my
grip and was gratified to see his face whiten
a bit.

"Call me Mulder," I replied and watched him
surreptitiously rub his hand.

"Oh, well, I'm Phil to my friends," he
announced with a smarmy smile.  "I'm happy to
do anything I can to help you two out. Are
these the medals, Dana?"

'Dana'.  He called her Dana. I know how he
likes to help Dana. That's why she simpers
and smiles at him.

"Yes, here they are."  'Dana' set three
transparent evidence bags on the counter.
Phil looked the medals over carefully. He
seemed impressed.

"These are very unusual and are actually
quite rare.  They were created and sold
during the last century by an order of
Spanish nuns in California.  These medallions
were often given to supporters of the convent
who made generous donations to the order.  I
don't think I've seen more than two in my
career. "

"Do you know where the order is based?  How
would we contact them?" Scully had her
notebook out, eagerly listening to every
pearl of wisdom.

"Oh, you can't contact them.  The order died
out in 1900 when the last nun passed away. 
They had a convent in the San Joaquin Valley,
near Sacramento, but they've been gone a very
long time."

It was while Phil was expounding on this
ex-order of nuns that the world began to
spin. I felt a strange confusion as I tried
to follow what Scully was saying.  I
felt...foggy, confused, absent.  Brain-fog,
that's what it was. I couldn't concentrate
for a moment.  I could see Scully's lips
moving but couldn't take in the meaning.

"Isn't that right, Mulder?  Mulder?" Scully's
eyes narrowed with concern.

I shook my head to clear it and said in a
monotone, "Yeah, yeah...that's right.  Excuse
me a moment, I need some air..."  As I walked
out to the car I could hear Scully explaining
to Phil about my flu bug.

This is the strangest flu bug I've ever had.
It really is the flu, isn't it?


Title: Symbiosis (4 of ?)
Author:  Xenith and KatVictory


JOURNAL OF FOX MULDER September 14,
2000

Well, I'm having my usual run of good luck.
I finally saw a doctor yesterday, having
gotten sick and tired of being sick and
tired.    He took blood and just gave me the
results.

I have Hepatitis C.

Since this is a blood-borne illness I was
advised that I either got it from a tainted
transfusion pre-1992 or shared a needle or
sex with somebody infected.  Well, the sex is
out. Needle? Not unless Cancerman and his
minions re-use dirty needles.  Not like
them.  I told the doc that it was probably
the appendectomy I had in 1990; I know they
gave me a transfusion then.  Hepatitis
sometimes stays quiet, but not dormant,  for
years before it's discovered. 

How it's gone undetected in my blood during 
my physicals is a question no one could answer 
but, it is just sterling proof that excrement
occurs,
particularly to Fox W. Mulder.

And it gets happier.  I've had this for some
time and have developed cirrhosis of the
liver. We're starting treatment next week
with Interferon.  I read the card about
possible side-effects, and apparently the
treatment will give me the same set of
physical problems I just went to the doctor
for, more mad toilet bowl dashes, as well as
those perennial favorites: muscle aches,
headaches, depression,  anxiety and hair
loss(!).

But the thing that upsets me most, that
totally cheeses me off more than anything
else is that when I phoned Scully tonight, to
give her the news, she wasn't home.  It's a
Thursday night after 9 p.m.  She's *always*
home on Thursday night.

Maybe she is at home.  Maybe they're doing it
and the phone is off.  Maybe his hands are
all over her white skin and he's....no, this
makes me way too mad.  She has a right to a
life of her own, I've told her that more times
than I can count.

---later--

12:30 a.m. She's still not home.  She's out
with him.  She's making love to him.  

That balding, seedy, greasy little man is fucking
my Scully, I know it. 

She's calling his name in that soft tone she
uses.  I can't get the pictures of them out of my
mind; I can see them writhing together,
sweating.....geez.....

September 15, 6:00 a.m.

I finally got Scully on the phone and the
first words out of my mouth were "Where the
Hell were you?  I called you at 9:30, at
12:30 and at 2:00 a.m. and you weren't home!"

"Mulder, since when have you become my
mother?" she said coldly.  "I was out and
where I was is none of your business.  Now
what do you want?"

By that time I was so pissed that I could
barely get the words out. "Nothing.  Nothing
important," and hung up.  I waited for her to call
me back and demand what was wrong.

She didn't.  I guess I really pissed her off,
but that's okay because she pissed me off too.

9:00 a.m.

I called Skinner and requested a medical
leave.

"Of course, I'm sorry to hear about your
illness. I assume that Agent Scully knows
about this? She'll have to be tested." he
asked crisply. She'll just love that fact.
Insinuating we either shared needles
or...yes, she'll love that.

"Well, no sir, I haven't advised her yet.  Could
you tell her? Otherwise, I'd prefer you keep this
confidential."

There was silence on the other end of the
line. "Agent, is there something between you
and Agent Scully that I should know about?
Your partnership doesn't seem to be up to its
usual...er..form."

"No sir, there's nothing 'between' Agent
Scully and I.  Nothing at all.  I'll keep you
posted on my condition."  I hung up the phone
and reflected on the simple truth I'd just
told him. There really is nothing between
Scully and I, and anything I might have
thought was there is purely wishful thinking
and imagination on my part.  I feel like such an
idiot.

2 p.m.

The phone has been ringing off the hook
today. I listened to the first two messages
Scully left, then got mad and threw the
answering machine against the wall.  Now the
phone just rings.

4 p.m.

Scully was here, oh frabjous day.

I heard 'her' knock on the door; funny how
you learn those things.  I opened it and she
was there, white faced and determined.

"Mulder, what's wrong?  Skinner told me about
your illness.  You haven't answered your phone
all day."

"Yeah, well, I'm just dealing with the news, you
know?"  I stood there in the doorway, daring
her to say more.  She tried.

"I know it's hard having an illness like
this..." She could see my cold expression but
tried again. "Mulder, if there's anything I can
help with..."

I broke in.  "No, I'm fine, really.  I'm just going
to take some time off and rest, do the
treatment.  I'll be okay.  You told me
yourself when you had cancer that you had to
face it by yourself, that you had to make the
journey alone.  I'm just going to take it a
day at a time." With that I quietly closed
the door in her face.

I wish I could say that I feel triumph or
vindication.  Instead I just feel empty.  

And sick.

*****

Entry no: 2000/09/21 
Report of:#8\18081957/Fox 
Local Name: Miriam

You have begun Interferon therapy and it's
making you feel worse (if possible) than you
did before treatment.  Sorry about that, but
I must admit that I've never felt more alive
than I have with you as my host.  There is
something intoxicating about the depth and
strength of your emotions.

Agent Scully has called several times daily
all week.  You have grudgingly returned her
calls and given short, monosyllabic responses
to her questions about your condition.  What
is it about the phrase "I'm fine" that sets
her off so? She seems to get angry when you
tell her that.

Of course she doesn't believe you, but she
seems to be getting the message that you will
not be any more forthcoming about how you
really do feel.  And so your conversations
with her are becoming shorter and shorter.

This is fine with me, naturally.  I am adding to
your feelings of betrayal and resentment.
You are so wonderfully sensitive that I am
able to project visions in your mind, tweak
your imagination as it were.  

You have been thinking of all the provocative
positions Scully and Phil might be indulging in
during their bouts of passionate lust.  I'll say
this for you, Fox, while nausea does
tend to aid me in my ability to make you
punish yourself in this visual manner, it
does little for your imagination. Surely you can
do better than the fantasies you've been
indulging.

Today I feel an understandable surge of
victory.  Agent Scully, instead of calling,
stopped by.

You were crouched next to the toilet, where
you'd been for the past 45 minutes, afraid to go
too far from it.  You didn't hear her
knock at the door, or the rattle when she
tried her key and found it didn't fit.

You did hear the pounding as she forcibly
kicked on the door and yelled at the top of
her lungs, "Mulder!  It's me, Scully!  Are
you all right in there?  Mulder!! Answer me!"

You dragged yourself away from the toilet and
hauled your body upright then staggered to
the front door.  "I'm coming, I'm coming!"
you called as loudly as you could.

You opened the door and Scully gasped when
she saw you.  You hadn't shaved in two days
and wore your favorite Knicks t-shirt, now
two sizes too big for you.

You looked at Scully with tired but hostile
eyes. "Hi Scully.  What brings you to my bed
of pain?"

She jerked like she'd been hit but tried to
smile at you.  "I wanted to bring you up to
date on the Coston case.  Can I come in?"

"Sure, fine, whatever," you said and opened
the door.

She said nothing as she picked her way
through the messy living room strewn with
half empty bottles of ginger ale, t-shirts
and other garbage.  She opened the file and
spread it on the coffee table.

"We've had a break in the case," she began
brightly, obviously trying to ignore her
reaction to your appearance.  "It seems that
the last nun in the order of St. Jude died of
premature aging, just like our victims.
There's a small archive at the Sacramento
Diocese with the remaining effects and papers
of the order.  I have a letter from my local
bishop allowing me access, so we'll be flying
out to California tomorrow."

You brightened at that phrase; you've missed
work these past days.  "Okay, I'll pack a
bag..."

Her face fell.  "Mulder, I'm sorry but you
aren't going.  You're on medical leave, not
active duty.  Um...Phil is coming along, at
his own expense, as an advisor."

You sat quietly for a second, letting it sink

in. "Let me get this straight....
That....Bible-salesman...is going on this
trip as your *partner* to investigate OUR
case?"  You kept your voice steady and cold,
I give you credit for your control.  I was
zapping as much adrenaline at you as I
could.  Come on, Mulder, give it to her! "So
what you're really saying is that you and
Phil are going to have a nice California
trip, enjoy the honeymoon accommodations
maybe?"

She bit her lips and tried to control her
temper, then sighed.  "Mulder, you know that
I've been dating Phil for a while and you're
probably wondering what the attraction is."
She looked up and met your eyes.  "For the
past 7 years I've lived, breathed, eaten the
X Files.  They have consumed my life, my
dreams, my future and I seemed powerless to
carve out a space just for myself.  And then,
there's you...." Her voice faded away.  She
cleared her throat and began again.

"Since I joined the X Files I've had no
romantic relationships, Mulder.  None.
You... have occupied my days, my thoughts,
my fears, my worries.  Your quest has been
mine and I've followed you into nightmares I
could never have imagined.  Your passion has
consumed me and your grief for Samantha has
motivated me. I'd  begun to wonder where I
ended and you began and it frightened me.
Then I met Phil, an ordinary, simple,
uncomplicated man. I...don't know what to
say.  Mulder, I love you....I love you....but you
are all I know.  Forgive me.  You're a
part of me but I can't breathe just now."

You just stood there and looked at her but I
could feel your heart break.  You took a
ragged breath and replied softly,  "Scully,
you know that I've been telling you for years to
just get the Hell away from me and save
yourself.  I'm... glad you've finally come to

your senses.  I want for you....the life you
deserve, free and unencumbered."  You looked
down at your hands, studying your whitened
knuckles.  You didn't look up and said in a
flat monotone, "Have a good time in
California, Scully.  Let me know how the case
goes."

Her eyes were swimming with tears but you
didn't notice them, you were locked in your
own pain.  "Mul....Mulder..." She whispered,
then reached out a hand, but you weren't
seeing her.

"It's okay Scully, we'll always be friends.
You know that.  I guess I should have
expected that you and Phil were getting
serious. I...have to go now.  Let me know
what you find out."  You gave her a brief
glance and backed into your apartment,
quietly shutting the door behind you.

You waited until you heard her footsteps walk
away from the door before you broke.  I would
have expected violence from you, so terrible
and chaotic were the emotions I sensed in
you.

You stumbled to your leather couch and sat
down, cradling your head in your hands.  You
were still for a while until the first
gut-wrenching sob took you.

I have lived three thousand years but I have
never seen a grief like that.  You cried and
howled your anguish to your silent apartment
until eventually you fell asleep on the
couch.   I, for one, was relieved.  I'm not
ready to have you die on me yet, and I could
sense that suicide was not far from your
thoughts.

JOURNAL OF FOX MULDER 
September 23, 2000

I've spent the past two days in Hell and only

just now got up the energy to write.

She's gone to California with Phil,
officially to investigate the order of nuns
that produced the St. Jude medals in the
Coston case. Unofficially....well, let's just say
that I don't think Phil is paying for a separate
hotel room.

I sound bitter, but I have no reason to be.
It's not as though I ever gave her any real
reason to look for that kind of relationship
from me. Oh, yeah, I blurted out that I loved her
once when I was high on demerol after she
saved my ass in the Bermuda Triangle.  And
there was the way she cared for me when that
alien rubbing got me, then that New Year's
kiss, (though after seeing how Scully kisses
Phil, that peck of celebration can hardly be
called a kiss).  

I guess I thought that there would be more after
that night. But then, why would there be,
neither of us tried to move forward to ensure
there was more. I've just contented myself with
watching her quietly, savoring the way her
eyebrows quirk when she's just about to
pounce on an inconsistent argument. I've
waited for her wry retorts to my most blatant
come-ons.  I've guarded her back hundreds of
times, while she's done the same for me.  But
I've never told her that she's more than my
best friend or the one honest person I trust
absolutely.

I love her.  She's my life.  She's my soul. I want
to have her. To hold her, to touch her.
I want her body; I want to fuck her silly and
hear her cry out to me for more.

I want....a normal life with her.  Sunday
paper, coffee, kids screaming through the
house, cleaning up doggie doo in the yard,
soccer practice, Hamburger Helper on Monday
nights when she takes her ceramics class.  I
want...so many things and I never told her.

I shouldn't have expected her to wait for me
to finally get the balls to tell her.  She's
beautiful and smart and has told me over and
over that she wants a 'normal' life.  Maybe
she  was even once willing to share it with
me.

My gut hurts and I've made more trips to the
john in the past 48 hours than I can count.
I can't tell whether I'm crying as I vomit or
vomiting as I cry.

This morning after I lost what I laughably
call breakfast, I sprawled out on the couch
and listened to the radio.  I'd gotten tired
of television (watching too much of it these
days) and left it on an alternative music
station.  Very soothing until I found myself
listening to a  woman's haunting voice singing
words now burned into my soul.

"I've seen that life touches us with pain
And we change 
Becoming strangers to our friends....

I've thought of us,
Hard to talk these days
Did we change?
Or were we strangers all along?
Tell me what caused us to turn away...

How did I lose you along the way?
There's a wall of silence
Miles across 
A wall between us 
Holding back, holding back our loss..."

Did I ever really know Scully?  Appreciate
her needs and desires?  I took her for
granted, assumed that she'd always be there
guarding my back and, when I was finished
with my quest and had found the truth about
Samantha, then I'd tell Scully that I loved
her and ride off into the sunset with her.

There's no more time.

Scully sent me an e-mail today.  I'm pasting
it into this journal, for posterity I
suppose.

---------------------------
To: fwmulder@fbi.gov 
From: dscully@fbi.gov 
Re: Let me explain

Mulder, I'm so sorry that what I had to say
the other day came out so poorly.  I feel
that I need to explain myself, to try and
make you understand.

First of all, the timing of all this is
terrible.  You are ill and I worry about you, but
we've always been truthful with each other.  My
hiding my relationship with Phil wouldn't serve
either of us.

I feel as though I've betrayed you, when
there was nothing romantic between us.  At
least, while I'd always hoped that you had
romantic intentions, they somehow never
materialized.  I have longed to share my life
with someone for such a long time, and then I
met Phil.

He's bright, articulate, educated and I can
respect his mind.  You taught me how
important it is to be mentally challenged by
the person you spend your days with.

Oh Mulder, you are my best friend and that
hasn't changed.  But I can't wait any more
for feelings that may or may not be there
between us to make themselves apparent.
You're still my partner and I'll still die to protect
you, but I'm a grown woman and I need more
than our friendship can offer me.

Please, please understand.

Dana
----------------------------

My soul hurts.

 
 AUTHORS' NOTE:  Lyrics used in this part were taken
from two songs by the group "October Project" from
their self-titled album: "Ariel" and "Wall of
Silence".


Title: Symbiosis (5 of ?)
Author:  Xenith and KatVictory


JOURNAL OF FOX MULDER
September 25, 2000

The days are very long and I do a lot of
thinking.

Scully tried to call me, but I haven't
answered the phone.  She finally sent Skinner
over to check on me.  He came by yesterday,
his expression a cross between anxiety and
irritation.

I opened the door after being summoned by a
loud, very masculine sounding knock.  Skinner
peered into my cavelike apartment.  I had the
shades drawn, not wanting the outside world
to intrude on my sickbed seclusion. It's my
right as an American to wallow in my illness-fed
self-pitying misery in privacy.

"Agent Mulder?  Are you all right?  Agent
Scully has been trying to reach you for three
days." He took a close look at me and I could
see his jaw clench.  He stepped inside the
apartment and I closed the door behind him,
my face coloring as I watched him take in the
disarray.

"Agent Mulder, why haven't you been
answering
your phone?"

He met my eyes with a steely, no-nonsense
glare.  I struggled to find a reasonable
excuse but was tongue-tied.  Finally, I
stammered, "Well, I've been sleeping a lot. I
don't always hear it."

"She's worried about you, do you know that?"
He glanced around the apartment again, his
lip curling with disgust.  "She believes that
you aren't caring for yourself, and I tend to
agree with her assessment."  He stalked over
to the window and abruptly pulled up the
shade.

Bright sunlight flooded the room, and I
squinted against it, shielding my eyes from
the glare.

"I'm taking my meds.  I just don't feel well,
that's all. Ah...excuse the mess,
housekeeping's never been my forte, but
lately it been just...uh..." I cut the
sentence short for a quick dash to the
toilet.  I'm sure that he heard me retching
long after my gut was empty. I was still
hanging over the toilet-bowl, shaking and
trying to catch my breath, when I heard the
linen cupboard door open and the water in the
sink run.

A hand entered my field of vision and gave me
a washcloth soaked in warm water.

"Thanks," I said and buried my face in its
steamy depths.

Skinner helped me back to the couch and
covered me with the blanket, then sat on the
coffee table and studied me quietly.

"Mulder, are you sure you should be here
alone?  Maybe you ought to be in a hospital,
or at least have some help." Skinner looked
uncomfortable, and glanced around the room.

"No sir, I'm okay.  I'd rather be home than
in a hospital, and I'm managing all right.  I
just have to take it easy, that's all.  I
don't move too fast these days."  I settled
back, the warm washcloth covering my eyes.
The nausea had receded for now and I felt
almost human.

"Well, answer your phone then.  And if you
need anything, call me.  Oh, and Agent, the
other reason I stopped by is that Agent
Scully wanted me to give you her report on
the Coston case.  Her research into the order
hasn't turned up as much information as she'd
hoped.  I'll leave this here for you to read
when you feel better.  I'd better get back to
the office now."  I could hear him get up and
walk toward the door.  I took off the
washcloth and struggled to sit.

"No, don't bother to get up Agent Mulder.
Stay there and rest.  But I'm serious.  If
you need any help, call me."

I nodded.  "I will, sir.  Thanks."

I read over her report.  No mention of Phil,
but his opinions hid behind every line.  They
examined the records of the order.  The last
nun, Sister Monica, died at the age of 30
from a mysterious wasting disease which was
never explained.  However, in another
interesting mystery, a Sister Teresa
disappeared from the convent the day Sister
Monica died.  Sister Teresa, age 65, was
known to have a very youthful appearance and
had single-handedly run the local school for
40 years.  She attributed her energy and
appearance to her intense spiritual
devotions.   She was said to be rather
charismatic in her manner and was constantly
surrounded by children, rather like a pied
piper in a black habit.

The file included copies of some sepia-tinted
photographs.  When she was younger, Sister
Teresa was a babe.

Still, this trail is 100 years cold.  There
was no local evidence of any similar
occurrences in the Sacramento area, nor did
Sister Teresa ever turn up again.  Local
theory had been that, in her grief over
Sister Monica, she'd wandered into and
drowned in the American River, which ran by
the convent grounds.

I closed the folder and thought about the
case. Dead end.  Did Scully and Phil have a
more fulfilling time? Probably so.  Scully
and Phil belong together more than Scully and
I ever did.  They believe in the same God,
where I never gave Scully anything but grief
when she tried to share her beliefs with me.
I'm the original agnostic, and recent events
do not convince me any more strongly of the
existence of a loving, caring God in my
universe.

Yeah, she and Phil will have the house, car,
kids, pets.  Family dinners with the
Scullys won't become brawls because big
brother Bill disapproves of Scully's
husband.  Bill's never stopped hating me, but
I can't blame him for that.

I'm really a piece of work.  I've never been
able to finish anything I started.  Didn't
graduate high school, nope, went to college
early instead.  Couldn't take life as a
profiler, so I had to bail on that.  I've
never found Samantha or any hard, fast, solid
proof of the aliens or the conspiracy to aid
them; or at least the proof I've found cannot
be presented to the public because it has
been taken from me.

I don't own a house.  My bank account squeaks
when I open the checkbook.  I haven't had any
sex partner besides myself in more years than
I like to admit. I'm an over-educated,
underachiever who spends his days puking his
guts out and wallowing in self-pity. The type
of loser, that not even a parent could love.

God.  Why can't I just fucking die and get it
over with?



Entry no: 2000/9/30
Report of:#8\18081957/Fox
Local Name: Miriam

*****

Well, Fox Mulder, the dawn is just breaking,
but already it appears to be my lucky day.
Because I'm in such a joyous, expansive mood
I do believe I'll be a good little Archivist
and give my report in the proper,
chronological order. That I gambled, you
survived and I've won will be a perfect
ending to this entry. God, I love this job.

Thursday morning, the 28th,  you were
awakened by the pain in your side. However,
on that cloudy September morn, I don't
believe "pain" would have been what you'd
have called the searing agony which
encompassed that roughly foot square area of
your body. The focal point of this discomfort
which brought tears to your sunken, decidedly
off color orbs began  at your breast bone and
extended at a downward angle on the right
side, roughly following your rib cage.

Your hands instinctively went to the site,
the feather light touch of your fingertips
tracing the raw hurt that kept you from
drawing a full breath. Your skin was warm,
stretched tight. Further tactile examination
in the dim stormy light, made your rapidly
racing heart pound with strained ferocity
within your chest. Because of the frightening
weight loss you'd recently suffered, you'd
become accustomed  to the pitiful concave
that had once been a flat, athletically
muscled abdomen. This morning your stomach
was a hard, basketball sized mound that
reminded you of the taut, swollen belly of a
woman who could expect her tax deduction to
arrive near the end of this fiscal year. You
looked like you were in at least your 6th
month.

"Oh God, what's happening to me?" Your
terrified moaning question wasn't answered by
Him, or anyone else you could hear. There's
nobody left but me, Fox. Alone, with your
chronic nausea reporting in for its daily
duty of making life miserable and your face
buried in you pillow to muffle the sound, you
allowed the tears to come.

*****

You spent all of Thursday huddling on the
couch, wracked by intermittent chills and
fever.

The only time you ventured off that sweat and
urine-smelling, garage sale reject you use as
a bed, was to make stumbling dashes  to the
john twice-hourly.   You couldn't even run
upright, instead you listed to the side
because of the pain.

By nightfall you'd run out of clean underwear
and were reduced to performing a smell check
on the stash of "to be laundered" jeans  you
keep hidden in that no man's land of a junk
yard bedroom that I've never seen you use.

Haven't felt like washing clothes since,
when...August? What would your mother say,
Fox? Worse, what would Scully think of the
filth that clutters the shadowed corners and
dark closets in this miserable, foul scented
hovel?  Six pair of boxers laid on the bottom
of  the tub that night, secreted behind the
shower curtain. Each time you used the
facilities, they were shameful reminders that
on that long, torture filled, seemingly
endless day, you lost every race against your
intestine wringing diarrhea, save that very
first one.

The illness is consuming you. The fluid that
was filling your stomach had  ballooned the
b-ball sized swell to half again its
initial, early morning size. The 20-sack box
of twisty hefty bags that kept your nausea
from being entered in the bathroom track and
field meet, was almost empty.

Dehydration had made your blood the
consistency of molasses and the physical
strain that came with this condition kept you
just this side of comatose. Every now and
then the fluttering, rapid beat of your heart
would stir you; the rush of adrenaline that
came with this shocky fright simply adding to
the problem.  It was only "HER" persistence,
her stubborn insistence that she actually
"SEE Mulder NOW" that saved you, bought
you
those precious ticks of the clock.

You roused at hearing the pounding on the
door. Lucid thought returned at a snail's
pace. Sheer will forced your body upright and
sent you shuffling to the door.

After you'd opened the door, a silence
stretched to eternity while you both studied
one another. It was finally broken by her
dazed query, "Did...did I wake you?"

"What do you want, Scully?" Your words were
slurred, roughened by a voice that had grown
rusty from lack of use. "I'm not in the mood
to hear about your vacation with
Phil.  It's obviously no longer my case, so I
don't really give a shit."

Actually, Fox, you did amaze me.  You hadn't
been very lucid these past few days.  That
your mind cleared to the near normal levels
of cognizance during this brief visit is
unbelievable.

Honestly, I must admit, that the last half
hour before her arrival I was beginning  to
fear I had overplayed my hand.  The
unpredictably rapid progression of the
diseases was ignored and I continued on with
my plans, eagerly pushing on with my
manipulations of your system. My impatience
almost destroyed my carefully constructed
project and nearly cost you your life. Luck
is what saved everything. I'd best not allow
my ego to believe any other explanation for
the fortunate results.

"Mulder, no one has heard from you in three
days. Frohike called me because he was
worried and Skinner thought...."  Her tone
was almost pleading. She had read the dark
bitterness in your eyes.

"Skinner thought I wasn't taking care of
myself. Yeah, I know.  He came by." You
stared at her coldly.

I could only guess she felt a calm-shattering
sense of responsibility for everything. Her
brow was wrinkled in grave concern, and I
perceived a desperate desire to make matters
right. She felt she had to fix things. Your
health. Your peace of mind. The fissure that
had widened into a crevice between you two.

You perceived none of this. What held you
upright, one hand holding tightly to the open
door, the other gripping the frame with a
white knuckled intensity, was rage. I was
made almost giddy by the startling heat that
drove you. An understanding was born, full
blown and complete in my mind, and I knew
the  answers to all my questions.

You'd been pulled back from the edge by the
sound of that knock. You returned with the
long-building fury unleashed at what had
happened to  you these past few months. This
fuel gave you a strength your weakened body
no longer possessed and a determination to
rail against all the injustice that you've
been forced to endure.

This saved you from death, but your energies
focused on the only presence perceivable to a
conscious human mind. Her. Your partner had
played a role in the hurt that had festered
during your helpless suffering and now she
bore the brunt of this ire.  I added my own
small touches to inflame your rage.  This
woman is too persistent for my comfort level.

"This treatment they got me on is...rough."
You spoke with a low, hard edged control.
Both your expression and tone seemed created
from cold, ungiving stone. "Sorry, you
cut your trip short. My answering machine's
broken and I just haven't been
grabbing the phone 'cept when I'm up. You're
the only person who ever called, really, that
I cared to talk to and you...well, I knew it
wouldn't have been you. I forgot about the
Gunmen."

You felt your energy begin to slip and
surreptitiously leaned against the doorjamb
to keep from sliding onto your face.  "I've
had to learn to ration my strength. Just tell
the guys I'm fine.  I'm hanging in there.
Scully, you of all people should understand
what I'm dealing with. Explain to them, make
them understand, like you tried to make me
understand when you were sick. Let them know
how having people around, letting people into
your life is distracting. You were right, it
all comes down to the fact that I AM in
this alone. That is what you were trying
to tell me back then, wasn't it?"

I watched her fade. Her Irish fairness
drained away from her face, leaving it
parchment white. Something inside her was
crushed by the weight of your evenly spoken
pronouncement. Thick, dark lashes fluttered,
attempting to brush away her sudden, unbidden
tears. Her blue eyes searched your face for
something familiar, but she realized  that
she was facing a stranger. She is used to
your wielding hurtful truths as a weapon, but
she was surprised by your intent to see
blood. Her blood. With a sigh, she
surrendered at finding nothing but hostility
in you.

"Mulder, you look so bad. I think you're not
getting the treatment you need.  The way this
disease is progressing, the symptoms
becoming
so severe, so quickly, maybe you should see
another doctor. I know false positives aren't
as common as they once were, but they still
occur. Maybe this is something else. As ill
as you've been, you need to check out the
possibility..."

"Scully, it's handled." You cut her off with
a finality like a sharp, stinging slap.
You rested your head against the door. I
could feel the strength that had sustained
you dissipating. The anger was still there,
but the fuel was rapidly being consumed and
its solid forcefulness seemed suddenly shaky.
"They started with the RIBA test. When it
was positive I got a PCR. Same thing. Then a
biopsy. No mistakes. I'm on alpha 2-b. My
doctor is Stephen Li."

"Doctor Li? He's taking new patients? I'd
heard he had given up his practice because
the American Liver Foundation was financing
his research?"

"He's Langley's uncle." A weary smile barely
made it to the corners of your mouth. I knew
that if you didn't end this soon you'd be
saying your good-byes looking up from the
floor. Apparently you figured this out as
well.

Grasping for the last lingering filaments of
that hot, primal rage that had gotten you
this far, you grabbed for that shiny new knob
and pushed yourself up straight.
The raised brows of her concern
gave you the strength to make your full
height, and offered the final spur you needed
to end this visit. "Look, Scully, I need to
get some rest. It's getting late and I'm
tired."

The brow wrinkle and lofted cleft of auburn
above those bright blue eyes stated that
she'd made a judgment call, deciding 7:30
p.m.  was much too early for Fox Mulder to
declare as late unless he felt worse than he
claimed. "Please, let me help. Don't close me
out like this, Mulder. I'm worried about
you."

She took an involuntary step backward when
dark anger twisted your face. "You came here
because YOU'RE worried!"  Your icy calm
broke.  You hurled your rage at her, your
voice a loud, shaking rumble that made her
shrink away.  "News flash, Scully -- This
isn't about you!"

Slamming the door, hiding that stunned, grief
stricken face was your last hurrah. You sank
to the floor, propping up against the door
while you fought your rolling, churning
stomach with deep, gasping breaths.

The room was pitch black when you  began a
hunched, weak kneed journey to the bathroom.
The half glass of water you'd guzzled to
avoid the burning muscle cramps of the dry
heaves stayed down only as long as it took
you to turn off the faucet. Your bed that
night was where you sank beside the toilet to
let the waves of sickness claim you.

*****

I was sure I'd killed you. After the third
bout of nausea, you'd collapsed and hit your
head. No blood flowed from the scalp wound
except a thick, slow ooze.  I heard her tap
at the door. Luckily, you hadn't secured the
locks. The sound of her searching for you
ended with a faint, stutter rap on the closed
bathroom door and a panicked, "Mulder, it's
me," before she entered.

Her frightened gasp echoed off the tiles as
she took in the sight before her. She quickly
realized, in the bright stark lighting of
this room, that what looked like pallor in
the dim hallway was actually yellow jaundice
tinting your skin. You moaned and the sight
of the golden brown caste to the whites of
your eyes, as you blindly glanced around,
chilled her blood. 911 was already dialed
with trembling fingers before she knelt
beside you.

Her report was clear and clinical to the
dispatcher, but I heard her praying as she
sank down beside us to wait.

*****

And so we come to this morning. You're still
in the ICU, still comatose.

They're all  worried, Scully, your doctor,
the various friends who've filtered in to
join your ever vigilant, guilt wracked
partner on this deathbed watch.

"How is he?" I heard the rumbling voice that
I identify as Skinner.  A female voice,
*hers* replied.

"The same.  He's comatose and....even if he
regains consciousness there's a strong
possibility of brain damage.  The test
results have come back..." Her voice broke
and he waited in silence for her to finish.

I heard her blow her nose, then continue.
"Thank you sir....um...the test results are
positive for hepatocellular carcinoma. That
means that he has Adult Primary Liver Cancer;
Localized unresectable, Stage 4a, NO,MO."

"What does that mean for him?" Skinner's
voice was solemn.

"If...when he wakes, they'll treat him with
chemotherapy.  As far as they can tell, it
hasn't metastasized, but there is certainly
some damage to his liver.  How much we don't
know yet."

"I see.  Is there anything I can do, Agent
Scully?"

She replied in a whisper.  "No, sir.  Just
wait. And pray."

"I'll try that.  Call me if there's any
change."  I heard the door shut quietly
behind him, leaving her alone with us.

I heard familiar prayers, the ancient Ave
Maria, the Pater Noster, both now translated
into the vernacular and said with heartfelt
fervency. Then she began to talk to you.

"Mulder, I don't know if you can hear me, but
I think you can.  Once I was...lost...like
you are now, and you brought me back.
Please, listen to my voice, and come back to
me."  I could feel her warm fingers cradling
your left hand.

"I hurt you; I know how much.
Mulder...I...can't live knowing what I did to
you.  Please, don't go.  Don't give up on
me.  Please...."

I felt the splash of her tears on your hand,
although you were somewhere far away in a
place warm and safe.

When you finally surface from that cozy place
where weakness and pain drove you,  you
might
just wish you could escape back to that foggy
world when your partner tells you what they
found.

All the tests are back; the biopsy confirmed
it. My first project is ready to bear fruit.
Your cancer has ripened and chemotherapy is
your best option for treatment. Oh, happy
day!


*****

JOURNAL OF FOX MULDER October 9, 2000

Scully finally found my laptop in the mess at
my apartment. She informed me she hired
someone to clean up. I hope there's enough
money in my account to reimburse her. I
wouldn't take that job for any amount.

A lot has happened since my last, half lucid
entry in here. I almost died, my ass saved
yet another time by my partner (former
partner). Acceptance, Mulder. That's the key
word I've learned during my daily sessions
with Angie. Unless I face what's happening, I
can't hope to deal with it. No more hiding. I
have cancer. My only option at this time is
chemotherapy. I started today.

Scheduled Chemo Sessions Appointments -

Oct 9-13...Happy Birthday to me!
Oct 23-27
November 6-10
November 27-December 1
December 11-15
December 26-30...note, no chemo on
Christmas
day. Proof -- death does take a holiday?
January 8-12
January 22-26
February 5-9
February 19-23!!! Scully's Birthday. I will
be well!

I guess that says it all. I'll write more
later.


Title: Symbiosis (6 of ?)
Author:  Xenith and KatVictory


Chapter 6

JOURNAL OF FOX MULDER
October 13, 2000

Happy Birthday to Me.  Yeah, right.

Scully brought me a cupcake with candle on it
and I tried to smile.  I don't feel much like
smiling.  She hasn't said a word about Phil
and I won't ask.

I'm just...well, I'm glad she's here.  Huh,
maybe I should be grateful for this illness;
if it gives me time with Scully.  I probably
won't have much more of it without
interruptions.

I still don't know how she did it, but she's
talked me into coming home with her.  She
argued, logically, that I hadn't taken very
good care of myself and she didn't want me
relapsing.  I agreed, if only to keep Skinner
from chiming in. But I know that this is
temporary.  I'll stay long enough to salve
her conscience, then go home.

It's funny, when she thinks I don't see, I
catch her looking at me, studying me.  I
don't look any different, not yet anyway.
They say this treatment does wonders for your
hair; gives everyone the Michael Jordan look.
Maybe I can get Skinner to give me a few
styling tips.

She keeps starting to say something, then
stops. It's like she has something very
important that she wants to say, but can't
because she doesn't know how to tell me. Her
silence can only mean one thing, and I don't
think I can take it.  Phil's asked her to
marry him and she's accepted.  I don't blame
her, not one bit.  Smartest choice she could
make. I just wish she'd wait until...later.
So I don't have to hear.

Well, we're off to Scully's apartment now;
the nurse with the wheelchair is here.

Think I'll find a truck and walk in front of
it.


Entry no: 2000/10/14
Report of: #8\18081957/Fox
Local Name: Miriam

We finished the last day of your initial
chemotherapy treatment today, and the doctor
said you could leave the hospital.
Arrangements were made Monday for you to stay
at your partner's when you were released, so
her neat, tastefully decorated apartment is
where we headed when they gave you your
walking papers.

The rush from the morning's chemicals had
muted to a pleasant, soft haze about the
edges of my consciousness, but as always, it
left me with an intense heightening of how I
sense your emotions. For all the burning,
electric high I get at the moment the chemo
is flooding through my host, this afterglow,
that comes the week following a treatment, is
my favorite part of this. The host is always
primed with raw emotions and my ability to
perceive them is so wonderfully enhanced.

She'd gotten you comfortable on her huge,
overstuffed sofa, and since you'd suffered no
nausea to speak of, she set about preparing
you something to eat.

"They never brought down your lunch tray;
time to refill the machine.  Mom sent over
some homemade soup, Mulder.  Does that sound
okay?"

Your eyes fluttered open as her voice floated
from the kitchen.  You straightened, willing
the lethargy that had 'snuck' up on you to
vanish.

"Fine!" you called, mustering a nice, healthy
sounding heartiness. The thought of trying to
work up enough energy to eat brought your
wearily murmured, "Great. Wonderful.
Perfect."

Tired from the ordeal of your release from
the hospital, your eyes shut of their own
accord even while you breathed those replies.

"Mulder, I've got your bed all made up; you
might be more comfortable there. The soup'll
wait."

You jumped, she'd crept up on you, just like
the cat nap had. Her offer was too good to
pass up. Stretching out in a real bed, one
without railings or an orthopedically correct
rock-hard mattress was worth forcing your
aching bones up from the low-slung seat. With
a groan, you followed her to the bedroom
she'd prepared for your stay.

*****

Having to answer nature's urgent call is what
awakened you. The red glow of the bedside
clock in the darkness announced that if you
decided to appease your rumbling stomach, the
meal you'd consume would no longer be called
lunch.  You'd have to ask for dinner. Six
hours of near comatose slumber had left you
stiff, but feeling a hundred percent better.
Shuffling barefoot across the carpet you made
your way through the living room, searching
for company.

You found our hostess sitting alone in the
dimly lit kitchen, silently sipping on a
glass of wine while she contemplated the oven
timer ticking down. The room smelled of
apples and spice, summoning memories of
childhood.

She turned, smiling, sensing you were there.

"Smells good in here," you murmured, easing
into the low chair across the table from her.

"It was supposed to be a surprise. I called
your mother to let her know you were out, and
she said applesauce raisin was your favorite.
She gave me the recipe. The cream cheese
frosting's coming from a can, though."

Your throat tightened, I assumed from some
sentimental flash of birthdays past. You've
tended to have some odd, uncontrollable mood
swings during your recovery.

Several times a day, tears have threatened
with the slightest provocation, and your last
journal entry gave me some concern, but you
always seem to stabilize somehow.

Suddenly, you realized what she'd said and
your mercurial emotional barometer whirled to
stomach burning distress. "My mom, I...did
you tell her I was sick? I wasn't going to
tell her yet, Scully." There was a hint of
disapproval in your tone, though you'd tried
not to let it escape. "Her health isn't
good..."

A touch of color tinted her pale cheeks and
her eyes grew solemn. "Oh Mulder, I'm sorry.
I forgot to tell you about this. I'd called
her that first night, after I found you. We
weren't sure if...well, you were so sick. I
thought she needed to know, just in case.
We've kept in touch. She's called every
couple of days." She lowered her gaze to her
almost empty glass for a moment, silently
tracing a fingertip around the rim. When she
raised her head, her eyes were damp, leaking
a bit with her apology.  "She knows. I told
her the day the doctor told us. I should have
talked to you. I'm so sorry. I..."

"It's okay," you quickly whispered, grasping
her hand.  The soft, warmth of her skin and
the sight of that full, quivering mouth made
you lose your train of thought.

Chewing nervously on your bottom lip you
searched for what you'd planned to say, but
the words had vanished leaving you with
nothing but a softly repeated, "It's okay."

Her tiny fingers intertwined with your own
long, lean digits. I felt swept up by your
wonder at how perfect this small embrace
seemed. The silence stretched on until it
became awkward. Looking up from your thoughts
you searched her face. Her eyes sparkled a
crystal blue. The steady, piercing gaze
touched your soul, made your heart thud a
quick, aching rhythm against your ribs.
"Thank you. I probably wouldn't have had the
guts to tell her. I would've just gambled and
waited 'til I was either well or she read the
obit in the paper."

She winced and pulled her hand from yours,
clasping it with her other hand tightly in
her lap. She bowed her head and you felt the
connection sever. Your desperation was an
electric tingle forcing you to your feet. A
loud buzzer, signaling the time had come
brought a startled gasp from both of you. She
leapt up to answer the summons but you
stopped her. I was surprised, Mulder. Perhaps
you've learned something about time.

"Scully, I'm sorry. It's the only way I know
to deal with this," You held her hands. Your
explanation was almost a sigh.

Her smile held a sad understanding. With a
slight bob of her head, her lips brushed
lightly against your neck as she sighed, "I
know."

This separation didn't sting as badly when
she moved away to open the oven door. The
smell that wafted out with the warmth made
your mouth water.

*****

I've shared countless lives, but for the most
part, my existence has been nothing but
second hand sensations.  That's why I crave
the chemical your illness brings. I believe
this heightened awareness is the closest my
kind can come to feeling life instead of just
observing it. So few of us feel the lack. I'm
one of the unlucky chosen, I guess. I've
always longed for a taste of what you take
for granted; what your species so seldom
appreciates. Even those who face what you are
facing rarely try to grasp hold of the gifts
which have been bestowed upon your kind. But
I do believe you possess a certain promise,
Fox Mulder, to truly understand and treasure
your birthright.

*****


When she curled against you, molding herself
to fit along the curve of your legs, as you
lay on your side on the couch, I sensed the
warmth stirring in your groin. Side by side
you'd watched the science fiction movie,
wrapped in a comfortable silence, simply
allowing your birthday meal to digest, and
relaxing after this long, hectic day. Her
head settled back, melding with your chest
and your fingertips idly caressed the soft,
silky smoothness of her bare shoulder.

A gentle chuckle shook her when you began
murmuring, "Dum, Dum, duh-duh-duh-duh -dum,
duh-duh-dee-dum, duh-dee-dum..."

I was surprised by her laugh, rising up so
unexpectedly, deep-throated and rich. I hate
to admit it, but I liked the sound. She does
have a wonderful laugh, Mulder. "I gotta tell
you, Luke does have a pretty impressive light
saber. But, I always wished they'd given us a
glimpse of Han Solo's weapon."

Now, I've seen this movie more times than I
can count.  Only Jedis have light sabers,
Mulder. Han is not a  Jedi. I don't believe
you were laughing at her ignorance. This
whole exchange was a private, sexual innuendo
I presume. I've lived with humans for
thousands of years but still don't understand
the sexual urge.  Nevertheless, I'd never
heard you happy before. It was good. I love
your laugh. Apparently, she does, too.

She turned into you and wrapped her arms
about your neck. You held her close,
relishing the feel of her embrace. The tender
warmth of her lips, moist and supple, against
your own shocked you. Once again, tears
welled up, very close to the surface when you
softly asked, "Scully, you haven't mentioned
him since...?"

"We talked on Tuesday. He doesn't understand,
Mulder."  She glanced away, teeth moving to
still a trembling bottom lip. The silence
measured by a heartbeat, was broken by a
gentle sigh, then, with a quick upward tilt
of her chin, she met your eyes.  "He wanted
to know why I spend so much time with you.  I
told him that you're my best friend, the
person who always watches my back, who's
always been there by my side.  You're my
strength, my...constant.  He just looked at
me. I think he tried to understand.  Then he
told me that *he* wanted to be all those
things."

Her fingers in yours tightened and she
laughed a little.  "I guess that's when I
finally realized the obvious.  Phil could
never be to me what you already are, Mulder.
What you have been for a very long time.  We
broke it off; it was pointless since I'm
already in love with a very brilliant,
egotistical, difficult man."

You sat up suddenly.  "And that's it, huh?"

"What?  Mulder, what's wrong?"  She moved
aside as you crawled off the couch.  You got
up and began pacing back and forth.

"Just like that, I'm the love of your life?
You came to me, not a month ago and told me
that I was too intense for you, that you
couldn't 'breathe' I think was the way you
put it.  And now, after all this, you
suddenly discover that you love me and not
him?"  You folded your arms across your chest
and glared coldly at her.  "When exactly did
you decide this? When did you decide it was
safe for you to love me? Was it when you
found out that I might not have that long?
Hey, what have I got, six months at the
most?  I bet you could hold your 'breath' for
that long. I guess my dying was just what we
needed for our 'relationship'."

Her face fell, growing more stormy with each
word you uttered. Silence hung thick in the
air between you two, so dense it was
tangible. She finally cut through the almost
palpable wall of tension when she spoke, her
voice sharp with sarcasm. "Are you through?"

"YES!" you spat, angry because you could feel
a weariness sapping your rage, stealing your
energy.

Her tone dropped, softer but still
unyielding. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," you muttered, your eyes still fiery.

"Good, maybe you'll listen to me this time."
Her tone was calm but bitter.  "Mulder, I'm
not offering lame apologies for myself.  I've
been dense and frightened. You've always been
the most exciting, intense person I've ever
known. You burn hot, Mulder, so white hot
I've always been afraid of losing myself in
you, of being consumed by your fire." She
moved forward and touched your arms with her
hands.

"I went to California with Phil, fully
intending to seal our relationship, but..."
she stared at the floor.

"But?" you prompted, your voice had fallen to
a choked whisper.

She looked up, eyes focused intently on your
face.  "In every thought, every fantasy
*your* face kept intruding.  I found myself
wanting your opinion on bits of evidence,
missing your commentary on the state of the
hotel towels and even the sound of sunflower
seeds crunching next to me. Mulder, he wasn't
the one.  He could never have been the one.
There are a thousand Phils out there. There's
only one Mulder. "  She placed herself in
front of you, willing you to believe her.

"When I got back from California, I went to
see you, to try to tell you."  She looked
down and wrung her hands.  "You were angry at
me, justifiably. I'd hurt you. How could I
expect you to ever accept what I had to say?
I left that day, sure that I'd lost you for
good.  But I was worried; you'd looked so ill
that I decided to check on you and your
temper be damned."  She looked up again and
met your eyes.

"Then I found you, half-dead on the floor of
your apartment," she said softly.  "While we
waited for the paramedics, I prayed, Mulder.
You ask me what makes me tell you I love you
now? Well, you're right, it is because I
found out I might lose you. But, that's what
I prayed about. I told God if he just let me
have one more chance, I wouldn't waste it.
This is why I'm telling you now. I love you,
Mulder."

Your eyes filled, but hope made a smile flit
across your lips.  "Scully, are your sure?
Really sure about this?  I was angry, hurt.
You have a right to your own life, your own
safe, *normal* life.  I...probably don't have
much time."

"Mulder, you're going to beat this.  I expect
you to fight it." She moved closer to you and
touched your arm lightly. "If it takes me
nagging you and kicking your ass every step."

You shook your head.

"Scully, I know my test results.  I know that
most people who have had untreated hepatitis
longer than three years *die*.  The cancer is
just a bonus.  Do you really want to shackle
yourself to a dying man?"  You edged back
from her, away from her touch, but I could
feel you straining toward her like a starving
man.

"If you say that ONE more time, I'll...! I'm
choosing to be here. If you still want me,
I'm here, Mulder.  I've wasted so much time
already that I don't want to lose another
second.  I learned when I was sick that all
we ever really have is this moment."  I could
sense her longing as she stepped close.

"And am I still too intense?  Do I still
frighten you?" Your eyes bored into hers.

She looked right back, smiling.  "Mulder, I
spent a week with Phil Huffman, and never
once did he take my breath away.  There's one
thing missing in this relationship, Mulder.
Are you ready? For that one thing?"

You grinned ruefully.  "I've been ready for 7
years," you breathed and then moved her into
an embrace culminating in a kiss.

You opened your lips and soon your tongue was
dancing with hers.  You moved into her,
pushing her back to where she finally met the
wall.  She fell against it with a thump while
you deepened the touch, pressing hard with
your lips. Your hips held her fast, her hands
responding with light caresses that stole
beneath your shirt, warm and gentle, against
the skin of your back. Her fingertips teased
the soft hair there, at the base of your
spine.

When you pulled your mouth away, she seemed
dazed, breathless. You grinned while you
began to unbutton her cotton shirt. One by
one each pearl circlet passed through its
small hole, and your hands slipped the fabric
down off her shoulders.

She was still while your nibbled the smooth,
rounded muscle you so carefully exposed, and
hungrily you tasted her skin, up her neck to
her earlobe, then back down again.  You heard
faint whimpering and a sharp intake of breath
from her as you nipped where her pulse
fluttered against your mouth, biting down
ever so slightly into her creamy, ivory
colored flesh.

You felt her tiny fingers working at the
waist of your jeans, eagerly, intently, and
surprisingly the grating sound of the zipper
going down came at the exact moment the
button slipped open. With a soft chuckle you
fought to keep standing as your pants pooled
around your ankles.

"Hey, you don't fight fair, Agent Scully!"
you grinned, trying to grab at your trousers.

She smiled back, her voice a low, teasing
sigh.  "But I get the job done, G-Man.  Need
some more help there?"

You stepped out of your jeans, kicking them
hurriedly away and quickly pulled your
T-shirt up and off, flinging it aside as
well.  "Nope, but I'd love to help you..."
You moved forward to slide her blouse all the
way off and found the catch to her black lace
bra.

"Front hooks?  My goodness, Agent
Scully...Whatever would your mother say?"

"I don't know, you can call her tomorrow to
find out. Just shut up, Mulder, and make me
breathless."  She tugged at the black lace
bra, pulling it off in one smooth motion.
Slowly, her eyes gleaming blue crystal
flames, she leaned forward, running her hands
over your chest and touched her lips against
your belly, letting her warm, wet tongue
trace the curling diamond of hair down.

End 6/?

Title: Symbiosis (7 of ?)
Author:  Xenith and KatVictory


Part 7/?

Entry no: 2000/10/14
Report of: #8\18081957/Fox 
Local Name: Miriam 
Entry continues....

She inched downward, slowly moving and
pausing occasionally to feel you shudder,
until she reached the base of your now-erect
shaft. Gently she nibbled her way to the head
and then took you into her mouth.  You
couldn't control your trembling at the
sensations flooding your body, your mind, me.

Hot, raw passion surged through you, cresting
with an explosion that made you tumble back
to the couch, every cell in your body
tingling from the throbbing warmth. Your head
reeled and you sat stunned, only realizing
what had happened when your organ gave
those
last few tale tell pulsations.

I felt the flush of shame burn your face,
deepening when you opened your eyes and
saw
her standing before you, her face etched with
concern.

"Mulder...?"

"Scully, I...I..." Your tongue passed quickly
over parched lips, "I'm sorry. I've wanted you
so...for so long..."  It was only after a deep sigh
that you were able to continue. "Not exactly the
way I always pictured it. Was it good for you?"
Your laugh was a sharp bitter bark. The
silence lasted forever and for want of
something to still your shaking hands you
grabbed your crumpled shirt, which somehow
had landed on the sofa and clumsily mopped at
your groin, covering yourself modestly.

"Mulder, why do you insist that everything
is about you," she whispered as she eased
down beside you.

Her words brought your bowed head up with a
start, a knee jerk reaction of fright, but
the fear faded when you noticed the teasing
grin that tilted her lips. "I want this
Mulder. I want this to happen. I've dreamed
about this for years. It's not over G-man.
Take my breath away..." Her eyes held you as
her hand reached up to trace the strong cut
of your jaw.

A knowing smile crossed your mouth as you
pushed yourself up to stand and with a sudden
burst of excited energy you swept her up into
your arms. Her deep throated laugh surrounded
you as you carried her to her room, dropping
her on the bed. Her husky chuckles blended
with the muffled protest of the springs as
she landed with a bounce. With your lips
moving rakishly up at the corners you knelt
over her, smoothly popping the snap of her
pants and sliding the zipper down with one
quick fluid motion.

"Wait," She caught your hand, a wicked smile
on her lips. She finished removing first her
jeans, then her panties, undressing herself
slowly and seductively.  I caught a
mischievous grin on her face when she noticed
your rapt (dare I say near-comatose?)
expression as you watched her.

Finally nude, she stretched out on her back,
her arms reaching above her.  "Like this better,
Mulder?" she purred.

"Oh yeah.  Now let me share *my* fantasy with
you..."  You lay down on the bed next to her,
your face opposite her pubic area and rolled
her in close to your mouth.  Parting her
lips, you began to move your tongue
seductively, making yourself at home.

We heard a sigh and moan from the head of
the bed.  "Ahhhh....sixty-nine..uh...huh,
Muld...der? Ohhhh........"  Her voice died
away in a long whimper.

You released her clit from your mouth briefly
and replied.  "One of my favorite numbers,
Scully.  But this is for you, I don't know if
I can...again....ohgod....mathematics?"
Clearly she had found you as well and had
resumed her oral caresses.  You, on the other
hand, were discovering exponential increase.

"I'm a math geek remember, and I've learned a
lot since catechism class," she murmured.

You both happily continued your mutual
stimulation until Scully was on the verge of
release.  You were holding yourself back with
an iron will, waiting for her to orgasm
before allowing your own pleasure.

"Mul...mul..der...I...want you inside
me...please...I want to come....god..with you
inside me..." Her breathless voice carried
to where you and your tongue had sought
hitherto unplumbed depths of Agent Scully.
You didn't wait for a second suggestion, but
pulled your tongue from inside her vagina and
gasped your answer.

"Okay...be there in a minute...."  Fox, you
are undoubtedly a loving and sexual man, but
you have an unimaginative and unromantic
side guaranteed to render any woman close to
you near-homicidal from time to time.  Be there
in a minute?  Please.

You  moved your body until it lay on top of
hers, propping yourself up with your elbows.
She grinned up at you then grabbed your ears
and pulled you down for a deep and lingering
kiss.

"What?" you gasped, puzzled by what was
clearly a token of gratitude.

"Just wanted to tell you thanks," she
replied. "Now fuck me until I scream, G-man.
That's an order."

"Yes ma'am."

With her gentle hand guiding, you positioned
yourself at her entrance and slid inside with
a soft moan of pleasure.  I have observed
many couplings in three thousand years and
mind-blowing is not a word I commonly use to
describe most of them. After the first 500
years it gets stale.  But you, Fox, well
let's just say that the earth moved so
heavily for you that I felt the tremors.
Your thoughts were so loud they were
shrieking in my psyche:

"Home...home...safe...comfort...home..."

Her eyes were closed as you began to move
inside her, and she began to perspire,
gripping you tightly with arms and legs.
Your thoughts changed and deepened,
becoming louder and louder to me: "Gonna
*live*, not gonna *die*, gonna LIVE, gonna
LIVE...LIVE..LIVE*"

With each mental repetition of the word
'live' you pushed into her so hard and deeply
that I began to fear for her safety.  Then I
realized that you were murmuring the phrase
out loud and she had picked it up and was
repeating it with you.

"Gonna live, not gonna die, you're gonna live
Mulder...you're gonna live...you're gonna
live..."

She came first, going rigid and then lying quiet,
you still pumping violently into her from
above. Then she held you, stroking your back
and quietly murmuring to you as you found
your orgasm.

"It's okay, Mulder....it's gonna be okay..."

You finally collapsed and lay atop her,
burying your head in her neck. Her fingertips
lightly brushed your face and feeling your
tears her embrace grew that much tighter.

The quiet lasted an eternity before
you found enough energy to whisper, " I
guess we gave it one for the Gipper, huh? I'm
so tired Scully." Your exhaustion was
palpable, her kiss on your head was a warm
comforting caress. "I wanted it to go on
forever.  I want forever," you softly confessed,
your bone weary tiredness making your voice a
fading sigh.

"We'll have as close to forever as we can
manage, Mulder. And I won't leave you, ever.
You aren't alone in this."  Then she held you
close, trying to surround you with her body
as if to keep the darkness away. I felt you
slip away into sleep, your body relaxing,
melting into her. I thought she'd followed
you until I heard her soft assurance," We're
in this together, Mulder."


JOURNAL OF FOX MULDER
October 16, 2000

I feel better than I have in months. I
believe it's because for the first time, in a
very long time, I feel as though I'm in
control of what's happening. To my body. In
my life.  I flew through the first treatment.
The counseling sessions I received while I
was an inpatient really helped. I could
actually visualize this invader in my system
and with my will and the weapons they were
giving me I felt like I was fighting back. I
know it sounds hokey, but I did feel I
accomplished my goals.

On the personal front, a door has opened that
I never even fathomed existed. I've loved
Scully for years.  I've stated this here,
countless times before. There was always
some reason, though, that I couldn't declare
this out loud, to make sure I was heard. That
this is the only area in my life I didn't actively
pursue voicing my feelings seems absurd to
me, now.

I know it was fear that kept me silent. But
it was ignorance, too. I think of myself as
such an intellect and I never understood that
what I have just found is worth any price. If
I'd made discovering this truth my
obsession...well, what Mulder? Maybe finding
what love can be this late in life, at this
fragile moment in my life, is the only time I
could appreciate it. Maybe I finally deserve
Scully's love. Finally.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>


JOURNAL OF FOX MULDER
October 23-27, 2000

And you can't always get what
you want, honey
You can't always get what you
want
You can't always get what you
want,
But if you try sometime, yeah,
You just might find you get
what you need!

Couldn't say it better myself, Mick.

I plan to bring this journal with me each
time I come here, to archive these sessions.
It's ironic, but I feel that my view of life
and the world around me has become so much
clearer, more intuitively in focus since
finding out that I have a potentially
terminal disease. I guess the Grim Reaper
blocking my view of what lies ahead has made
me stop and look more closely at those things
around me.

Like Scully's and my relationship, and dare I
say it, whether or not there is some other
"presence" directing our lives. Looking back,
I can't help but think both Scully and I have
had lives that were produced by some mad,
demented "creator". When I think of all the
things that happened to keep us from even
sharing our first kiss, I can't help
wondering if this "being" is cruel, sadistic
or just tends to enjoy scripting cliché
pathos. I mean letting us get *this* close to
kissing then having a mutated, alien virus
carrying honey bee sting her?

Has my life been directed by a power?  Fate
or maybe God?  Who knows?  The
coincidences in my life are startling, but they
might just be coincidences.  And what lies
ahead?  I'll fight. I'll fight like Hell, and I'll
win.

*****

Once, eons ago when I'd just hit 19, I went
to a pub with some classmates. Since my
companions were obviously all over the legal
drinking age of twenty-one, while I was not,
I received a lesson that even my drunken
father's back hand couldn't have taught me.

At first I soberly spent my evening bemoaning
the fact that because I was the only
chronologically challenged member of our
group, I was obviously the best choice for
designated driver. While my buddy's tied one
on as only jocks who bleed orange and black
can manage, I cursed the fact that I'd been a
overachieving nerd whose ego and parental
favor seeking neuroses had driven him into
reaching college by 16 and thus too young to
have any kind of fun.

My mentor, Zig-Zag (if you have to ask, you
obviously never set foot on a college campus
during the late '70's) and I had wandered
outside for a quick bit of fresh New Jersey
air. It was this dimly lit parking lot that
Z.Z. began his instructions for this all
important life's lesson. The red faced jock's
first gasp brought on a fit off coughing
which led to a bout of near projectile
spewing the likes of which I never again
witnessed until this week.

The crux of this rambling tale came after
Z.Z. had deposited his $100.00 worth of beer,
tequila, everclear and licorice schnapps all
over the parking lot and the side of his
custom painted orange '65 Mustang. He'd
studied the results of his aromatic labors,
hands on knees, for a good 5 minutes before
reaching into the vile mess to retrieve
something.

Knowing that he was still inebriated, and
being the good buddy that I was, I tried to
stop him from his repulsive treasure hunt.

"Muler...ish hokay. 'M fine," he informed,
giving me a pretty fair contact high while
making my stomach lurch as he breathed the
sour smelling fumes into my grimacing face.
"I. jus' thought for a momen' I'd puked up my
tonsil, but it was only a coupla crowns. Did
you fine my contacs, though? Never fel' them
go."

I never have been much of a drinker since
that night, but I now know how it feels to
puke so hard I could believe my tonsils were
in danger.

Scully helped me find my contacts.

I see the dentist tomorrow.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>




End 7/?


Symbiosis (8 of ?)


JOURNAL OF FOX MULDER
October 31, 2000 Halloween

I've watched two Darth Mauls, five skeletons
and one Death approach my door, begging for
candy.  This is the one holiday of the year
when we choose to celebrate the monsters of
our existence, including Death himself.  This
year I'm not celebrating much.  I suppose.
Scully got some chocolate bars and has been
handing them out to the trick or treaters.
I've been watching all the cute little kids
dressed as monsters, devils and death troop
through our doorway.  I wish the real items
were as harmless.

I'm troubled by the financial burden I'm
causing Scully, being her live-in, housebound
patient. I've suggested to her that I might
go to a hospice, but she just gets mad.
"Hospices are for dying people, Mulder, and
you aren't dying!" was her last comment on
the subject.

I guess -- what started this, what put this
plan in action was the idea that popped into
my head as I watched Scully's face as she
labored over writing out her bills. It was
Sunday, two days after my last treatment, but
I was still puking my guts up. Nothing was
working to stop the nausea, but it was
slowing a bit. She's made me up a bed on the
couch, in front of her TV.

I knew that missing work almost the entire
month of October was playing hell with her
budget and I was in no position to help after
two months of medical leave. That's when it
hit me, the idea. It seemed so perfect, so
right. We love each other and wasn't there a
saying, "two can live as cheaply as one?"

I pushed myself up from my makeshift sick-bed
and strolled over to join her at the table.
She gave me a quick, half hearted grin of
acknowledgment as I took my seat, but grimly
returned to her task of robbing Peter to pay
Paul without a word.

I suppose I didn't impress her with my smooth
charm. I don't think I worded my question
quite right. Hell, I've only done this one
other time and I don't remember how the
subject even came up that time. I don't even
recall doing it, I think I was drugged. I
just woke up the next day and it was over.

"Scully, I've been thinking," I began.

A frown of concentration still lingered on
her forehead as that one lone brow shot up to
question me. That 'look' always unnerves me
and I grabbed her hand to calm myself. Just
touching her gave me strength so I pushed on,
"Scully, I know that your losing all this
time because of me has really hurt you
financially and..."

Stopping and looking at her face was my big
mistake. I should have just kept my head down
and barged on. My tongue tied when I watched
that second auburn brow slant up to join the
other by her hairline. Stammering now, I
continued.  "See two can live as cheaply as
one...at least that's what they say...and,
and...the bureau does have a spousal paid
leave...and since we're practically living
together...well we are living together now, I
mean we're sharing the same bed and
we're...you know, having sex and..."

"Mulder, are you by any chance asking me to
marry you?" she asked aghast, but I could see
the shadow of a smile.

I nodded.  "If...if that's okay with you,
Scully.  I know I'm not much of a catch right
now...." I couldn't finish my sentence
because she was kissing me so hard.

"Dammit, Mulder, you never know when to shut
up, do you?  Of course I'll marry you," she
whispered throatily into my ear.  That's my
Scully, romantic to the end.

She's wearing my Oxford ring as her
engagement ring.  I called Mom, and she's
sending Grandma Mulder's wedding ring for the
ceremony.  It'll be small, and Mom isn't well
enough to attend.

Scully and I will be married in the chapel at
the Rosie Dawson Cancer Treatment Center by
the chaplain there. We've decided to have the
big Catholic wedding later, when I'm
recovered.  I telephoned Skinner and asked
him to be my best man.  He was surprised but
very flattered by the request.

*****

November 1, 2000 All Souls Day

Scully's mother and Skinner stood up with us
and the gunmen videotaped the wedding so my
mom'll have a copy. Mom sent flowers, and the
chapel was bedecked with chrysanthemums,
white and yellow and rust-colored. This
morning, Special Agent Dana Scully, MD,
wearing a fetching navy blue suit (she
doesn't own a white dress) added a 'hyphen
Mulder' to her name.

Mom sent the wedding ring by overnight pack
and I was glad to be able to slip it onto
Scully's finger.  And, for a wonder, I didn't
throw up all day.  Must be the champagne
Skinner brought.

We celebrated with cake and champagne after
the ceremony and Frohike cried.  I always
knew he was sentimental.

I GUESS -- some people might wonder why I'm
so happy, since Adult Primary Liver Cancer;
Localized unresectable only has a survival
rate of 30%

ALL I KNOW -- is I'm lying here in bed, my
wife sleeping beside me, her small warm hand
resting casually on my upper thigh and I just
can't stop smiling.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

JOURNAL OF FOX MULDER
November 6, 2000

I'm writing this, half reclining in a lounge
chair, while a tube is pumping poison into my
veins. I've spent the last half hour since
Scully went to see if they've found
something....anything....I can take for
nausea, trying to convince myself I'm not in
the throes of a nightmare.

I've only been able to force food down my
rebellious gorge for two days without it
coming immediately back up, and here I am
starting this process all over again. The
frowns I received at my "weigh-in" this
morning were silent, disapproving testimony
that Fox Mulder is losing too much weight. As
if I had any say in the matter.

This morning, as I was getting ready for this
appointment, I frightened Scully.  I think I
took ten years off her life. I'd just stepped
from the shower and was combing my hair when
I screamed. I couldn't help it.

"Mulder!" she didn't waste a moment knocking,
and the door was flung open without an
announcement.

I couldn't speak, I just held the brush out
for her to see. She almost hid the wince that
came with her notice of half a head full of
matted hair, there in the bristles. It's
started, no warning, no preamble. I'm not one
of the fortunate to dodge this bullet. My
hair is falling out in clumps.

"I've got that Yankee's cap you gave me after
the series."  Scully's voice was soft. She
met my eyes.  She's got more guts than I
have. I couldn't even look at myself in the
mirror. I never realized I was this vain.

*****

I'm back at the house, curled up on our bed,
a trash can at the ready beside me. This time
is worse than the last. Just when I think
there's nothing left inside me, it hits and
I'm choking on saliva, phlegm and bile.

I've got 4 more days of this.


*****

They have started me on methadone to help my
nausea. It's helping. I haven't vomited in
twenty minutes.

Were staying here at the hospital overnight
because that last time I tossed my cookies
(the last time since Scully brought me into
the ER) I had another blood vessel burst.
They say no problem, though. I just got a
little intense while I was flinging chunks.
My red cell count's a little low, too. They
just wanna keep an eye on me.

Speaking of eyes...I burst a couple of them,
too. Not my eyeball, little blood vessels in
them. I once saw a strangulation victim, when
I was working VCU, whose eyes looked like
mine do now. After my barf-o-rama. He'd been
killed with pantyhose. His girlfriend did it.
An honest to God female serial killer. She
got rid of four boyfriends before we caught
her. The guy with the red eye was the last
one.

She had red hair. Okay, Scully keep up with
me here. I'm telling you what I'm typing,
when I type it, so I know I'm going slow
enough for you. Hey, I'm making perfect
sense.  No, I'm not sleepy. Not at all. I, I,
I, I feel ggggreattttttt. No, I don't need to
rest, wanna finish typpp...ttyPPpp.. writing
here in my...um... in this thingy. My book
uh...thinggg.... Hey wait, No! Scully, don't
take my ...

I took your laptop. Good night. - DKS-M

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

JOURNAL OF FOX MULDER

December 1, 2000

Frohike and Byers dropped by while Scully was
at the hospital getting my fix.<g> (The
Methadone does seem to work, though it makes
me higher than a kite. I reread my last
journal entry and I don't remember writing
half of what was there.) Tried to be my usual
witty, entertaining self but this damn nausea
is getting me down and my vision is still off
after breaking those blood vessels in my left
eye. (For some reason, I don't say things
like "This is killing me" anymore. Wonder
why?)

She sensed that one of the gunmen had the
beginnings of a head cold and my dulcet
darling, with her J. Edgar style and finesse
got him to confess he'd also just recently
had a stomach bug. I plan on printing up a
sign --

Be ye warned, all who venture to this door -
A clean bill of health, signed by no less
than two licensed physicians (both MD's
credentials must have met prior approval by
Special Agent Dana K. Scully-Mulder, MD) will
from hence forth be necessary for entry.


She cares. I know that's why. Reminds me of
that song by the Band. She mends me, tends me
and defends me.

Scully's the reason I'm going to make it
through this.  And I am.

*****

Scully has continued to research the Coston
case and has been bringing the files home for
me to read.  I appreciate that, I can only
watch so much Jerry Springer before I begin
to feel homicidal.

The killings have continued and seem to be
escalating.  The victims are getting younger.

Two more bodies have been found, both
females, age 14 and 13, both dead of
premature aging.  Both were found with
identical religious medals of St. Jude on the
bodies.  And there's more.  Scully found
traces of salted water on the latest body,
consistent with holy water.  She theorizes
that the killer is somehow blessing the body,
implying either a ritual killing or, as I
believe, a blessing of the body after death.
Maybe our killer has a conscience?

Also, investigation of Amber Coston's
background has turned up a stormy
relationship between the couple.  Apparently
the two had a fight, in front of witnesses,
just two days before Amber turned up dead.
Coston wished out loud that Amber would just
disappear from his life. Two days later Amber
was found dead of old age.

We have also found a connection between three
of the victims.  The last three girls found
dead were all members of a local youth soccer
league, and Scully has confirmed that Michael
Gillette was a coach for the same league.  I
saw a team soccer picture on his desk when we
were at the house, showing his 9 year old
daughter with the rest of the team.  But why
kill him and then move on to children?  The
killings just don't fit together.  Amber's
could have been a revenge-murder, but where
does Gillette fit in? Or the girls?

And weirdest of all, Michael Coston is dying.

He is HIV positive, now living at St. Mary's
Hospice.


Title: Symbiosis (9 of ?)
Author:  Xenith and KatVictory


CHAPTER 9

Entry no: 2000/12/04
Report of: #8\18081957/Fox
Local Name: Miriam


You were sleeping peacefully, the nausea lulled away
by the tea she'd fixed you and the warmth of her arms,
when you suddenly sat straight up in bed.

The flu that Byers had passed on, finally made its
presence known. I might have helped some, had I not
been floating on my numbing chemo high. As it was,
your fit of almost projectile-like vomiting woke
Scully. How could it not, the contents of your stomach
saturated the entire bedroom, her included.

"I think that nightmare about Linda Blair and the
split pea soup set this off," you croaked, sleep and
fatigue rusting your tone.

She half carried you into the bathroom, chuckling
softly for your benefit at your drowsy attempt at wit.

You mutely stretched a not so steady hand to her
cheek, vainly dabbing at where a smear of rapidly
drying vomit had landed.  "I'm sorry, Scully," came
out in a low, hitching half swallowed sob of
embarrassment.

Murmuring "It's okay," and handing you a warm wash
rag, she allowed you the dignity of the somewhat
daunting task of sponging yourself clean.

Assured that you were holding your own, she then left
the door ajar for safety, and dutifully set about
cleaning up the havoc in the bedroom your sudden
illness had wrought.

Even in my stupor, I could read your mood, Mulder. I
knew, even weak and depleted from yesterday's dose of
chemo, you still wanted to fight.

You needed to rage back at what was happening to you.
With a sigh, you tossed the rag into the sink, knowing
that the task of getting rid of what was now caking on
your entire body would have been impossible with that
tiny, damp square of terry cloth.

Gamely gathering up all your energy, you shuffled over
to the shower and turned the spray on to your favorite
setting of blistering needles. You then began to peel
off your soiled T-shirt and sweat pants, giving the
foul-smelling garments a half hearted kick to the far
corner by the toilet. You made a mental note to
yourself to remember to take care of this messy detail
before Scully got a chance to spot them.

You'd just stepped through the wafting steam and were
shutting the curtain behind you when you spotted the
stranger. That thin, yellowed parchment skinned,
partially bald man, hunched and wearily trembling as
he moved about in the hot, gray fog of the bathroom,
wore your face.

That one reflected glimpse stole your breath away.
Shocked horror drove you reeling back 'til you pressed
against the moist, just warming tiles. You clenched
your eyes shut in denial, squinting against the tears.

Stark black and white images passed before your mind's
eye -- emaciated men, women, children, stripped of
hair, clothing and all but the last tattered vestiges
of their pride. Behind your closed lids, in the
darkness shuffled the countless wraith-like people
who, like you,  were prisoners trapped in a cruel,
pitiless world that moved on, heedless to their silent
cries for mercy.

Those in your vision  wore the same haunted,
death's-head expression, while being led to their
slaughter, that you'd just witnessed in your own
reflection, opening a door in you that you'd somehow
kept barred until now.

You saw your mortality.

You saw the skeleton finger beckoning you into untold
suffering and ultimately death.  You know that your
fate is to follow where the Reaper leads.

Scully entered moments later to find you sobbing,
huddled in the tub, your knees drawn up to your
chest.  Without a pause she stepped in, still clothed,
to gather you into her small, but oh-so strong arms.
She let go for only a heartbeat, to hastily remove her
wet gown, then began to caress your raw, fever stung
skin with her hands and her fresh vanilla scented soap
you've always liked. Firm, supple but amazingly
tender, hands messaged the ache of your muscles and
that twisting, gnawing fear-pain that was consuming
you from inside out.

Wrapping you in a huge, soft towel that smelled of a
lazy summer day and appeared magically from that
enchanted Scully-place, she walked you back to the bed
you share. Smooth fresh sheets below you, more of the
same spread gently atop, then two dark, velvety
blankets banished the last of the chill from your
soul. The silky heat of her flesh, stretched full to
surround you 'til you were enveloped completely,
lulling you until you drifted peacefully  to safe,
dreamless sleep.

Then, and only then did she rise and return to the
bath. Surrounded by the damp, sound-muffling mist
which engulfed her behind the closed door she finally
began to methodically cleanse herself of the thick,
fetid-smelling sickness that still clung to her hair
and skin. This last chore accomplished, she cried.

Against my will, I believe what you feel for her is
rubbing off, Mulder. I know now why you love her.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

JOURNAL OF FOX MULDER

December 6, 2000

Nausea's a little better today, but I've still got
that eye strain headache. Sleep helps, but it just
keeps coming back because that eye just won't focus. I
set up a date to get my vision checked after next
weeks chemo session.

I've also made an appointment to see Linda, the
psychologist with the chemo clinic. There are a few
things I need to talk about with someone. Someone who
isn't Scully.  I'm fighting this; with Scully behind
me I know I can beat it, but...

The "but" is what I have to talk to someone about. I
know there are certain phases one passes through when
facing their mortality. I think I excelled at denial.
Fear comes in because I wonder if, even now, there's
still a part of me that refuses to accept that the
world will go on without me. I know that's egotistical
as hell, but I believe all humans have this belief as
a defense mechanism, a survival trait. If we didn't,
we might not be able to get up in the morning. Now,
some of us are more ardent in our faith in this belief
than others but I chose not to go there.

But, psychobabble aside, I think I see that final step
now. Acceptance. That doesn't mean it's over, it just
means my eyes are open that there is an end to this
climb. Scully could embrace her fate, but I know from
experience that it's harder to let go when there is a
life that you value more than your own. I know this
will either get better, or it will end. I don't want
her pain to start before it has to. The grief of
losing someone goes on forever.


Entry no: 2000/12/06
Report of: #8\18081957/Fox
Local Name: Miriam


I really don't know where to start in making this
report. I suppose I should begin by stating that our
relationship has given this existence-weary Symbiote a
change of heart.

I've decided to revise my plans and turn my energies
to leading you out of this shadowed valley I've so
eagerly forced you to enter.

Now, I'm not getting soft. No, not after having to
endure 3000 years of forced co-habitation with a
species that is so genetically-challenged they lack
the ability to appreciate their unique, wonderfully
designed bodies. You Humans, short lived and
frighteningly fragile though you may be, have been
gifted with a physical form that can experience your
environment in such an amazingly emotionally sensitive
way, it is rivaled throughout the galaxy. Why do you
think so many visitors drop by to study your kind?  It
sure the hell isn't your dazzling intellect that draws
them here.

But you, Fox, with you it's been different. I've
rediscovered that, for some of you, there is a chance
of rising above this inborn flaw and coming close to
reaching your promise.

Sentimentality aside, I'm too much of a scholar to
lose this golden opportunity to study such a
fascinating oddity - a human being actually close to
realizing his potential. Now, I'm not saying my next
host will interest me in this way, but I'll cut him
the same break. Fox, looks like you've finally lucked
out.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><>


Entry no: 2000/12/08
Report of: #8\18081957/Fox
Local Name: Miriam


If I had a stomach, it would be somewhere down by my
knees.  (That would mean I'd have to have knees,
too.)  I can't believe I'm joking at a time like this.
Mulder, I've killed you. When, when did this happen?
When they biopsy these metastasized cells they're
going to go crazy; you'll make the AMA journals for
years.

Fox, soon, I don't know when, but very, very soon
you're going to discover that somewhere along the way
I dropped the ball.   Since these cells are a mutated
strain of melanoma and hepatocellular carcinoma it had
to be some time right after you had the biopsy for
Hepatitis C. That's when I first started my
manipulations for this final stage of my project.

There are 4 malignant tumors growing in your brain.
This explains your headaches and blurred vision. This
means you're going to die, and I don't think I can
prevent it.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><>


JOURNAL OF FOX MULDER

December 11, 2000

Yesterday is when everything started. It seems a
century ago, so much has happened. But only a little
over 40 hours have passed. Ask me now if I'm ready for
the end? You'll hear something entirely different than
when I was waxing so philosophic last week. I don't
want to die! And fuck the Stones, this isn't something
I need.

I'd been having blurred vision since that emergency
room visit last month.  I'd been assuming that I'd
done something to my eye and hadn't bothered
mentioning to Scully or my doctor that the symptom had
lingered.

When the headaches started I'd thought they were just
eye strain.   Then I woke up yesterday and the right
side of my body was numb.  I couldn't move, and
obviously my problem wasn't just a broken blood vessel
in my eye.  After several vain attempts to get out of
bed myself, I had to call Scully.

"What?" Her voice held a tinge of impatience. She'd
been on the phone with her mother. I'm pretty sure she
thought I was just waking up horny. My nausea had all
but disappeared the last couple of days and I'd
actually been feeling great. I've almost weaned myself
off methadone completely. I'd even eaten my required 6
meals the day before. That's probably why she'd called
her mom, to give her a 'Good Mulder' report.

She was at my side in an instant, her brow puckered in
a frown, examining my eyes. She didn't like what she
saw.  One look at my face told her I was terrified.

"Mulder, have you been having problems seeing?" She
asked, her voice raised with concern.

I sank back on the pillows, afraid to move. "Yes," I
honestly think my teeth were trying to chatter. I know
that my hand was shaking, my left hand. The one that
moves.

She turned to the phone, grabbing her book from
beneath it. It was, of course, open to the page that
had all the right numbers; my oncologist, the
hospital, and the non-emergency number for the
ambulance.

I listened in silence as she described my latest
symptoms to the doctor. I felt a pang of nausea when
she related the fact my left eye seemed to be swollen
or protruding. MY first instinct was to touch it, but
I decided I really didn't want to know. Why not finish
playing the ostrich to the end?

The end.

I think I knew it even then.

I did pull my head out of the sand when I heard her
say we'd meet the doctor at the hospital.  She was
calling an ambulance now.

"No!" I muttered, grabbing her wrist. Her expression
was a cross between fear and irritation at my
thwarting her plans. I don't believe she was
frightened that I'd win our arm wrestling match for
the phone. She knew it, too. I could read it in her
eyes.

"No ambulance. Please. See if you can get the guys. I
think I can walk, with someone helping.  I don't want
to leave here on a stretcher."  She gave me a long,
deep look and then sighed, and then called the gunmen.

The gunmen weren't in. She called Skinner. He was
there in less than half an hour.  I was still lying in
bed when I heard the door open.

"How is he?" I heard Skinner ask.  Scully's reply was
much softer, and I couldn't hear the words.  I could
guess what she was telling him, but quietly, so that I
wouldn't know she was pronouncing a death sentence on
me.  I could feel the side of my face sagging, like
that of a stroke victim, and can only imagine the way
I must have looked.

Skinner came into the bedroom with a cheerful look
pasted on his face.  But I could read through it; he'd
had the same expression when he visited me in the
hospital neuro ward after I got whammied by that alien
rubbing.  Then, his first glance at me pulled his
mouth into that tight line he always got when I did
something that pissed him off. Skinner's face reflects
such a broad range of emotions. He'd should have been
an actor. He could have made a mint playing corpses,
or FBI assistant directors.

We'd gotten me into some sweats by the time the AD
arrived. I found I could still sit on the side of the
bed if I used my 'good' arm for balance. Dressing had
been a comedy of errors, what with my right side limp
as a dishrag, but we managed.

Skinner lifted me easily off the bed; with what I
weigh now he didn't even break a sweat.  He half
carried me out to Scully's car, and although he said
nothing, he didn't have to. He hadn't seen me in a few
weeks, and the changes have been pretty dramatic.

 He and Scully conferred out of earshot. I guess they
decided he'd return home to finish his Sunday paper
and wait for word because the meeting broke; he
returning to his vehicle, she, to the one I was in. I
know she paused a moment to check me out, but I didn't
even open my eyes. I rested my head against the glass
the entire trip, murmuring over and over under my
breath to please let this all be a dream. Was I saying
a prayer? Did I think I was muttering some good luck
chant? It doesn't matter. It didn't work.

*****

Scully's expression can only be described as
'terrible'.  Terrible, as in so intrinsically
frightening that you want to duck for cover because
she's so pissed.  She was clearly steeling her voice
to extreme calmness.

"Do you want to explain to me how you people could
possibly miss 4 tumors?  Don't try to convince me that
they just appeared overnight. He's been tested every
two weeks, for these cells metastasizing, and every
two weeks you've sent us home saying he's all clear.
What...?"

The voice of  my doctor, Richard T. Clark, cut in.
"Dr. Scully, the cells aren't from his liver
cancer...not exactly."

The silence was so loud it made my ears ring. I opened
my right eye and peered over to my partner. My vision
was clearing some. They'd started steroids for the
swelling, and I was already getting a sense of
tingling feeling returning to my right side. Pretty
amazing stuff that dexamethasone. I was starting to
feel a little nauseated, but then, everything makes me
nauseous.

"So, this has been metastasizing since July? This is
from the melanoma?" Scully's voice wasn't her low,
calmly irritated voice. Her pitch rose with each word,
by the time she hit melanoma.  I found I was cringing,
and her anger wasn't even directed at me. I closed my
eye again. My head was starting to ache along with my
stomach.

"Yes, well, no, not exactly."  Dr. Rick stammered,
obviously having sensitive hearing, too.

Scully returned to her even, but deadly, cutting
manner of speaking to make the coupe de grace. "So you
have no idea if these are some hitherto undiscovered
primary tumors or if there are some as yet unfound
other primary cancers? What exactly do you know? Other
than the fact my husband has 4 brain tumors and your
negligence just might have killed him?"

I winced at her prognosis and cut another glance to
try to read her expression. She, of course, realized
that I was lying conscious, in my bed, not two feet
away. Two bright scarlet patches glowed in contrast to
the ghostly white of her face. I quickly composed my
face, shut my eye and played possum.  She bought my
charade enough to continue, but she lowered her voice
when she spoke again. I had to strain to hear her.

"How could this be happening?"  Her question was
almost a sob it was so plaintive.

"Dr. Scully, WE don't know how. Liver cancer doesn't
normally metastasize to the brain. But this is not
liver cancer, this is not melanoma, this is some weird
'hybrid' of the two," he whispered desperately.

I had to open my eyes, both of them, at this. The word
'hybrid' always stops me in my tracks because of the
many hybrids I've come into contact with in past
years.

Scully knew what my reaction would be and met my gaze,
her face an ivory mask of horror. We both knew how
this might have occurred. It's suspected that the
trigger for cancer lies deep within each person's DNA.
And not many people on this planet have had their DNA
fucked with as much as Fox Mulder. And you, Scully.
You've gone through this, too. Somehow though, I don't
think a chip is going to do the trick this time.

****

So, Dr. Rick has just left. Scully is downstairs; her
mother finally talked her into getting some food down.
And I'm here with the laptop, trying to figure out how
it's come to this.

This is how it stands as of 7:30 p.m. tonight,
December 11, 2000. At the rate these metastasized
tumors seem to be growing, (and this is saying that
melanoma on my hand was where this all started) I will
live until April at the latest.

I am going to die.  Soon.  Very soon.

The largest mass, the one behind my eye, is operable.
But, (always that ass-end but) why bother? I have
three others, one of which is deep within my brain,
near my pituitary, and the other, that will probably
be the one that takes me out, is resting against my
brain stem.

The good news is, the primary tumors, three at last
count, are shrinking and my liver is healing nicely.
The nodules from the cirrhosis have all but
disappeared. But I'm stopping the chemo. Who gives a
shit if my liver is clean when I die?  I want what
time I have left to be good. I go home tomorrow. I'll
take the steroids; they make me a little queasy but
that's nothing compared to what I've been through.
I'll play the odds that nothing catches up to me until
that one on my brain stem stops me. Hey, some of the
odds have to fall my way at some point. Don't they?

Scully doesn't say much, she just gives me long looks
filled with sorrow. I feel bad about all this-we're
newlyweds!  Now she'll have to be a widow.  Damn!  I
want more time, dammit! Do you hear me, God?  I want
more time!  I'm not fucking done yet!



Entry no: 2000/12/12
Report of: #8\18081957/Fox
Local Name: Miriam


I feel so embarrassed and guilty at my terrible
mistake.  To make such a simple error in my
manipulations and unwittingly kill my host is an
unheard of piece of stupidity on my part.  To try and
make it up to you, Fox, I've been working hard at
decreasing your nausea.  You're feeling better these
days than you have in months. You ascribe it to the
respite from chemotherapy, and I'll let you go on
believing that.

Your wife has been behaving strangely though. Today,
while you were napping, she had a visitor.  My hearing
is considerably sharper than yours, so I caught both
sides of the conversation quite clearly.

There was a rap on the front door and she let somebody
in, a man.  I could smell a faint whiff of old
cigarettes float in with him.

"I am surprised that you called on me for help, Agent
Scully.  Or should I say, Mrs. Mulder?"

Her voice was tense.  "You know I had no choice.  What
did your butchers do to him?"

"I'm afraid you have me at a loss.  What do you mean,
'do to him'?  We've done nothing to harm him."

I heard her footfalls on the carpet as she paced.
"You bastards did something to his DNA.  I'm sure you
already know about the liver cancer.  Haven't you been
told about the 4 tumors in his brain?  The ones that
will kill him in a little less than 4 months?"

There was a brief pause, then the man spoke, sounding
shaken.  "I...was not informed of this turn of
events.  I knew about the liver cancer and that he was
receiving treatment.  And you believe that these
tumors resulted from our...manipulations?"

"Hah, that's right, put your hand on your own head.
You carry his cells too, you bastard.  For all you
know, you've got this cancer.  I want a cure for him,
and I want it now.  You *owe* it to him."

"I owe you nothing, Agent Scully.  What Mulder is, he
owed it to the rest of humanity to share it.  I may be
able to help him, but there must be compensation made
for the treatment."

"I expected as much.  All right, what do you want?"
She sounded defeated.

"A simple exchange of favors.  My people will call on
you once, and once only, to assist in one of our
projects.  That's all."

"I don't have a choice, you know I'll do it.  What
treatment do you propose?"

"We have some members of our staff who are skilled at
healing. You've seen their handiwork on Mrs. Mulder.
That's why she recovered so well and quickly from her
stroke.  I'll be here tomorrow at about this time.
Oh, and Agent Scully, you may want to give Agent
Mulder something to make him sleep through the
procedure.  He's unlikely to agree to the course of
action you've chosen to take."

"I....I'll take care of it."  Her voice trembled with
emotion.

The door opened, then closed, letting the man out of
the apartment.  Then I heard Scully's soft footfalls
as she entered the bedroom.

She spent the next hour sitting by your bedside,
holding your hand and crying.

Title: Symbiosis (10 of ?)
Author:  Xenith and KatVictory


<><><><><><><>
 CHAPTER TEN
<><><><><><><>




Entry no: 2000/12/13
Report of: #8\18081957/Fox
Local Name: Miriam


You were concerned today about Scully's
apparent depression.  You assumed that she
was unhappy because of your health, which is
true enough as far as it goes.

I was keeping watch over her while you napped
early this afternoon. I listened as she made
a quiet telephone call, ending with the
phrase, "Okay, then.  I'll see you later
today."

From this, I gathered that we were to have
another visitation from our previous caller.
You woke soon after, just in time for Scully
to bring you your lunch,  Big Mac and fries
with a tall glass of orange juice.

"Hey, Scully, I definitely approve of the
cuisine here.  Burger *and* fries?  What
happened to the salads and vegetarian food?"

She grimaced, trying for a smile. "Well,
since things were looking up with your liver
and you've been absolutely salt free for 3
whole months, I figured this once I'd let you
splurge.  All I ask is that you finish the
orange juice, okay?  That's probably the only
part of the meal with vitamins."

You nodded happily and munched your fries,
washing them down with the juice.  "Hey,
Scully, you feelin' better now?" you asked
cautiously.

She started to protest that she felt fine,
then stopped.  "You noticed, huh?"

You took a swig of juice. "Yeah.  I know it's
rough, Scully.  I've been there, remember?"

She nodded but didn't meet your eyes.  "I
know that you would have moved heaven and
earth to find a cure for me."  Her hand went
back to her neck and she looked up.  "You
did. You searched until you found the answer
that saved me."

You nodded, then yawned.  "You don't know
how
close I came to selling my soul for that
answer, Scully.  The smoker almost bought me,
but I got the solution despite him.  I knew,"
another yawn, "that you'd never respect me if
I sold out like that, even for you."

Her eyes were very blue as she took the tray
off the bed.  "You're right, Mulder.  I love
you too much to see you compromise your
beliefs in any way."  She pulled the blankets
up and tenderly covered you.  You smiled up
at her drowsily.

"Wow, I ate too much; now my meds are really
making me sleepy. D'you mind if I take a
nap?"

She shook her head.  "I don't mind at all.
Your gonna need a nice long snooze to digest
that meal."  She sat with you until you
dropped off into a deep sleep, then took the
tray away into the other room.

Being as intimate with your system as I am, I
know something you don't.  The juice was
spiked with Phenobarbital.  I expected you to
be out for some time, and couldn't help
wondering if she was up to what I thought she
was up to.

I didn't have to wait long to confirm my
suspicions.  Soon there was a knock on the
door and I heard the footsteps of two people.

"You're right on time," she murmured.

"Of course," said the man from yesterday.
"You know my associate."

"Oh, yes, I know him.  I had the bruises for
a long time after our first meeting.  I would
offer you coffee, but I don't know if your
friend eats."

"Pleasantries are unnecessary," a deep,
unfamiliar male voice replied.  "Where is the
man?"

"He's in the bedroom," she said and soon I
heard the footsteps coming closer.  As they
approached I could sense the signatures of
two humans, followed by....what?  Normally I
can sense heartbeat, respiration and that
indefinable something that tells me I'm in
the presence of a human.  This helps me find
a new host after the death of the previous
one.

But this other person....Suddenly the
realization hit me.  It was one of THEM.  The
early ones.  The ones who were here on the
planet millennia ago.  We thought they were
gone forever.   He  couldn't be allowed to
find me here.

I quickly withdrew my presence from your
body, encapsulating my being into a tiny,
concentrated area somewhere around your left
big toe, and hoped profoundly that this entity
wouldn't sense me.  We are hard to kill, but
there are worse things than dying.

"I gave him the drugs, as you suggested.
He'll sleep for a few hours yet."  She
sounded calm, collected.

"Good.  Can't allow Mulder to disrupt his own
healing, now can we?" The smoker approached
the bed and I heard his gasp of shock as he
saw your changed appearance. He said
nothing,
but his face must have been telling.

"He's been on chemotherapy for two months
and
could barely keep food down.  Now they have
him on steroids," she softly explained.

"So I see.  I'm glad you called on me before
it became too late to help him." The smoker's
voice sounded angry.

"Why do you care whether he lives or dies?
He's never been anything more than a pawn to
you." Her tone was angry too.

"Has he told you what he is to me?  More than
a pawn, I assure you.  Ah, I see you know
about the relationship, Agent Scully. Then
does it surprise you that I should care about
his welfare?  I've watched him grow all his
life, from a distance it's true, but
consistently.  As difficult as it may be for
you to believe, I want to help."

During this conversation, I could feel the
alien's hands touching your forehead,
seeking, searching for the illness.  I shrank
back into my hidey-hole and tried to make
myself as small and invisible as possible.

Finally, the alien spoke.  "No.  It cannot be
done."

Both the smoker and Scully reacted
immediately.  "What do you mean, it can't be
done?" she cried, as the smoker said, "That
can't be true!  You've healed far worse!"

The alien removed his hands from your body.
"There is something here that I do not
recognize.  It matches no human disease
pattern with which I am familiar.  I have
relieved some of his symptoms, but that is
all I can do.  He will die soon."

I heard Scully's indrawn breath, followed (to
my surprise) by the smoker's.  The heart rate
for each of them doubled.  Caring from your
wife I expected, but in this man who consorts
with monsters?  Surprising.

"Can't you do anything?  Anything at all?"
Her voice was desperate now. "There's no deal
if he isn't fully healed."

"As I said, there is nothing I can do.  This
is beyond my capabilities." The alien moved
off and away from you, to my immense relief.

The smoker and the alien went into the living
room, talking quietly.  She stayed behind
momentarily, and I felt her softly caress
your cheek.  Then she, too, left and closed
the door behind her.

It looks like a cure is up to me now.  This
does not fill me with confidence for I have
well and truly fucked up your system, using
your own vocabulary.  I'm sorry, Mulder, this
is all my fault.  Feeling this unaccustomed
remorse prevents me from even enjoying my
usual thrill at your emotional responses to
the situation.



<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>



Entry no: 2000/12/14
Report of: #8\18081957/Fox
Local Name: Miriam


I've been in a bit of a tailspin these last
couple of days. That I could have botched a
job like this has me very, very depressed.

Health wise, you seem to be feeling better
than you have in months. I know why, of
course. The side effects of my manipulations
have been cleared up by that smelly man's
alien, sub-species lap dog.

I feel I'm even developing a third party
connection with Dana. Oddly enough, I feel
little of my normal jealousy toward the
woman. I  like her. She's certainly helping
you get through this fiasco I've spawned.

It seems that around each corner, everywhere
you turn are the solemn reminders of your
death sentence. However, I'M the one who
appears to be shaken by this ever present
black crepe. This morning, Scully accompanied
you to start moving out of your apartment.
You have until the first of the year but you
feel you need to take care of some
arrangements, to set your affairs in order.
You're a married man now, but there'll be no
honeymoon cottage for you two, so why pay
two
rents?  Your mood was one of solemn
resignation.

You were in "the bedroom" going through yet
another box filled with junk when you paused,
bent over at the waist, almost standing on
your head in the huge carton. Slowly
straightening, you stood up, a shoe box in
your hand. Your quick glance to check where
your lady love was caught her attention, and
my mood brightened a bit with your sudden
flush of boyish embarrassment.

"What is it, Mulder?" she queried, a grin
spreading across her face. She hasn't smiled
lately. Not after her try at saving you
failed.

Your lame attempt at subterfuge died,
withered on the vine. You allowed her to peek
inside the long, narrow cardboard box. When
she glanced up, her eyes shone brightly,
glittering to accompany that full, trembling
bottom lip. In her hand was one of the small,
slips of paper, ripped from a memo pad.
"Mulder, you even  saved  my memos?"

You were staring at your shoes, but nodded.
Finally you glanced up at her to see she was
browsing through your collection of notes,
cards, hastily scrawled messages,  all
handwritten momentos of your seven years.
"Scully, if anyone finds out about
this...well, I'm not as good a shot as you,
so your death could be really painful."

She laughed, but her heart wasn't in it and
you sensed it. Your emotional barometer once
again began it's dervish-like spinning and
you became angry. "That's why I hid them,
Scully, I knew you'd laugh."

She opened her mouth to explain, but stopped
when you grabbed the keepsake box from her
and tossed it in the plastic trash sack. She
moved to retrieve it, but your dark,
rage-filled stare stopped her. Her face was
etched with worry. Your moods are beginning
to change. This is a symptom of the disease,
the steroids and the treatment you received
from your so called 'father'. It seems the
'healing' has only made things worse. I see
no changes in the cancer yet, but I see the
changes in you. So that makes 2 of us who are
worried.



<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>



JOURNAL OF FOX MULDER
December 15, 2000


Ten days to Christmas. Fa la la la la...

Yesterday Scully and I cleaned out my
apartment, the dump I had called home since
1989.  We brought my fish back, but not much
else.  The rest of my things, like my life,
went to storage.  I know I'll never go back
there again, never resume my old life.

And worst of all, I lost the most important
thing today.  I lost her today.

I never thought Scully would sell out to
the smoker.

She thought I was asleep when he just
"happened" to stop by, and they talked about
his earlier visit.  A visit which occurred
while I was drugged into unconsciousness by
my partner...by my wife...my Scully.  She
made a deal with that black-lunged son of a
bitch to save me.

Okay, it was to save my life. I understand
her motives and the desperation that drove
her to consider this, but she shouldn't
have.  She knows how I feel about this;
that's why she put me out.  We talked about
this, if I remember right, just before she
placed me in their dirty, corrupt hands.
And it didn't work, anyway.  Damn it, Scully,
can't you see that there's no escape once
they have you?  Just ask Skinner!

"I thought I would stop by to see how he's
doing..." I heard him say.

"He's been getting worse since your last
visit. I think that the bounty-hunter's
treatment only made him sicker.  His mood
swings are more severe; he's having
headaches
and dizzy spells, his appetite has fallen
off, even with the steroids."

"I'm sorry to hear that.  As I told you
before, I have an interest in his well-being,
physical and emotional." An interest in my
well-being?  That's a joke. 

"So you said," Scully replied. "But the fact
remains that
your 'treatment' did nothing at all and may have
worsened his condition. He's dying...unless you
have something else to offer?"

I heard...regret?...in the smoking man's
voice. "No, I am truly sorry, Agent Scully,
but I've already tried the best resource I
have at my disposal.  We both know what
awaits him, given his weakened condition."

"I know," Scully said shortly. "Then I have
one more request of you.  Leave us alone. Let
him die in peace.  You've watched him all his
life, shadowed his existence, engineered his
conception for all we know...But now, just
let him alone."

I didn't hear the smoker's response, but he
left shortly after that.

Scully...dealing with that man.  She knows
better.  Hell, she was one of his guinea pigs
not so long ago!  She's under such duress
that she'd deal with the devil himself for my
worthless hide.

God, I can't take this.  I'm dying anyway,
and by all accounts this is going to be a
long and painful trip.  How much more will I
lose before I reach the end of the journey?




<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>



Entry no: 2000/12/16
Report of: #8\18081957/Fox
Local Name: Miriam


The blind headaches have started up again.
Your vision is worsening, especially the
peripheral vision in that left eye. The
increased dosage of steroids has left you
swinging between elation and anger.

I know I'm not helping your emotions because
I'm consciously making an effort to
communicate with you now. I have plans again,

Fox. I believe I have found a way to undo the
damage I've done...we've done...well, at
least help give you a fighting chance. All
you have to do is help me help you. And the
only way that's going to happen is if I can
get you to listen to what I have to say.



<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>



JOURNAL OF FOX MULDER
December 18, 2000


The dying is hard and takes tooo long.

I can barly see the keybbord to type and my
fingrs feel so clumsy, keep hittng thewrongg
keyss, so this

will prbably be my lastentry.  At least, I
hope this is the last en try.  Goode thing I
learned to touch type, huh?

I can't live like thisanymore. I'm dying
anyway, and just a burden toScully.  She
cooks, cleans and comfortrs a dying man. Much

more dignoified to go now.  I don't want to
wait for the rest of my body to slowly die
around me.  It's like being    trapped alive
inside a slowly disntegrating machine6,
conscious of the deterioration alll around
you. And now, I think my mind is gpoing. I'm
hearingthings, voices. They're driving me
crazy...crazier. I WON'T live like this.  I'd

rather go now and not saddle Scully with a
walking dead man who's not even me anymore.


I wnt the dignity of choice, and I'll take
it.  At least thisll free Scully.  She'll
grieve, but it'll free her from whatever deal

she's entered into with cancer-man.  She'll
use the life insurance policy well, too.
Maybe keep investigating the conssortium?
Keep the work going...

One good thing about being so sick, lotsof
ddrugs to overdose on.  Have to decide which
ones to OD on....

I know you'll see this, Scully. I wnt you to
know I love you.  please, just let me go.

please.




<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>



Entry no: 2000/12/19
Report of:#8\18081957/Fox
Local Name: Miriam


There are times when I regret having no
physical body, and this has been one of them.
She had no idea that you'd smuggled a cache
of old painkillers back from your apartment.
While she was out at the grocery store you
downed a bottle of them along with a very
nice chardonnay from her wine rack.

By the time she got back, you were
unconscious on the bed.  But you, smart man
that you are (damn it) had tucked yourself in
neatly, and hidden the bottles.  You knew
that she would assume you were napping,
thereby leaving you undisturbed to finish the
job.

Fortunately for you,  she is a loving woman
and went into the room to kiss you as you
slept. She smelled the alcohol and saw the
pill bottles partly hidden under the bed. She
promptly tried to rouse you, unsuccessfully,
called 911, then began artificial respiration
on you.  I had been frantically trying to
clear the drugs from your system since you
ingested them, and so was grateful for her
intervention.

You woke up later in the psych ward under
suicide watch, having avoided a coma only
through my frenzied efforts.  As appears to
be her habit, she was sitting by your bedside
when you came to.  You opened your eyes,
jerked, then looked blankly at the ceiling.

"Mulder?  Mulder, why did you do it?" she
asked softly, grabbing your hand.  You didn't
look at her as you replied.

"Scully....I....why did you stop me?  Why?
I'm dying anyway."  Your voice trembled and
tears began to trickle down your face.

"Mulder."  She held your palm to her lips.
"Mulder, each of us has to die, but I want
every moment with you that I can get.  I
don't want to lose a single minute.  Please,
please don't go yet.  I can't stand it."

You looked blankly in her direction. "Scully,
my eyesight is gone; I can't even see you any
more. You're just a blur.  And...and
my personality is changing,  I can tell.  I
hate what I'm becoming. Don't you see?  I'm
not me any more."

"You're still the man I've loved for 7 years
and the man I married.  The soul inside the
body is the same, and I'll  always recognize
that. Please...please Mulder...hold on. Please,
stay with me a while longer."

You just silently lay back and closed your
eyes.




<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>



Entry no: 2000/12/20
Report of:#8\18081957/Fox
Local Name: Miriam


Early this morning we finally made contact.
You heard my voice.

*****

Mulder, Mulder, can you hear me?

<I've been hearing you forever. What....what
are you?  I know I'm hallucinating. I know
that's gotta be it.>

You're not hallucinating. Jesus, how long is
this going to take?  Mulder, for the
millionth time, I'm really here.>

<Great, now my hallucination is arguing with
me. Damn, I'm worse than I thought.>

No, I'm not a hallucination.  I'm Miriam and
I'm living inside you.

<Living inside me?  What are you? A germ?
Fleas?>

(Laughs) No, I am not fleas, although I am a
kind of parasite.  I am a Symbiote.  I exist
to chronicle human life, namely yours.

<Human life...you aren't human then?  Not
some kind of spirit or ghost?  I'm not
possessed? What a relief.>

No, smart ass.  I am from another planet, far

from here. I've been the cause of all your
troubles, the cancer, the hepatitis.  I need
to talk to you. And you need to listen. I've
got a plan.

*****

 (Later)

<Great. Just fucking perfect. So this is what
you're telling me. My one shot at life is
that I have to convince my wife, the original
skeptic, the person who has been an eye
witness to more proof of alien visitation,
the after-life and practically everything
else in the universe that represents the
paranormal, and STILL doesn't believe.
That's the one I have to convince that my
cancer was caused by an itty-bitty, smaller
than microscopic, alien life form parasite
who has suddenly had a change of heart and
now wants to save me. I see. Okay, I'll tell
her, but if she has them put me in a
strait-jacket, it's your fault.>

I am well aware of that.



You yelled for the nurse until she found your
wife and brought her.  We couldn't see her, but
I could tell that she was exhausted the tone of
her voice.

"Mulder, what's wrong?" she asked gently.

"Scully, you have to listen, okay?  Just
listen and trust me.  This time you have to
believe what I'm saying without question."

She sighed.  "Okay, Mulder, what is it?"

"Scully, I just found out the most amazing
thing..."

You told her about our conversation, who I am
and what I've done to you.  Your vision is
blurred, so I couldn't see her expression but
I could hear the skepticism in her voice as
she tried to humor you.

"Of course, Mulder, it's all caused by
aliens..."

"No, not 'aliens', an 'alien'...just one..."

"And her name is Miriam, nice alien name.."

"Well, that's what she goes by.  She says
that I couldn't pronounce her real name and
she hasn't used it in 3000 years anyway.
Scully, you aren't listening to me."

"I am listening, Mulder.  But Mulder,
remember there are a lot of drugs in your
system and you aren't at your best right
now.  Why don't you get some sleep and we'll
discuss it some more tomorrow morning."

"Scully, I.."

"Please, Mulder.  I...I just can't do any
more today."

You gave in and I could hear her shuffle
away. She must have spoken to the doctor,
because shortly thereafter you were given a
mild sedative and told to sleep.  And they
double-checked the restraints on you.

After you were out, I heard her in the
hallway with the doctor.  Skinner was there,
too.

"He's deteriorating faster than we expected,
isn't he?" Her voice sounded defeated.

"I'm afraid that, from the delusions you
describe, he isn't going to last much longer
now.  He seems to be fixated on aliens," said
your oncologist with concern.

"That's hardly new for Mulder," Skinner
commented.  "But does this prove that he's
suffering from dementia?"

"What else can it be?" She sounded sadder
than ever.  "He has four tumors in his brain.
His eyesight has diminished, he has
headaches.  This isn't surprising after all.
There has to be something we can do.
Something."




<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>



Entry no: 2000/12/21
Report of:#8\18081957/Fox
Local Name: Miriam


I'm glad I've finally made contact with you,
Mulder. This is what you've been hearing
since the start, me making these reports. And
I...well, I did talk to you on occasion, kind
of like a little bird in your ear.

<A vulture.>

Okay, a vulture. I admit it. I'm a carrion
eater. I'm a parasite. But, will you do it?

<She won't believe me...she's thinking I'm
acting this way because of the tumors. Why do
you think my ass is in the hospital right
now?>

You're in the hospital because you tried to
kill yourself. And she does believe you. The
healer said he couldn't help because this
wasn't a natural illness. When you told her
about me, she thought about it, and she
realized it was true. Now all you have to do
is tell her to do what I say, so we can cure
you, Fox.

<Don't fucking call me, Fox! Don't fucking
call me anything. Call me 'you'...or
host...or...fuck I AM crazy. You're not here.

This is all my imagination...It's a
symptom...>

Mulder, I'm here. You're okay. The CAT scan
said there's been no noticeable change since
they first found the tumors...

<Then why is my vision going, why the
headaches...Scully...she can't be trying to
kill me, can she?  She couldn't be dealing
with cancer-man?>

Mulder, why did she save you when you
overdosed? She doesn't want you dead. She
loves you. She needs you.

<Then why did she get him to come there...she
knows we can't trust him. He made the cancer
grow. I can't trust you. God, you're not even
here. You gave me this. I can't trust
her...I..I..>

Calm down. You don't have to talk to me out
loud. Just think, I can hear you think. Okay?

So that one behind your eye has grown, but
I'm not a figment of your dementia. You felt
me the moment I entered you. Am I right?

<Maybe I was crazy, even back then.>

Well, then you're crazy. God, you're so
stubborn. The longer I'm with you the more I
understand why Dana needed that vacation
with
Phil...

<You are a bitch. Huh...what else would I
imagine but a nagging bitch in my head. God I
hate this. I'm so tired of this.  I just want
it over...>

Jesus Christ Mulder! Quit whining! You listen
to what I tell you, do what I say and it will
be over! Tell her when she comes back. Tell
her what I told you, exactly the way I told
you...word for word, and she'll take it from
there. With me helping, this WILL work, I
promise.

<Why should I trust you? You've been trying
to kill me and feed off my emotions! OH GOD!
GET OUT OF MY HEAD! I'm crazy...I'm just
talking to myself...this is me...this is
killing me!>

No. I never wanted to kill you Mulder. Never.

I love you, Mulder.

<But, you're not real. So, I guess I've
learned to love myself.  Now, why does this
remind me of Whitney Houston?>

*****

You're finally asleep. The nurses heard you
scream at me and sedated you, so I can make
my report now. You do make ME a bit insane.
Especially now that you're talking back to
me. And I figured out who Whitney Houston is.

She sang those immortal words:

Because the greatest love of all is happening
to me.
I've found the greatest love of all inside of
me.
The greatest love of all is easy to achieve.
Learning to love yourself, it is the greatest
love of all

A banal song for a desperate situation.
Cute, Mulder.


Title: Symbiosis (11 of ?)
Author:  Xenith and KatVictory


CHAPTER 11




Entry no: 2000/12/24
Report of:#8\18081957/Fox
Local Name: Miriam



He's asleep right now, so I can make a
report. I've been so busy just trying to keep
his symptoms at a tolerable level for him, I
haven't had time to do anything. Every moment
he's awake, he's talking to me. Even when
Dana's here, he'll speak to me as though she
can hear me, too.

At least he's somewhat lucid, but his
deterioration has been rapid, progressing in
tandem with the growth of the tumors. If for
some reason my plan doesn't work, I don't
believe that he can survive longer than two
weeks or so.  His problems now stem less from
the increased intercranial pressure and more
from focal irritation. This means that the
swelling and edema are not the major issue
any longer.  The actual masses are affecting
brain function, so the steroids are not
helping.

I can't see her, but I sense her presence. I
can feel the soft touch of her hand as she
constantly reassures herself that he's still
warm, still breathing, still alive. She's
here beside us right now, gently smoothing
that faint scar on his hand where this all
began.

I almost know what she's thinking. It's as
though the connection they share has been
passed on to me while he's ill, to hold for
safe keeping. She blames herself for this.
She's frightened of what's to come. Of what
we have planned for him. The radical
treatment that I laid out is dangerous, but
with the knowledge that she has, she agreed
to it.

It will either cure him or hasten his death.
All or nothing. Both...either is preferable
to this slow suffering.  I don't think he
realizes the hell this will put him
through... She knows, but has said nothing.
She just seems even more haggard and worn.
Mulder's eyesight comes and goes, so I catch
glimpses of her face.

Concentrate, Miriam, get this done before he
wakes up.  He is still on the steroids to
reduce the post chemotherapy/radiation
swelling and edema. Tomorrow we begin the
Mannitol, the drug that will break down the
blood/brain barrier so the chemo drugs, which
will be injected into his carotid, can bathe
his brain and the tumors. Since this will
also be affecting  normal cells along with
his malignancies, it will probably cause a
temporary worsening of his symptoms. This is
not something he needs.

Thus far we have suffered through seizures,
aphasia, paralysis, dementia and loss of
vision. Fortunately, these have all been
temporary, but I fear what is to come. We're
still in the calm before the storm.

Yesterday was hell. Mulder was beset hourly
by one symptom after another. Today, however,
his condition has been relatively
trouble-free. His mind has been the clearest
it's been since Cancer Man's miracle cure was
attempted. I pray this is a sign that the
after-effects of that event are fading.
Perhaps that might even mean a reduction in
the growth rate of the tumors. I've been
eyeing the mass that sits so close to
Mulder's brain stem, and we are reaching the
edge of the comfort zone.


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>



Entry no: 2000/12/25
Report of: #8\18081957/Fox
Local Name: Miriam


<Where's...Scully?>

Hey, you finally decided to wake up.

<...I'm... tired.....Where's Scully?>

It's just past midnight, she left about an
hour ago with her mom. They've gone to
Midnight Mass.

<It's Christmas Eve...>

Actually, it's Christmas morning, has been
for about an hour. Merry Christmas, Fox.

<Fuck you.....What're you....giving me for
Christmas? A stroke?>

...

<Miriam?>

...

<Miriam?>

Mulder, I know I deserve your hate...but I
didn't mean for this to happen...

<You....gave me CANCER,..what....did
you....expect to happen?>

Mulder, I've told you, I don't kill my
hosts...I, I, just make them suffer...

<Oh, you're the...Mother Theresa from planet
Marquis de Sade.....I've suffered enough
Miriam...Miriam. Jesus, where'd you....get a
name like Miriam?>

It's what one of my hosts called me. A host I
had a long, long time ago. It means
rebellious. Fitting, huh? He was a bit of a
rebel, too. His people needed a rebel then.
He was a stranger in a strange land, and he
died trying to go home. He was the first
human who felt my presence.  I grew to love
him too, Fox. His name was David, my beloved
one.

<Oh, so you....killed him too,  then?>

...

<Miriam.>

...

<Miriam?>

You ARE a true bastard...

<Huh. There's never been...any doubt about
that. You met the man who claims....to be my
father. What do you expect from me?>

Nothing, Mulder. Nothing. I know I deserve
whatever abuse you give me. I'm doing
everything in my power to make things right
for you. I know you're scared about tomorrow,
but I'll keep you going. I'll give you back
your life, somehow.

<I wanna live Miriam, is that so bad? I have
a reason....to live now. I'm not alone
anymore.>

Alone.  You humans don't realize that you
don't have to be alone. You have the ability
to share your life with others like no other
species...anywhere. If you want to. If you
just try. Mothers, fathers, SISTERS,
brothers, children, lovers, friends...do you
know that my kind doesn't even have a word
for friend in our language...no word for
companion, we just have hosts. Someone who
allows us to stay in his body and watch.
That's not sharing, that's having squatter's
rights. You've never been alone, Fox. You've
always shared your life. It might not have
been the way you wanted, but...

<...I'm afraid Miriam....When we die....we go
alone.  Nobody can go with us, share it with
us.....And after?  Are we alone after we die?
Is that why we fear death? We humans? Do we
just lie alone, in a box and feel our bodies
rot?  You've lived thousands of years, seen
hundreds of people die, experienced their
deaths.  What's it like?>

I don't know, Mulder. They leave for
somewhere...else.  And I'm always left
behind, with the body, if I haven't left
before they pass on.

<You mean...all these years...I hoped that
the aliens could tell me the answers to
everything. And now, I finally meet one, and
you don't know?>

Sorry to disappoint you, Mulder.  But really,
all those years were you looking for aliens?
Or for God?  We're just people from another
place. We argue and ponder the same questions
your people do.  I like to think that death
isn't an ending, but the beginning of
something new. And, somehow...I think you
humans never are alone, even when you die.
You've always got someone, waiting for you,
watching, remembering...

< I have Scully now.  Finally. But this takes
so long....if I'm going to die I just want to
go. I hope this works.... I really hope so.
But if it doesn't, I don't want any more
tries for the cure. Please. I'm....so tired,
Miriam.>

Mulder, this WILL work.

<It hurts, doesn't it?  I've read about the
blood/brain barrier, and I know what Mannitol
can do...>

Mulder....yes....it will.  I am sorry for the
pain I've given you in the past and for what
I'm causing now. I've stopped lying to
myself. I know what I've done to you. And
it's killing me...

<Hey, you mean to tell me that neither one of
us is going to enjoy the experience?  Damn!>

(Laughs) Mulder, you are one of a kind. Thank
God.  It's getting late and you're tired.
Why don't you go to sleep now? I'll wake you
when Scully gets back. Get some sleep.

...

He sleeps. I'm here, Mulder. You're not
alone.



<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>



Entry no: 2000/12/26-31
Report of: #8\18081957/Fox
Local Name: Miriam


This day has been hell for Dana, right from
the start. The moment the chemicals entered
your blood stream you began to complain of
burning. It only got worse.

At first you grimaced and clenched your
fists. Then you stiffened your body and began
gasping for air.

"Scully...Scully..? You reached out your hand
and she grabbed it, her fingers turning white
with the force of your grip.  You shut your
eyes and endured, while she whispered to you.

"It's okay, Mulder.  This is going to work.
You're going to be okay...." Her voice fell
to a murmur, which was soon drowned out by
your first moan.

You began to writhe on the bed, your eyes
half open but sightless.

"Mulder, lie still.  Don't pull the catheter
out.  Mulder?" You didn't hear her.  Instead,
you reached for the arterial line and tried
to tug it out, but her hand interfered.

She bent low over you.  "Mulder, you have to
lie still.  I know it hurts, but this is your
only chance.  Please...Mulder..."

You nodded, searching your darkness wildly
for her eyes.  You tried to remain calm, but
it didn't last as the fire poured into your
bloodstream.

Sweat continued to pour down your body and
you soon lost control of your screams.  Dana
and two orderlies held you down, preventing
you from removing the IV, until you could be
restrained with velcro straps.


By the time the drugs made it through your
arteries and blood vessels, you were
screaming without pause, almost mad with
agony. The two hours it took for us to get on
top of your pain were sheer torment for
everyone, including me.

Dana hung onto you grimly and refused to
leave your side.  You hurled every epithet
you could come up with at her, and she took
the abuse without flinching.  You accused her
of trying to kill you, of being unfaithful to
you with Phil, of planning your torment with
the smoking man.  She just held onto you
tenderly and kept trying to soothe you.

Finally, blessedly, you passed out.  I felt
Dana collapse into the chair at your bedside
and heard her sobbing.

Since then, busy does not describe what I've
been. You've been under such heavy doses of
medication the changes occurring in your
system haven't really concerned you, with the
exception of the chronic dry mouth and the
ulcerations that have made swallowing almost
impossible.

Since you've slept an average of 22 hours a
day, you haven't had to endure the pain
(thank God),  except for those brief, wakeful
moments. Between the medication and my help,
we've kept seizures at bay, swelling under
control, which made the symptoms of
paralysis, aphasia and vision problems
transitory. Your wife, your doctors and I
have done everything in our power to keep you
from suffering, mostly with success.

But your appearance is startling. Between the
ravages of this long battle and this last
drastic chemotherapy treatment, as well as
the drugs we've used to control the
treatment's side effects, you look like the
living embodiment of Death.  But, even though
you appear to be in agony, I don't perceive
pain on the conscious level, so our analgesic
efforts are working. And you're holding your
own.

These have been the longest two days of my
extremely long life.

*****

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep
And miles to go before I sleep."

I've always loved Robert Frost's poetry and
this piece especially.  It symbolizes the
journey that is my life, and yours as well.

She doesn't sleep. Her mother left today
after they argued. I'm sure they'll mend the
rift. They both realize the tension that
fills this room makes for hastily spoken
words and sensitive feelings. But Dana still
stings from her mother's well meaning advice.

"Let him go, honey. He's suffered enough. Let
him go."

But you promised him Dana...

You'd slept through most of the turmoil.
Dana's mother came by to check on her.  She
peeked into the room and saw Dana curled up
in the bedside chair next to you and gasped.

"Dana, honey?  How are you doing?  How is
Fox?"

"Oh, Mom, it's been terrible for him.  So
terrible..."

I heard them embrace and Dana's muffled sobs.

"How long does he have?" Maggie asked gently.

"We're trying a new treatment, but it's too
soon to tell whether it's working yet.  It
was very...rough...on him."  Dana began
stroking your forehead.

"Dana...you know Fox has been ill for some
time.  Don't you think it's time to let him
go to God?  Putting him through treatment
after treatment isn't helping him, it's only
extending his suffering.  You know he's ready
to let go."

"How can you say that?" Dana's voice was
enraged.  "I can't just kill him!"

"Let him go, honey. He's suffered enough."

They don't know him like you do. He only
tried to kill himself when nothing was left.
One glimmer of faith is all Fox Mulder needs
to pick up the gauntlet. To fight. How is did
he survive the hell that has been his life.
But you know him. And by saying yes to this
last ditch effort, you made a vow to be
strong for him...to watch his back...to make
sure his wishes were honored.

"Let him go, honey. He's suffered enough. Let
him go."

They all say it. The doctors. Your friends.
The Assistant Director. Not out loud. But she
sees it in their eyes.

They see you, face swollen, bloated,
twitching in half-conscious agony. Skin pale,
pasty, looking as though it was carved from
tallow; glistening with a constant sheen of
sweat as you fight the demon pain, which
plagues you even in a drugged stupor.

Assistant Director Skinner was gentle.
"When's the last time you slept?"

"I'm not tired.  He needs me here," Dana
replied.

"No, I think if you'd stop and look into your
heart you'd see what he really needs. Agent
Sc...Dana, I know you see that he's
suffering, suffering terribly.  You know that
this treatment is a long shot at best.  Is
this what he wants?  Really? Or are you
afraid to go on with your life without him?"

"I....love...him like the breath in my body.
I don't want to lose him. But this IS what he
wants. I know it in my heart; I know it." Her
clutch on your hand tightened.  "And I will
*be* here with him until he either makes
it....or he doesn't.  Please, try to
understand."

The man paused, then finally sighed his
resignation.  "I do understand, Dana.  If
there's anything you need, call me, and I'll
be here.  I owe it to Mulder. I promised."

Skinner left soon after, and Dana remained
quiet.

"Let him go, honey. He's suffered enough. Let
him go."

"But I have promises to keep,"

"Let him go, Let him go."

"And miles to go..."

She doesn't sleep.  I don't know how much
rest she's had in the past several days, but
it can't be much.  The nurses bring her
meals, offer to watch over you while she
rests, but she always refuses.

Then HE arrived.  You were moaning, drifting
in and out of consciousness when he quietly
let himself into your hospital room.  She sat
next to you, holding your hand and gently
stroking your hair.  Your eyes were half
open, but you weren't conscious.

"You can't do this.  This is too much, even
for him."

She turned and saw the smoker there, gray and
rumpled in his suit.

"What do you want?  To gloat?" she asked
coldly.

"On the contrary, you seem to be the one who
desires his pain.  Not me."  He glanced at
you and shuddered.  "I was here the other
day...when you began treatment, while he was
still conscious.  I heard...all the torments
of Hell.  How can you allow this to
continue?" He absently rummaged in his pockets for a
pack of cigarettes, but stopped short of lighting up,
his haunted stare never moving from your huddled form.

She stiffened.  "This is his only chance at
life. This will cure him."

"You hope that it will cure him.  But what
chance does he have, really, beyond your
wishful thinking?  Hasn't he suffered
enough?" The smoker moved closer to you and I
could see you reacting to his proximity by
trying to move away from him.  The simple
jostling brought back the pain, and soon you
were gasping and cringing into the blankets.
The smoker backed away anxiously, then found
Dana's eyes.

"You are the only one who can stop this, you
know.  Just as you are the only one who is
prolonging this useless torment."

"I'll ask you again, for the second time. Why
do YOU care?"  She got up and moved to stand
between your prone body and the smoker.

The smoker was silent for a moment, studying
you and Dana, then helplessly spread his
hands.  "I am his father," he said quietly.
"I don't want his pain.  I never wanted
that.  The pain I have caused him was for the
greater good, and only for that purpose.
Mulder knew the risks when he decided to
oppose the project.  But I have never
tormented him solely for the sake of causing
him to suffer, as you seem to be."  He
lowered his hands, staring intently into
Dana's face.  "Please....let him go. Let my
son die with dignity.  In peace."

He stood there a moment longer, watching her
defiant stance, then shook his head, turned
and left.


She moved back to her chair and took up her
post again.  By your side.

Still she clings to hope. She knows, as I do,
that we have a chance at beating this. Her
will alone could probably cure you, but she
knows, and I think she truly believes at
last, that she does have an ace in the hole
-- me. Whether she actually believes I'm an
alien life form residing in her husband or
just thinks of me as some kind of "guardian
entity" (I wouldn't dare mention myself and
the word angel in the same quotation).  She
knows they're not alone in their fight.

But still, she's afraid. We've only just
begun this battle. There's still the
radiation treatment ahead and possible
surgery. We're all so weary. So very, very
tired...

And miles to go before I sleep.




Title: Symbiosis (12 of ?)
Author:  Xenith and KatVictory


Entry no: 2000/12/26-31 continued
Report of: #8\18081957/Fox
Local Name: Miriam


The protective blanket of medication we've
kept you wrapped in lately is beginning to wear
thin. Since yesterday you've been conscious
more often than not, and while not exactly
coherent during all these wakeful times
you have been lucid enough that we're now
assured your mind has not been permanently
affected by the chemotherapy
wash it received. While there's decided
weakness in your right side and the blurred
vision lingers...

<It's not permanent then?>

Hey, that's pretty sneaky, Fox, I didn't even
know you were awake. How do you feel?

<Better. Like shit, but better. Can they do
something about my mouth?>

They have been, Mulder. One of the chemo's
side effects is chronic dry mouth.  When you
were out of it you really chewed up everything
trying to get some moisture in there. Then,
since your immune system's been down you
somehow picked up Thrush.

<Thrush?>

It's a yeast infection.  You usually see it in
nursing babies.  We suspect one of the
nurses...

<Wow, I must have really been out of it if that's
the case...>

...as I was saying, it can be picked up other
ways, especially when someone is as
susceptible as you are right now.  We suspect
one of the nurses passed it on treating your
mouth ulcers. It's good to hear that laugh again,
Fox.

<Give me the right drugs and I'll laugh all you
want. How can I get something for the pain?
Where's Scully?>

The button's hanging on the rail to your left.
Scully's gone home to get a change of clothes
and probably to do a little laundry, freshen up...

<Good. I know she needs it, she sounds so
tired.>

It's been rough, but she has been taking care
of herself.
She knows we need her. Wait, here's the
nurse.  Hey she read your mind. Great, it's the
good stuff.  I better talk fast.  This should put
you out before long. Tomorrow we start the
Stereotactic radiosurgery.

<I thought they had to fit me with that halo
headgear thing?>

They've done that, Mulder.  You slept through
all of it. The halo,  the MRI, the mask, all of it.
They are starting with the pituitary tumor
tomorrow. The good news is the brain stem
tumor seems to be already shrinking after the
chemotherapy.  We might not have to hit it.

<What's the bad news?>

Who said there's bad news? You're so
paranoid.

<Miriam, what are a normal person's chances
of having their bodies invaded by not only a
black oily virus that came from a meteor but
also by a symbiotic alien life form? I'm a living,
breathing example of Murphy's Law.>

Well, you got me there.  Out of 8 million
Symbiotes you wound up with me. But, I bet
your luck's changing, Fox.

<Talk to me six months from now.  If I'm still
here, you win...>

Fox...Fox...Mulder!

<Huh?......What?>

Sh-h-h. Not out loud. The Demerol kicking in?

<Yeah, I guess so. What were we talking
about?>

Nothing important. Try to get some sleep.

<Where's Scully?>

She'll be here in a bit. I'll wake you when she
gets here...You're down for the count. If you're
here in six months, we'll all have won.



<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>



Entry no: 2000/01/01
Report of: #8\18081957/Fox
Local Name: Miriam


When you woke up after the surgery, she was
there.

"Mulder?  Hey.  How ya feeling?" Her voice was
soft as she
caressed your hand, carefully avoiding the IV.

"Scully?  Why can't I SEE anything?  Scully?" 
Your voice was panicky as you realized that
you were blind in one eye and could only see
dimly with the other.

"Mulder, that's normal.  The radiosurgery went
fine, but the ocular tumor was larger than
expected.  It had pushed your optic nerve over
so much that they couldn't avoid hitting it during
the treatment.  That's why you're having
some trouble seeing.  But don't worry, this is
temporary. You'll get most of your sight back."

You calmed yourself with an effort.  "Most?"

"There was some damage to the optic nerve,
but it remains to be seen how much."  She was
holding her breath, waiting for the reaction.

"I won't be able to qualify on the target range,
Scully. There's no way they'll let me work out in
the field." Your voice was flat and monotone, as
I've heard it before when you are very upset.
"It's over. Even if I beat this, that part of my life
is over."

"We don't know that, yet, partner.  Let's just
wait and see."

"Okay.  Okay.  I'm tired, now.  I'd like to sleep if
it's okay?" You turned your face away. She left
you to mourn alone, quietly.

Your next waking was even worse. Because of
the swelling, you suffered severe nausea,
vertigo and headaches.  The pain medication
hasn't made a dent. Your most severe pain
is in your neck and has been mimicking the
symptoms of meningitis. As a result, Scully has
been here for hours massaging your neck.

"Talk to me, Scully," you murmured. You were
lying on your side, legs drawn up, getting your
thin, lanky frame almost in a ball. The steroids
have given you the typical "moonface" and your
body is bloated, and nothing can disguise how
wasted your limbs have become.

She paused, flexing her hands, working the
kinks out of her fingers. She'd been kneading
your rigidly tense muscles for nearly three
hours and I'm sure her hands will be frozen into
hag-like claws today. She was perched on
your bed, behind your bowed back and leaned
in close to you ear to speak."  What do you
want me to talk about?"

You desperately clasped the hand that rested
on the side of your neck. "I dunno.....please,
just talk...to me," your plea was a tight, teeth
clenched moan.

Fingers once again began working on your
neck. " Um, one of your fish had babies. I don't
know which one. I had to put that big black one
in another tank.  He was eating all the babies.
Did I tell you I bought another tank? It was
almost one hundred dollars by the time I got
through getting all the stuff. I couldn't believe it.
I think we're going to have to see if there's
some kind of birth control we can put in the
water or we're going to go broke."  She paused
from her forced effort at lighthearted
conversation, hoping to get a response, some
relaxing of the tension in you with her silly
patter.

Nothing changed. You were still coiled tightly in
your huddled mound, breathing in quick,
hissing pants. Her shaky sigh was loud in the
quiet room.  

She tried once again, "The problem is I don't
know enough about fish to tell what sex they
are. God, should have made them like birds,
where the male is brightly..."

"What's happening on the Coston case?" you
gasped, interrupting her steady stream of
nonsense.

She paused, trying to decide whether this was
a good topic of conversation for you just now.

"Four more bodies have been found since
December 5th," she said grimly. "The killer has
escalated to one a week but isn't quite as picky
as before, or maybe he was interrupted before
he was finished, because the signature was
different on the last victim. No medal was left
and the aging wasn't quite as pronounced. Not
as many years stolen. I don't know, maybe it
was in the victims' genetic makeup to....to die
y-young..."

She froze as soon as the words left her mouth,
and turned abruptly away. She tried to move
away from you, into the bathroom, I think. Her
choking gasps told me she was frantically
fighting to keep the tears at bay.

You caught her wrist, groaning as you turned to
hold her.
In her attempt to break free she bumped the IV
line in your arm.  You let go with a sharp yelp of
pain.

"I'm sorry," she faltered, fighting her tears.

Once more you found her arm. "Scully,
no...please." Groping blindly you found her
other arm and pulled her toward you. "It's
okay..."

"No, Mulder...it's not okay." She seemed to
teeter on a precipice, her strength just this
close to finally being spent. The two seasons of
being your solace and courage had taken its
toll and she was crumbling. "Every time I
look at what's happened to you, Mulder, I'm
afraid I'm losing you inch by terrible inch. I'm so
afraid that we're fighting a losing battle, and
you're being tortured for nothing.  Why,
Mulder?"  It was a tortured whisper.

Slowly your desperate grip loosened, "Why?"

Your hand rested lightly against her skin. You
could feel her tremble and her tone  was a
fractured moan. "Are you doing this for me?
Are you putting yourself through this for me?"
The last bit of resolve eroded and she  issolved
into quaking sobs.

"For us Scully," your own voice shook and once
again you pulled her toward you. This time she
didn't resist, and she gently moved into your
embrace. "I told you, I want forever. I want us
to have forever."

Holding her, smoothing her back with soft
caressing strokes, you finally drifted to sleep.


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>



Entry no: 2001/02/05
Report of:#8\18081957/Fox
Local Name: Miriam


I haven't had a moment to spare in a month.
Your treatments were completed five days ago.
You finally came home after almost 5 weeks in
the hospital. It looks like we just might have
won the main event, at least. All the tumors
seem to have died, an amazing feat less than a
month after treatment. The doctors are 
astounded, and I'm rather proud of myself.

The past 5 days have been like a dream for
you. I don't think you'd really even hoped you'd
make it back to this tastefully decorated flat you
two share. You quietly walked into the
apartment and sank down on the couch, just
quietly admiring furnishings that didn't come in
hospital green.  Scully watched you fondly, then
went to make you some iced tea (with
caffeine).

The Gunmen came by with a collection of
science fiction videos to keep you entertained
during your convalescence. You had trouble
controlling your emotions as you thanked
them for their thoughtfulness.  Although why
the complete set of  the "Evil Dead" movies
should move you to tears is beyond me.

That first night you barely slept. Every hour on
the hour you would jerk awake and pause a bit,
reassuring yourself that you really were home.
Then you'd gather you wife to you, relishing the
simple pleasure of having her lying next to you.

The first couple of days you shuffled about the
rooms in a daze, touching the well remembered
furnishings, and not just because your eye sight
is still dim. You seemed to need this tactile
comfort to assure yourself that this all was real.
You are alive. You are on the road to recovery.
You are getting your life back.

Your wife returned to work today.  She hadn't
planned on going back quite so soon after your
release but duty called. Amber Coston's
murderer has been dubbed by a frenzied media
as the "Dorian Gray Killer".   Demands for
an arrest have escalated.

The Bureau has been embarrassed by the lack
of progress on the case.  The one agent
familiar with it, fit for duty, has been recalled
despite pressing family issues. Your
wife has been working long hours bringing the
task force up to speed on the work you and she
began all those months ago.

Maggie Scully is staying this first week or so to
help you adjust and at this point in your
recovery, you welcome the help. Chronic
fatigue is still very much a problem, naps
are still part of your schedule. The Rosie D.
clinic has you on an intense regimen to build up
your strength and stamina, with three weekly
trips for physical therapy/fitness training at the
center. The rest of your time is spent
consuming the high calorie diet that has you
struggling through six meals plus three snacks.
You claim that's why you're so tired; all your
energy is being used in digesting food.

Your pleas to be provided with case materials
have been gently denied.  Still worried at
having almost lost you, Scully is determined to
make you rest.  So, having Maggie visit with
you has a dual purpose, to keep you
entertained and to keep you from doing your
own investigation and killing yourself in the
process.  You did just have brain surgery, after
all, Mulder.

Your mother-in-law has been good company for
you today and she plays a mean hand of poker
and a great game of acey-ducey. Scully's
paycheck next week will almost cover your
losses.



<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>



JOURNAL OF FOX MULDER
February 23, 2001


I've got Chinese ordered.  Got the table set up
complete with the roses and table cloth Maggie
dropped off.  In a few I'll catch the candles. I've
even anticipated she's going to be later than
8:00, obviously. (Just called the time...it's 8:15.) 
She first called at 6:15 to tell me she wasn't
going to make it by 6:00.

I thought I'd practice my typing and write in
here for the first time since... shit, prints too
small to read that last entry, even with the new
glasses. Well, I'm writing in here for the first
time in a long time. I'm doing great. My blood
work is almost perfect. I've gained 10 pounds
since my home coming. I'm almost up to 140
pounds. (Okay, 134, since I'm married to a
math geek. A lovely math geek, but...) The
fitness training I have on Monday, Wednesday
and Friday is helping. (I can work out for a
whole 30 minutes if I spread it out over 2 hours. 
I only need a two hour nap when I get home.)
The strength in my right side is improving. (I
can pour myself a glass of milk out of a gallon
jug...if it's half empty.)  I've even got a full head
of hair now.  (It's come in this really odd dirty
blond, and reminds me of Phil's. Yes, that Phil.
Thin and limp. Still no eyebrows or lashes yet.)

Oh, and let's not forget the glasses. Fuck 
ulder. You can see. Be thankful. Right Miriam?
She's strangely silent tonight. I think I hurt her
feelings when I told her that she was either
going to disconnect herself and hide in my
big toe if Scully and I do happen to wind up
using our bed for something other than
sleeping tonight.  (Yeah, right...she's late and
both of us are usually comatose by
10:00) or I'd ignore her for the rest of her life.
(Sure, piss off the alien that gave me 7
cancerous tumors & Hep C.)

Now what was I whining about? Oh yeah, my
glasses. The specialist believes that these
coke bottles with the Clark Kent frames I'm
wearing will help me to relearn to focus
and adjust to the damaged optic nerve in my
left eye, thereby improving the sight in both
eyes. He says that by the end of the summer
he can almost guarantee that I should have
between 40 to 80% of my vision back. Wow,
he's putting his neck out there, isn't he?

The Chinese just came. Now, should I try
phoning Scully and find out how much longer
she'll be, or should I avoid the frustration and/or
possible chance of disappointment that she's
going to have to work even later, and just take
a chance and light the candles? Do you feel
lucky, Mulder?

Wish I could talk her into leaving the file open
around me, but she does have a point. Even if
she gave me a perfectly photocopied set of
documents, I couldn't read 'em anyway.  Fat lot
of use I am to the investigators.

I just have a feeling that there's more to this
case than just a maniac killer.  There's
something that they aren't seeing.....

*****

It's 1:30 a. m. Scully hasn't gotten a chance to
call. The candle melted all over Maggie's good
table cloth because I zonked out on the couch.
I am lucky I didn't burn the place down. I'm
hitting the sack. I'll leave everything out so she
can nuke it when she gets in. Navy brat's don't
waste food, so she'll have to get something in
her. That'll work. Good plan Mulder.

I really am doing great. It just takes time.
Everything's coming along in my recovery twice
as fast as they even hoped it would. I'm just an
impatient, ungrateful, whiny ass-hole who
doesn't deserve the life he's got. Come on
out, Miriam, we're sleeping alone again tonight.

Damn, I wish I were back at the office.  I wonder what
progress they're making?

Title: Symbiosis (13 of ?)
Author:  Xenith and KatVictory


<><><><><><><><><>
 CHAPTER THIRTEEN
<><><><><><><><><>

JOURNAL OF FOX MULDER
February 24, 2001


Assistant Director Skinner brought my wife
home to me at 3:00 a.m. this morning

When Skinner led her through the door, she
looked up at me blankly, as though she didn't
recognize me.  Then she stopped, blinked a
few times and walked into my arms, burying
her head into my shoulder.  I have never,
never seen Dana Scully this out of it in our
entire partnership.  I hurriedly checked her
for wounds or bleeding then turned to Skinner
angrily.

"What the hell happened to her?  Why isn't
she at a hospital?"

Skinner shrugged helplessly.  "Both she and
Agent Orlando have already been to the
Emergency Room and were found to be
uninjured.  Drug tests came back clean, so I
decided to simply bring Scully home, rather
than calling you out to the hospital." He
gave me a brief, disconcerted look.  "Agent
Mulder, I usually have to deal with these
kinds of situations regarding you, not Agent
Scully.  She reported in when she left the
morgue at 6:00pm, stating she planned on
interviewing the nightshift supervisor of the
homeless shelter in which the last victim's
family has been living. She and Agent Orlando
wound up at this mission, dazed and
disoriented, after apparently wandering the
streets in some kind of stupor for most of
the night. We finally found your car parked
in the shelter's side parking lot."

"Let me get this straight.  Two agents were
left alone and incapacitated, wandering an
inner-city neighborhood at night, WITHOUT
BACKUP...FOR HOW LONG!?"

Skinner had the grace to look embarrassed.
"I don't have an explanation for it, Agent
Mulder. The two certainly never called for
help.  I began to be concerned when Agent
Scully missed an evening teleconference and I
wasn't able to raise her on her cell phone.
I drove past the area to check on them and
found them, sitting on the front steps of the
shelter, just staring into space."

I felt Scully stir against my chest.
"Mulder...I don't remember anything...not
anything after I called you. I'm sorry. I
missed your dinner. "  She looked up at me
with a lost expression. I murmured softly for
her not to worry about the meal, but she
seemed not to hear me. She simply shook her
head, puzzled, tears making her eyes glisten.
"I've tried, and I just can't remember.  And
I feel so tired. I'm so sorry."  I glanced up
at Skinner, then back at my wife.

"It's okay. Come on and lay down, then.  I'll
talk to the AD a while longer then I'll be
in, okay?"  She nodded and I led her into the
bedroom and tucked her in.

Skinner was waiting, his expression worried.

I started in.  "Don't you have any explanation for
what
happened to them?  You're sure they weren't
drugged...or worse?"  I folded my arms and
tried to hold in my rage. Damn!  I should
have been there with her.

Skinner shook his head.  "No, no injuries.
Believe me, I had them both examined.  Not so
much as a bruise and no identifiable drugs in
their systems.  Do you have any explanation?"

"No, other than to comment that they probably
met up with our killer.  He may have an
ability to hypnotize or otherwise
incapacitate his victims long enough for him
to kill.  But why didn't he just kill them,
then?"  I glanced over my shoulder at the
bedroom door.

Skinner roused himself.  "Well, it's late and
I should go.  Tell Scully to stay home
tomorrow and that's an order, would you?  I
don't want to have to visit her in the
hospital."  He met my eyes in perfect
understanding.  Protecting Dana Scully is the
one thing he and I will always agree about.


She snuggled up to me as I lay down beside
her in the bed.  It was so strange, my
assuming the role of the giver of comfort,
the protector. It's been too long. It felt
good to cradle her in my arms, offer her the
soothing love she's been giving me. I watched
her sleeping soundly, her head nestled in the
crook of my arm. I can't make out her
features, but I can see, there in the soft
light of the bedside lamp, a thatch of silver
in her auburn hair. Right at the temple.  Has
worrying about me caused this? How many years
have I've stolen from her?

*****

So today, Scully had her first day off in
over a month.  I let her sleep until 5, when
I woke her up for dinner. I had prepared her
favorite, Mulder's Manic Red Hot Chili. She
was so touched, she cried. Well, there were
tears in her eyes at least...after the first
bite.

We spent the evening going over files. I've
finally discovered a way I can read the
print. Between my coke bottles, the
magnifying glass Maggie bought for me
yesterday and a thousand watt bulb as my
light, I can see just as well as the next
agent. They do need help. The list of victims
is growing as long as the one Scully has
started for invitations to our church
wedding.

She's on the right track at least. She and
her latest temporary partner, Agent Clarissa
Orlando, have gone back to the beginning.
They're refocusing on the suspects in the
original 5 murders. At that point, the chief
suspect was Amber's estranged husband,
Michael Coston. He, of course, was ruled out
as a suspect when he was admitted, near
death, to St Mary's Hospice right around
Thanksgiving. His T-cell count, T-lymphocytes
had fallen to 7. T-cells are a type of white
blood cell. A healthy adult's T-cell count is
usually around 1000. Anything lower than 200
is a sure sign of a severely impaired
autoimmune system. The fact the man is still
alive, over three months later, caught my
interest.

"Scully, when is the last time anyone checked
up on Michael Coston?" I asked, stunned that
in the last report she had with her, dated
December 12, his T-cells had miraculously
risen to 320. "Check this out. This is the
last time anyone interviewed Coston's doctor.
The day after the Andrew's girl was found,
his T-lymphocyte test showed his T-cells had
quadrupled from the prior test, a week
before. That was after going up to 80 from
7."

The folder was snatched from me before I had
a chance to look further.

"That's impossible!"

"Hey, It's there in black and white." I am
rather proud of myself that I'm reading
again. Not that my eyesight has improved
enough for me to be reinstated, but...

Scully read on, squirming with excitement.
Oh, how I love to make her squirm. I was duly
rewarded for my help in the case. Just one of
the little known perks of being married to a
Special Agent of the FBI.

I do think someone should be watching Michael
Coston.

And, of even more concern to me, I think
Scully may have already been a victim of our
killer. While I was reading over the
casenotes, I heard her muttering in the
bathroom.

"Damn!  Where did that come from?"

"Scully?  Something wrong?" I looked up as
she came out of the bathroom, holding a
hairbrush.

"Nothing but time, I guess.  I just found my
first gray hair.  A lot of them, actually.  I
could swear they weren't there yesterday."
She sighed. "Mom told me that they sneak up
on you like that, but I didn't believe her.
Time to see the hairdresser, I suppose."

I didn't know what to say, so I just looked
at her then held her very very close when she
snuggled next to me on the couch.

I am going to that hospice.  Scully will NOT
go there alone ever again.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

JOURNAL OF FOX MULDER
February 26,2001

Scully hasn't been at all sanguine about my
suggestion that I go undercover at the St.
Mary's Hospice.  She points out, logically, I
suppose, that until very recently I was dying
myself and that any undercover assignment is
risky.

Of course, I promptly pointed out that for a
dying man, a hospice is an ideal place to be.
She refused to see the point.  Just stared at
me with the stricken look that tears me apart
inside. With that single look she reminds me
of the half year of hell she went through by
my side.

But I just can't let this rest.  I can't.
Miriam has been trying to talk me out of this
as well. Oddly enough a conversation with
Miriam is what decided me.

<Miriam?  You never really explained about
why you gave me the Hepatitis C in the first
place, about what you got out of the whole
thing, and why you changed your mind so
abruptly and decided to save me...>

Yeah.  I suppose I owe you an explanation.
Before you were always too sick to question.
Well, you know that my form of life is very
long-lived?

<Uh huh.  You live for thousands of years.>

That's right.  But the trade off is that we
live our lives through others.  We never
experience it ourselves, and culturally, our
primary role is to observe and not act
independently.

<So why did you change?>

Boredom.  I saw the lives of the humans I
lived with and wanted some of...well, some of
the excitement for myself.  But by myself I
wasn't able to feel anything with most of my
hosts. Only a very select few.  Then your
society invented chemotherapy drugs.  The
first host I had who got chemo....it was like
a wall fell away.  I could feel her pain, her
anguish, her will to live.  It was like
living myself.  I had to have more.  And, in
a sense, I fed off you. The experience gave
me a jolt of your energy.  As you were
depleted, so I grew stronger.

<So you were a kind of parasite?>

Something like that.  The drugs let me feel
something, anything, and over time I began to
get interested in the human experience, your
will to live.  How bright your emotions are
and how they burn.

<So that's why you gave me all those diseases
after you latched onto me.  Why didn't you
kill me like the others?>

I didn't kill them; not directly anyway. Most
of them committed suicide, burned out by the
fear, the constant illness.  With you,
Mulder, I found that I felt emotion anyway
regardless of the drugs. And the energy I
drew from you didn't satisfy me.  Then, when
you were estranged from Scully, I found that
I.....cared for you.

<Whoa!  You aren't going to swear undying
love for me now, are you?>

Of course not, we're different species!
That's sick, Fox.  No, what I mean is that I
found that I was seeing you as a friend,
someone I liked as a person.  I couldn't let
myself be the cause of your death, especially
through my own ineptness.

<So, Miriam are you typical?  Are your people
the real cause of the cancer that we've been
trying to find a cure for all these years?>

Of course, I'm not typical.  I'm one of a
kind. Actually, if a human has cancer, his
best friend would be his Symbiote. Our number
one duty is to assure the survival of our
host. There are lots of us, living simple
lives among you.  But there are
other..aberrations...  This killer you are
searching for could well be one of my people.

<Another Symbiote?  How?>

I fed off emotions, enhanced by the drugs. It
is conceivable that another of my kind has
discovered a way to feed off the life force
of a host, draining him dry.  The younger the
host, the more life force there is to be
collected.



*************************

That conversation gave me a lot to think
about. When Miriam became aware of what I was
planning, she was horrified.  She pointed out
that she'd just gone to a great deal of
trouble to restore my 'life energy' and
didn't want to see me wasting it by feeding
another Symbiote.

I told her to stop being jealous, that I
wasn't planning on being unfaithful to her
with any strange aliens.  I made a call to
Skinner.

"No," he said flatly. "Absolutely not. You
are not even to consider riding with Agent
Scully when she is out on official business."

"I'm the logical choice, you know that," I
replied, calmly enough. "I know more about
this case than any of the other task force
members except for Scully."

"Scully's on the case and already planning on
going undercover as a nurse."  Skinner paused
at my long silence.  "Didn't she tell you?"

"There are apparently some things that my
WIFE has decided not to share with me," I
gritted back.  "That makes it even more
imperative that I go along.  She needs
somebody to guard her back.  She doesn't know
the danger she's in. Look what happened the
other night."

"And you think you do? What do YOU think
happened the other night?" Skinner still
sounded skeptical, but he was coming around.

"I don't know, but she may have met up with
our killer.  She needs the backup and I'm the
only one who has any inkling of what we're
dealing with, a sort of vampire that steals
the years from his victims," I replied
calmly.

Skinner was quiet as he tried to digest my
bombshell.  I'll give him credit, he's come a
long way since my first X file with him.

"You haven't even been released for active
duty yet," he began.  Then, before I could
interrupt, he added "I'll think about it."

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Entry no: 2000/02/27
Report of: #8\18081957/Fox
Local Name: Miriam


You both are sleeping soundly, so I decided
to make an entry. I'm concerned that you are
getting too involved in this "Dorian Gray"
case. Dana doesn't see it, but you are
worming your way into the thick of things and
it is entirely too soon for you to be
subjecting yourself to such strain. You're
still not well, Fox. You've also found away
to hide some of your thoughts from me, so I'm
in the dark again about what is going on in
that head of yours.  It scares me, being shut
out like this.


She came home last night, worn out, near
tears. There were two murders discovered
yesterday. One of the victims was a four year
old boy. Now, I agree with her. Something
needs to be done, but why do they need you
involved. You're not even a month out of the
hospital.

You sensed her distress the minute she sank
down on the couch. She refused your offer of
a glass of wine to help her unwind. Instead
she wearily pushed herself up and fixed
herself a Captain Morgan's on the rocks. The
bottle she pulled out from its place next to
the kitchen sink had more dust on it than
Frohike's dance card, which made her solitary
drinking all the more distressing for you.

"What's wrong Dana?" you murmured, ignoring
the look she gave you at your use of her
given name. Hell, you had me upset. I've
never heard you even think of her as "Dana".

She told of the most recent events in what
you two have been calling "The Coston Case",
then went on to inform you that her second
autopsies, following the exhumation, of Amber
Coston and Gillette turned up nothing new.
There were no irregularities found in either
desiccated corpse's immune systems.

"Mulder, this is probably all just another
dead end. Coston and his girlfriend were both
under surveillance from Gillette's murder
until he was admitted into the hospice. They
never left the house during the time span
when the other murders were committed. I
think we're wasting our time." Utter
exhaustion filled her voice. "Oh, and no one
has seen his girl friend, Elizabeth Anderson,
for a month. Coston's house is deserted and
she hasn't shown up for her volunteer work at
the Pediatric Aids unit since December. I
think she and Coston have broken up. The
supervisor at the hospice says she still
hasn't been by to see him."

"Scully, I still think there's something
here. You got Coston's test results.  They
all show elevation of his T-cells immediately
following each murder. I'll bet if he was
tested tomorrow, he'd be at an all time
high." Your hand rubbed at the tense muscles
in her neck, and her eyes closed in silent
appreciation.

"Well, they'd have to be higher. I spoke to
his doctor today and if they were any lower
he'd be dead. Mulder, there's no way he's
involved in this."

"Scully, there's no way the man should still
be alive. So unless a little Miriam has set
up housekeeping in him, I have to think he's
getting the life that's being stolen from
these victims."

She ignored the reference to me, frowning at
your wild leap in logic.  "So I'm supposed to
continue on in this and tell Skinner that I'm
investigating a man who rises from his death
bed to feed off of people's life force."

You paused, mulling over the facts of the
case, then a huge grin lit up your face.
"Well, actually Scully, I think someone has
been bringing him takeout."

"So you suspect the girlfriend is doing the
murders and transferring the energy or life
force or what ever to Coston?,"Scully
questioned, her brow furrowed in surprise.
"Why? What makes you think it's her?"

"I just have a feeling, I guess. I'm not
saying it is her, I was reading over the
transcripts from the Scartini case. The
agents who did the surveillance of Coston's
house documented every move Coston makes. All
they say about her is simply, 'Suspect
Elizabeth Anderson never left the bedroom.'
Doesn't that sound strange?"

Scully shrugged, "Well, maybe she never left
the bedroom."

"But all of the reports are like that. They
all go into minute detail about Coston, but
when it come to the girl-friend, it's almost
like she wasn't there." 

She glanced at the file you handed her. I do think you
have her wondering. But I feel you have something else
lurking there in those twisted synapses of
your mind, that makes you suspect this woman.
Something you are choosing not to tell us.
Like I said, this whole thing frightens me. I
just have a feeling.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

JOURNAL OF FOX MULDER
March 01, 2001


She argued.  She yelled.  I argued.  I
yelled. We were both convinced that we made
perfect sense.

"No, Mulder.  It's too dangerous.  You can't
do this, you're still..."

"Sick?  Is that all I am?  I'm so tired of
that word defining me.  Scully, why did you
marry me?  Because I was dying?  So that you
could have somebody to take care of? Damn it,
I'm NOT sick any more.  And I'm more than
capable of taking on this case."  I glared at
her, suddenly conscious of how much weight
I'd lost and how absurd that speech seemed in
light of this fact.  Mentally yes, but okay,
physically maybe I still had a way to go.

She was thinking the same thing as she ran
her eyes down my cavernous frame. "Mulder, I
almost lost you...." Her voice trembled.

That did me in and I grabbed her into a bear
hug, showing her how much strength I've
gained.  "But you didn't lose me, Scully. And
I can't let you go in there alone.  I'm still
your *partner*, regardless of all those
nincompoops Skinner has stuck you with."

"They're not all nincompoops.  Clarissa's
just young," Scully said into my chest.

I rested my chin on the top of her head.
"Okay, she's young.  But may I remind you
that another young agent managed to shoot you
and almost kill you.  I could never forgive
myself for being miles away when that idiot
put you in the hospital.  Scully, please, I
have to be there.  You weren't doing me any
favors keeping me in the dark. And look at
what happened the other night."

"What happened the other night? Really,
Mulder." Her eyes glazed as she tried to
remember. I felt my stomach sink with fear.
She needs someone to watch her back, someone
more than a green rookie. She needs me. She
looked up and met my eyes.  "You really feel
that you're ready?"

I nodded.  "Yes.  I'm ready.  And, unless my
eyesight improves further, this will probably
be my last case."  I could feel myself
begging, without shame. "If this is the end
of my career, Scully, if this is my last X
file, I want to go out having solved it."

She looked troubled, then nodded.  "Okay,
I'll back you with Skinner."

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Entry no: 2001/03/01
Report of:#8\18081957/Fox
Local Name: Miriam


When you called her to the bathroom, I could
sense her fear even before she jerked open
the door. The way your loud, hoarse,
"Scully!" set her heart to pounding, I'm
surprised she didn't pass out the moment she
heard it.  The loud shriek she, herself, let
out at seeing what you were doing to yourself
made you jump so that your scalp almost wound
up as a trophy for her.

"Jesus Christ, Scully," you exclaimed,
hastily grabbing a flurrying strip of toilet
paper, making the soft tissue into tiny pink
wads to stop the flow of blood from the
three, inch long scrapes you'd inflicted on
your soon to be bare (again) pate.

The wild, skittering giggles that came from
her next really didn't surprise or wound
you.  Even without your glasses you knew you
were a ridiculous sight, the back of your
head still covered with white shaving creme;
little dabs of blood darkened paper stuck
here and there on the shiny, white skull
you'd exposed. Squinting to see your
reflection, you began to laugh, too. The
blurred image staring back at you called to
mind nothing more than the rounded cheeks of
a baby's bottom.

"Oh, Mulder," she shocked you again when she
came up behind you and wrapped her small arms
around you to pull you close -- her careening
giggles had turned into tears.

"It's okay, Scully," you softly comforted.
The many reasons for her sudden weeping
flitted across your brain. You shuffled
through them quickly, frantically trying to
gage which was the correct one.

<Reminds her of the cancer...she liked (?) me
blond...I'm using her razor and didn't
ask...I look like I did after chemo...I'm
getting blood on the pink guest towel...the
cancer reminder...gotta be, it reminds her of
that...shit, it does me, too...that and a
baby's little pink...>

"Mulder, Skinner hasn't even said you can
go...why did you do it?" You were relieved to
see she was trying to paste a brave smile
across her face, but the tremor in her voice
tore at your gut. "You know it's not for sure
yet."

<She doesn't want me on the case...she's
worried...she's afraid something might happen
to me...I'm still not well...she could get
hurt, too, though...always a
possibility...we're so much closer now...I
know how much I love her now...if-when...when
I go back to work...when I get back in the
field...can we still work as partners...?
will it still work...if I do go with her to
the hospice, can I really protect her?>

"Mulder," her softly spoken whisper broke
your chain of thought. Her crying had ceased.

The light was good in the bathroom.  You
could see a tiny smile stealing at the
corners of her mouth. This was the clearest
you'd seen her in...forever. It was her turn
again to be surprised, so you leaned to taste
those soft, mint-flavored lips. You pulled
away, and she searched your face, a puzzled
frown etching the lines on her brow. "What
did you call me in here for?"

Reasonable question, but her timing sucks,
Mulder. I've never heard her sing.   Is she
off key there, too?

"Can you do the back for me?" you asked,
searching for the razor. She bent and
retrieved it from the floor, studying it with
sudden recognition. "I know, I couldn't find
mine. I've been using it for a couple of
days. I'll get you a whole new pack of
blades. I promise."

"You'd better. Give me a boost up. I'm gonna
have to kneel on the cabinet."

You complied. You must have interrupted her
dressing for Skinner's visit tonight.  She
hadn't gotten a chance to put on any
panties.  The long, silk blouse, hanging
below her hip, slipped up as you aided her
leap. Your hand lingered on the softly firm
expanse of hip that was exposed. On her knees
she seemed to be the perfect height for the
task at hand. She began to smoothly,
efficiently shave off the sparse dark blonde
wisps you'd left after your initial butcher
haircut with the scissors. She was fairly
proficient at this task.  "You're pretty good
at this, Scully..."

"Lots of practice..." she murmured, moving
close to your ear.

"Let me guess; it was while you were screwing
the football team in college," you grinned,
dabbing at the sweat which was beginning to
dot your face. It wasn't hot in the bathroom,
maybe this was a symptom of a brief, 24
second bug?

"No, it was when I was boning up on my
fellatio skills with my high school's
basketball team. You know I like them tall,"
she murmured smoothly, her fingertip lightly
resting against your neck to steady her hand.

The room grew quiet, nothing but the scrape
of blade against skin, her deep relaxed
breath and your faint, tuneless, humming.
Then, once again her warm breath teased your
ear, "almost done."

"You're quick, Scully."

"Scully-Mulder, and I'm good, too."  She
glanced down your body and ran a little pink
tongue over her lips.  "Any other hair that
you need...personally groomed?"

She carefully unbuttoned her silk shirt and,
with a shift of her shoulders, it slithered
off her body and landed in a shiny puddle on
the floor. Never looking away from you, she
quickly unclasped her bra and let that fall
too.

The air was  suddenly thick and sultry.  You
wiped the back of your hand across your
mouth, your tongue flicking quickly to wet
your lips, tasting salt. You know, I think
you could pick up a good ventilation fan at
K-mart for under $50 dollars.  That might
help with the moisture in this room and th...

<Time to go to the toe, Miriam.>

Just let me finish with this...

<NOW, Miriam. Disconnect, NOW!>

Hey, I know I agreed to give you two privacy
when you...Wait...Oh, God, you're not going
to do it right here on the floor? The
bedroom's  just 10 feet...

<Say goodnight, Miriam...>

Bite me, Mulder.

*****
You neglected to tell me I could rehook
before you fell asleep, Mulder, and I almost
missed documenting the assistant director's
visit. When she heard Skinner's familiar sharp,
no-nonsense rap, Dana left the bedroom door ajar and
rose from the bed where you two had made love the
second time (your stamina's coming back).

I already the arguments.  Skinner's deep, clear tones
always travel so well, so I could easily follow the
conversation. She is a master at calm, gently leading
persuasion. She's pretty good at heavy handed hard
sell, too. I guess the woman just knows how to get
what she wants, huh? She knows exactly how to
handle Skinner. I think even he knew it was
over before she opened her mouth.

I could hear this in his tone, even as he
asked her that first question.  "You've
discussed this with Agent Mulder?  Do you
think his request is reasonable?"

She sighed. "There's a bed available in
Coston's room, immediately.  If you approve
we can have everything set up and be on the
case tomorrow morning. This will offer us
direct, 24 hour surveillance of his
visitors."

"And you're telling me that you support this
suicide mission of Mulder's?  Two months ago
he was dying."

"Yes, sir. Neither Agent Orlando nor I could
get as close to Coston as Mulder could." She
saw he was just playing out the game, so she
revealed her hand. "Mulder has volunteered to
serve as my cover. Clarissa will stay as
night shift supervisor, but I plan on playing
the concerned wife."

I'm sure Skinner's face remained that
inscrutable mask, but I detected a grin in
his voice. Honestly. "Yes, I believe you
could assume that cover and make it entirely
believable."

There was another pause. This one ticked by
slowly.  "You know I'm sticking my neck out
even considering this.  You know he there's
no way he would be considered fit for duty.
I'm only agreeing to this because you're
right, this would be the best way to get 24
hour a day surveillance of this man
and...well, maybe I've learned to trust his
hunches.  Maybe, after 8 years with you two,
I'm having 'feelings', too.  I think Coston
IS the key. But...Mulder is to be considered
a civilian in this operation."  He said
firmly, with argument not an option."His
safety is the number one priority. You are
never to leave his side, for ANY reason
unless relieved by another Agent...or myself.
Am I clear?"

"Absolutely, sir"

"And Agent, I need you to answer one
question," he spoke slowly, in low even
tones.

"If I can, sir."  Dana sounded relieved.  I
wonder why she had any doubt? How often has
the assistant director told HER no? Never
since I've been here.

"How exactly did he talk you into this?"
There went that smile. Maybe Skinner has a
smile only we Symbiotes can hear.

"Sir, he played the 'this might possibly be
my last chance to investigate an X-File'
card."  Your wife's voice sounded a little
bitter.

A moment of stunned silence followed.

"Ah, he plays cut-throat," Skinner commented
dryly, breaking the quiet.

"He stacked the deck, sir. He cheats."



Title: Symbiosis (14 of ?)
Author:  Xenith and KatVictory



<><><><><><><><><>
 CHAPTER FOURTEEN
<><><><><><><><><>




FIELD JOURNAL
Case Number: X-10661013
Agent: Fox Mulder
Date: March 5, 2001


Based on Agent Scully's field notes, I see
that minimal progress has been made on the
case since my illness.  However, the killer
cannot say the same. The murders first
escalated in December, averaging one a week
until mid-February. Since February 23, there
has been one approximately every 4 days with
the exclusion of the 27th. On that date there
were two murders committed.

After the first 5 crimes, there appears to be
no rhyme or reason as to the killer's choice
of victim, but the location of where each
withered, youth robbed corpse has
progressively inched toward the inner-city,
crime laden areas of town. I speculate that
this is because of the simple fact that the
killer knows that fewer crimes are solved in
these less affluent sections. Life is cheap
on the poor side of town, so a body can often
go unnoticed or ignored. The 'Dorian Gray'
killer might well have more victims that have
yet to be reported.

Because of this, and the fact that that later
murders appear to be more random, perhaps
more impulsively committed, this report will
focus exclusively on the first 5 crimes.
Additionally, studies have shown that a
serial killer will usually begin his series
of murders in places that are familiar and
comfortable to him, branching out later as he
gains confidence.



Commonalties:  All five of the initial
victims were known to Michael Coston.

All were residents of the greater DC area.
Most significantly, all had ties to the
Washington, DC Youth Soccer League.  The
last
two found of this original quintet , victims
four and five, were young girls, aged 14,
members of the team Coston coached.  The
third, also 14, was from another team in the
same league, a team that had been coached by
Michael Gillette, 37,  the second victim.
Amber Coston, 25, was the first victim, and
Michael Coston's wife.


Michael Coston:

DOB: 6/1/1955

Occupation: Bartender

Family: Has one daughter, Annie (age 10),
from a prior marriage which ended in divorce
7 years ago.  That first wife, Cynthia, died in
an auto accident five years ago and the child
is being raised by her maternal
grandparents.  Second wife, Amber, found
dead
under suspicious circumstances.  They were
married two years.  He is currently seeing a
woman, Elizabeth Anderson, age and
occupation
unknown.

Priors:  Michael Coston pled 'no contest' to
one charge of spousal abuse in 1992.  The
sentence was time served in jail and
community service. In 1996, he pled guilty to
two charges of ADW (assault with a deadly
weapon) and one count of possession of
cocaine, in return for a suspended sentence
and promise to attend drug rehab. No further
convictions, but probation officer report
states that Coston was suspected of IV drug
use, although drug tests came back clean.

General Background:  Coston is an orphan and
was raised in an children's home run by the
Sisters of the Holy Trinity in Virginia.
Raised Catholic and apparently is still
practicing.

Query:  Does he have a stash of St. Jude
medals?

Coston was diagnosed with HIV in May of last
year. He has been undergoing treatment, but
it appears not to have been effective.  In
late November, 2000 he was admitted to St.
Mary's Hospice.  His condition is considered
terminal, although at times he is ambulatory
and reasonably able to care for himself.  His
T-Cell count is notable in that it dips
immediately before a killing and improves
immediately following one.  I suspect that
somehow he is replenishing himself from the
life force of the murder victims; perhaps
through the help of his girl friend.

Plan of Action:  I have discussed the case
with AD Skinner and Agent Scully and propose
an undercover operation to elicit evidence of
the murders.  I have suggested that since
this agent requires no special research or
makeup to feign a life-threatening illness,
that it would be effective to assign this
agent to an undercover post in the hospice as
another patient.

Agent Scully has agreed that I shall act as
her cover in this matter.  AD Skinner has
approved the plan. Accordingly, tomorrow I
will be admitted to the hospice as Fox
Mulder, an FBI agent on permanent medical
disability, nearing the final stages of
terminal brain cancer.  I have been assigned
to Coston's room.  Agent Scully will pose as
my wife, Dana Scully-Mulder, who is currently
on spousal medical leave from the bureau.
Agent Clarissa Orlando, formerly a registered
nurse before she joined the Bureau, will pose
as the hospice night shift supervisor.



<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>



Entry no: 2001/03/05
Report of:#8\18081957/Fox
Local Name: Miriam



I know you're ignoring me right now. I don't
care. Part of your punishment for doing this
is having to listen to me ranting and raving
in your head. You know you deserve it. The
other part of your penance, of course, will
be knowing what you've done to the refound
trust you and your wife have enjoyed lately.

You just HAD to be here, in the thick of
things. Was getting your way worth what
you've lost? I hope so, Fox. If nothing
happens, if you both survive this little
operation, it's a decision you're going to
have to live with. You know this, because you
can't hide the fact from me that you realize
how much you've hurt her with your
selfishness.  Still,  "I'm sorry" doesn't
even begin to make it better. So go ahead,
roll over on your side and sulk in your
guilty misery. I'm making this report; your
sins are being encoded on your DNA for
posterity. Everyone who reads this archival
record will know exactly what an asshole Fox
W. Mulder is.

Yes, Mulder, the alien is pissed at you.

I won't even mention the fact that you are
totally exhausted, almost to the point of
illness, because you stayed up all night
preparing the 'Field Report'. Getting your
little jollies playing secret agent again...

<Not secret agent, it's Special Agent...>

Whatever...I just find it amusing how you
refer to yourself in the third person..." I'm
Fox Mulder -- F.B.I".  You're such a putz.

<hrmph>

What was that, Mulder? ...Oh, another
nothing, I guess.

We all were nervous in the car on the way
over here. Little did I know that you had
more reason to be filled with angst than
either Dana or I. You were about to let us in
on a little something you'd deduced from your
study of the files. Oh, yes, you pored over
those files after Maggie brought you that
magnifying glass. I think you must have read
every word, committing each syllable to
memory. That's why your eyes are bothering
you so much today. Right?  Are you going to
confess to Scully that her backup is half
blind because of eye strain today? Tell me,
how are you going to protect her back,
Mulder, when you can't even see?

<Fuck!>

"What's wrong, Fox?" Oh, so she is talking to
you.

"Nothing, Dana." Nothing, nothing but your
conscience bothering you. Ha! She called you
Fox.

"Do you need something?" Oh, listen to her
performance...Fox.  She has to play the
caring wife. I'll bet she'd love to kick your
ass.

"No." No, you don't need anything or no you
don't believe Scully wants to kick your ass?

"No, I don't need anything...DANA honey."
Honey? You know, if I had a stomach, I'd be
heaving right now. Honey. Pleeze. Now, where
was I...?

<You were betting Scully wants to kick my
ass.>

No, nimrod. I mean in my report...

<You were just getting ready to tell what I
said to Scully when we first got here at the
hospice.>

Oh, okay, thank you.  Shut up and let me
finish. As I was saying, we'd pulled up in
the parking lot, and we all took a few
minutes to collect ourselves.

"Scully..." you began.

"Dana," she prompted, with a slight smile.
"Hey, if you slip every now and then, don't
worry.   Even though we're not hiding that we
"were" FBI, there's no sense in reminding the
man of the fact that we 'used to be' law
enforcement constantly. He's probably going
to remember us.  After all, we did
investigate his wife's death. It'll make him
nervous enough as it is. I know it's hard to
believe, G-man, but most couples don't call
each other by their last names."

The fact that you let her gentle teasing go
by without comment must have set off a red
flag because I immediately sensed the tension
rising up in her.  "Mulder? What's wrong?"

"I'm Fox. Remember," you murmured softly,
then oddly, you brought your hand up to
finger that shock of silver that sprayed down
from her temple. Even as poor as your sight
is today, you couldn't miss that splash of
white as it glistened in the early morning
sun. "Where did you get this gray?" Even
though you spoke your query in soft, even
tones, I could feel your stomach clench in
dread as you waited for her answer. I just
didn't know why.

That brow went up. She couldn't quite figure
out if you were teasing.  "I'm getting old, I
guess."

"Scully, the gray's been there since your
birthday," you whispered, your voice suddenly
tight.

"My birthday, thanks for reminding me how old
I am, Mulder," she muttered, a bit of strain
in her voice. I guess she didn't think it was
nice of you to rub it in.

"Scully, I mean that when you went to work
the morning of February 23, the gray wasn't
there. When Skinner brought you home next
morning, it was."  You spoke softly, evenly,
but your heart pounded in your chest. Your
wall that had been blocking me crumbled.  I
knew at that moment what you'd been hiding. I
share your fear.

You sighed, and I could feel all the muscles
in your body tense. "Scully, I think you and
Clarissa found the 'Dorian Gray' killer that
night, but I think you were made to forget."

She gave you a quizzical look, so you
continued.

"Two sets of agents surveying the Coston
house used identical phrases to describe how
Elizabeth Anderson spent her evening,
establishing her alibi. Isn't it odd that
those nights were the *only* evenings she
spent alone in her bedroom.  All the other
nights she was seen watching television with
Michael Coston."  You stared at her, not
really see that face, but begging her to
listen to you. "And none, not one of those
agents ever noticed that those were the only
three evenings she was out of view the entire
time, or that they had all used identical
sentences to describe her activities in their
reports."

You rubbed at your stinging eyes as you
allowed her to digested this
information...just like you're rubbing them
now. They hurt so much.  Your vision is so
completely blurred that if this killer does
show up tonight and something goes wrong,
you're going to be worse than useless. When
the nurse brought you to this room, you
weren't just playing your role when you
barely made it over to the bed from that
wheel chair, were you? You were so tired you
could hardly stand...

<I'm fine.>

Liar...you are such a liar...

<I SAID I'M FINE!!>

Go ahead and scream at me. Clench your fist.
Okay, now the pout. Ha-ha. Now that I got you
good and mad, where was I?

<You were...>

I wasn't talking to you. I was talking to
myself. I'm making a report, so shut up. This
is my job. Oh, yes...You then proceeded to
remind Scully of her interview with the two
agents who had been on duty at the Coston
house the night when both the first and third
teenagers were murdered.

"Scully, I think all the agents who watching
Coston house were attacked, just like you and
Clarissa were. Remember how the rookie,
Sharpe, claimed that both he and his partner
had felt like they'd aged 10 years after the
three month of this stakeout."

She slowly nodded.  "He said he'd hadn't
really been joking when he told his partner,
Agent Davis, that Coston finally getting sick
enough for a hospice is what saved both their
lives. I remember he was chuckling when he
told me, 'I'm only 28, but this case has
given me gray hair.'" Her own hand fluttered
up to flit across that shock of silver. "I
thought he was joking, Mulder. What does this
mean? You think Elizabeth Anderson is doing
this? You think she's our killer?"

You bobbed your head, then passed a hand
across your face, fingers pressing hard
against aching eyes. "She didn't stay in the
bedroom. She slipped out and did something to
both Sharpe and Davis and ah, the other
two..."  That you couldn't even remember the
names showed just how weary you are.

"Romanowski and MacCaffery," Dana replied.
"So you're claiming that Elizabeth Anderson
can actually cloud peoples minds? And make
their hair turn gray?"

You didn't look up. Your head remained bowed
as you continued.  "Scully, the point I'm
trying to make is we're facing a killer who
has the ability to somehow stun and confuse
her victims. This power not only allows her
to kill at will, but also allows her to come
and go as she pleases, never having to worry
about covering her tracks." Finally you
looked up, and leaned close to her, wanting
to hold her interest, needing to make your
point, " Elizabeth Anderson held your life in
her hands the other night. She could have
killed you and you would have never seen it
coming."

"Then, why didn't she kill me, Mulder?" Her
voice was flat and toneless.

"Because she didn't want to. I don't know
Scully, I guess she, just decided she didn't
want YOU. You're too old. She needs more
years than you can give her." You squinted,
trying to see her face. Your eyes were filled
with tears as you lightly brushed at her
hair.  "But still, she stole from you. A
month, a year...Scully, she took some of your
life."

"Mulder, that's ridiculous!  I agree that
Elizabeth Anderson is a suspect, but I think
she's using some kind of drug or chemical
agent to both subdue her victims and probably
to alter the memories of witnesses.  A chemical
poisoning could certainly mimic the neurological
damage we found in the autopsies that looks
so much like Alzheimer's.  But I draw the line at
the idea of a youth-sucking vampire as the
cause for all these killings!"

You quirked a smile and replied, "Hey Scully,
you gotta admit they exist.  I mean, Dick Clark's
been doing it for years, hasn't he?"

She gave you a long and angry look, absently
tugging at her greyed lock of hair, then shook
her head and left the room. 

*****

That was 3 hours ago. I don't think Dana has
spoken two word to you since. Well, at least
none that weren't required by her role as the
dutiful wife of a dying husband. I know what
she's felt. My emotions have wavered from the
initial gut-wrenching fear-laced shock on
discovering that we're probably up against
more than we'd bargained for, to
disappointment and pain. Mulder, it hurts
that you were so selfish, you hid important
information from us.

Now, this last hour or so, the anger has hit
me like a ton of bricks. It's rather obvious,
your wife has been assaulted by rage too. You
never really told either of us what you truly
suspected was going on.

We trusted you, Fox William Mulder, and all
we got were half truths and lies of
omission.   It's not important that you lied
to the alien, you owe me nothing after all
the pain I've caused you.  But you also lied
to the woman who promised to spend her life
with you, who just spent half a year bringing
you back from the Pearly Gates, sparing
herself nothing in the process. You haven't
given a thought to either her feelings or her
safety.

That she doesn't believe your theory is
irrelevant.  I believe you and I think that the
danger is real.  But what frosts me the most is
that this all happened because you just had to
have this chance. 'Spooky's' back from the
dead, just in time to solve the case, the one
nobody else could crack. After eight months,
countless man hours wasted, you ride in and
save the day. The crowd goes wild! Listen to
those cheers!

You know, this might really be your last
hurrah, Mulder.  The final case of your
career. But if things go sour, it just might
be her last case as well.

<Shut up.>

You need to sleep, Mulder.

<Just shut up...please. No more...>

All right. I'll stop. But, try to get some
sleep. Okay? Mulder?

*****

You did finally drift off, not coming out of
your exhausted coma until almost 4 in the
afternoon. Both Scully and I had cooled off a
bit. She was actually starting to get a bit
worried that you'd slept so long and so
deeply. I think she realized how you'd pushed
yourself, these last few days, just to the
edge of your endurance. She'd finally given
into her fears and had placed a gentle hand
on your neck to check your pulse when you
opened your eyes.

"Feel better?"

Your vision was still dim, so all you could
see was a faint blur. The lighting was very
muted in this sickroom, but you heard the
soft smile in her voice. I know, I got a nice
little tingle from the wash of relief that
covered you from your bald head to that
damnable big toe.

You nodded, managing to return her grin and
touched her face, lingering to feel those
tender, upturned lips.

"Good. I'm going to go grab a shower, you
okay for a while?"

Your smile turned wicked, "Can I join you?"

The woman should win an Oscar for the sad,
winsome tilt that she placed on her lips, her
eyes misting just a touch. It was a perfect
performance of a soon to be widow, grieving
over the reminder that her life's partner's
spirit might be willing, but alas, his flesh
is now weak. Bravo! It did deserve at least
an Golden Globe. I hope Coston was watching
this touching scene, since it was of course
played out for his benefit. You didn't do to
bad yourself. You kept a straight face at
least.

You'd just heard the door close and the spray
of water begin when your hitherto silent
roomie spoke for the first time.  "She's sure
got a tight reign on you, buddy."

"Huh?" You didn't quite understand what he'd
said and turned toward him, staring to see
through the gloom. I'd understood, which
explains my snicker.

"I said it looks like the ol' ball and
chain's got you a little whipped, fibbie."
His chuckle was harsh. He softened his tone a
bit since his comment had been met with stony
silence. "Hey, no offense meant. My
girlfriend sometimes goes overboard, too.
They just don't know how to deal with being
around us, I guess. It's gotta be touch being
in love with a ' dead man walking'. Still,
sometimes I think she forgets my dick didn't
fall off when my hair fell out."

"Yeah, dying's a bitch," you commiserated,
groaning as you rolled over to your side to
better converse with your suspect. Your nap
had left you stiff, but helped you to be all
the more convincing in your role. A few moans
and groans just makes it believable.

"Hey, I recognize you now. I recognized your
wife the moment she came in, but
you...wow...holy shit, man...you look like
hell." Coston's husky voice bespoke a genial
air, but he isn't exactly the most tactful of
men, is he?

"I remember you, too, and I gotta tell you, I
think you passed 'death warmed over' a while
back, yourself," you retorted. I do believe
his little try at dying male bonding stung
the old ego a bit, huh Fox?

His laughter came out sounding like an
overheated radiator, ending in a cough. "I
have my ups and downs," he wheezed, trying
to catch his breath.

"Sounds like you're on the lower part of the
swing today," you snapped.  The truth that
his condition was sinking, and everything
this implied, gave you a sudden chill.

Costen's next statement stunned you, making
you realize just how sure this man was that
his secret method of prolonging life was
safe. "Oh, when my Beth gets here, I'll perk
up. That woman's a miracle worker." He gave a
soft, sly laugh. Fortunately, his lungs held
together after this last bit of jocularity.

"Beth?"

"My girlfriend, you met her, didn't you?"
Coston suddenly seemed a bit confused. He
thought for a moment, then nodded. It seemed
he was speaking  to himself, almost as though
he'd forgotten you were there. "Yeah, Beth
was with me when Amber died. Of course.
God, those women hated each other..."

There was a pause, and I felt you tense. You
didn't really expect a death bed confession
now did you, Fox?  You waited in vain, then
finally broke the silence.  "No, I never met.
her. Is she coming today?"

"God, I hope so."  He sighed wearily.  "Hey,
I got a picture of her here somewhere."

Coston was still looking for the shot of
Elizabeth when Scully exited the bathroom a
few moments later.

"Do you need some help, Mr. Coston?" she
asked, puzzled by his frantic rummaging.

"No, ah, here it is," he sighed in relief.
"My girlfriend, Beth. Did you meet her Agent
Scully?"

"Mrs. Scully-Mulder, but just call me Dana,"
she murmured, moving over to Coston's bed.
"No, I didn't."

There was a sudden, heart beat long hush.
"Do you mind if I show Fox?"

"Naw, I wanted him to see her. She's pretty,
huh?"

"Lovely," Scully replied.

We both noticed the odd strain in her voice
when she spoke. "She is pretty isn't she,
Fox?" she prompted, flashing the snapshot
before your face.

"Yeah, she is," you lied, barely able to see
the paper, much less make out what was on it.

"Here, let me get you some light so you can
see her better."  Her tone had grown puzzled,
and she hurriedly pulled on the arm of the
bedside lamp, trying to adjust it so you
could see Coston's girlfriend clearly.
Finally she gave up when she failed to read
the response she wanted in your face. You
felt her withdraw, giving the man back his
picture.

The tension that began with this interaction
lingered. The conversation died and the room
grew quiet.  The only sound was your wife's
nervous fidgeting.  Finally she rose from her
bedside chair and softly announced, "Let's go
for a walk...Fox," as she grabbed the wheel
chair from the corner.

Your nap did do you some good, so you made
it
over to your chariot with no problem. Scully
hurriedly pushed you out the door, not saying
a word until you made it to the large indoor
solarium.  "Mulder, you're having trouble
with your eyes, aren't you?" She removed your
dark, Buddy Holly style frames with their
thick, heavy lenses and stared at you. "My
God, they look horrible."

Rubbing your fingers over them only seemed to
grind the gritty feeling in deeper.  "Yeah, I
think I overdid it reading the last couple of
days."

"Great," she muttered, her voice shaking. She
stood behind you, taking a few deep breaths,
as though to steady herself.

"Scully, what's wrong?" you asked, rising
from your seat, giving up your cover in order
to take her in your arms.  "I'm sorry I
didn't tell you.  I figured I'd given you
enough grief today without telling you I'd
fucked up my sight."

She allowed your soft brushing kiss to her
cheek and gently touched your lips. Her
fingertips trembled as they rested, feather
light, against your sensitive skin.

"Scully, what's wrong?" you asked again, your
tone a bit more forceful, hastened by
frustration and fear.

"Mulder, Elizabeth Anderson could be Sister
Teresa's twin," she whispered.

I don't know which one of us was more
stunned, you or I.  I know the news had you
chewing at your bottom lip, so I have to
gather you were more that a little upset by
this revelation. I, unfortunately, have no
mouth to worry, no nails to bite, no nothing.
Not even a nervous tick to fall back on. I
just get to suffer in silence. I'm
frightened.

Hey, this is my first X-file, remember. It
might take me a while to get used to the fact
that we're on man-hunt for a 165+ years old,
life sucking Vampire Nun. Well, I guess I
can't complain about having a boring job any
more.


Title: Symbiosis (15 of ?)
Author:  Xenith and KatVictory


<><><><><><><><><>
 CHAPTER FIFTEEN
<><><><><><><><><>



Entry no: 2001/03/05-06
Report of:#8\18081957/Fox
Local Name: Miriam


You're sleeping, so I'll try to be as quiet as
I can to make this entry. I'm still puzzled
as to how Dana thinks her convoluted theory
making Elizabeth Anderson the descendent of
the nun, Sister Teresa, any more
believable than our postulate that Sister
Teresa and Coston's girlfriend are one in the
same...

<That's just how she plays it, Miriam.>

Fox, you're supposed to be asleep!

<I can't sleep, I've got too much going on in
my head...You talk too loud.>

Sorry. Just trying to make a report.

<It's okay, you're not all that's keeping me
awake. Scully trying to make this case into
something that can be explained
scientifically just might get her killed.>

I know. That's my worry too. I'm afraid she's
going to underestimate just what we're
dealing with. She thinks she's got all the
bases covered, having you all on bottled
water, nothing that can be tainted. Mulder,
poisoning doesn't explain how Sister Teresa's
been able to keep Coston alive.

<Scully thinks that Elizabeth Anderson found
Sister Teresa's secret formula for staying
young and it wasn't faith and devotions. She
thinks there's some way...some scientific way
that this family has discovered how to
chemically harvest something from the body
that allows us to fight aging and disease.>

Something. Somehow. Fox, that's just as
far-fetched as our theory...

<I know Miriam. That's just how Scully deals
with these things, the way she fits them into
her mind. She's not going to believe in
Sister Teresa, the 165 year old vampire nun
until she's been slapped in the face with the
good Sister's rosary. Hell, even then she'll
probably find some way to explain it away.
Scully could walk up and shake hands with
E.T. and come away telling me that she'd just
met some bald, hydrocephalic dwarf who had a
nifty penlight prosthesis for a finger.
That's just the way she is.>

We've sure got our work cut out for us.

<Now you see why I can't sleep?>

Well, try. Let me worry about it. Okay? You
need your rest.

<Okay.>

...

<Miriam?>

Yeah...

<How am I? Really. Is the cancer all gone?
Will I have to have more chemo? Why am I
still so weak? Have you done all you can do?
Am I going to get any better?>

Mulder, I don't see any more cancer, but
getting your health back is going to take
time. There's only so much I can do. That's
what got me so angry at you for pushing to do
this, for wanting to go undercover. You have
to take care of yourself. You have to help me
out here, okay?  I know it seems like I'm
nagging, but I know what's best for you. Like
now, you need your rest.

<Okay, but I am worried about Scully. Miriam,
that was part of why I wanted to be here. I
just felt that she needed someone to watch
her back. Someone who knew what was really
going on. Please, help me be able to protect
her. Please help me have the strength.>

Don't worry, we'll watch out for her.
Together we'll do it. But try to sleep now,
okay? Like I said, you have to help me help
you.

<Okay.>

...

<Miriam?>

What now, Fox?

<Scully doesn't even really believe in you.>

I know. It doesn't bother me. That's how my
species has survived all these years. By
people not believing in us.

<I figured as much. That's how a lot of the
paranormal has survived. But, is there some
way that we could prove that you exist? I
mean after this case is over. Is there some
way that proof that your in side of me be
shown. I mean you're making these reports.
What are they, Miriam?>

Yes, your science probably could find the
archives, if they knew what they were looking
for. See, our records are encoded on your
DNA. Each host's history is inscribed and
flagged. When a species that is not the same
as the host is recognized, the archival
volumes open up and the recorded knowledge
begins to play, starting with that first
report. Your body will be dust, but what I've
reported on your life will live forever. I've
assured your immortality, Fox.

<Great. I'm not sure some of the things I've
done lately should be immortalized, Miriam.>

Hey, you gotta take the good with the bad. I
think on the whole, you come out a worthy
subject Fox Mulder.

<Hey, can I listen to your reports? And what
about you, Miriam? Is your kind immortal? Do
you live forever?>

Well, with the connection we've had, you
might be able to hear what I've encoded.
Remind me to give you my archive number. When
we get the time, maybe we'll try and see if you can
open the reports.

<Like I said, I'm not sure if I really want
to hear everything that I've done these last
few months....>

<Miriam?>

Yes, Fox.

<You didn't answer my question. Are you
immortal? Will you live forever?>

Almost forever. We die when our host's
species dies. When there are no more hosts
left on this planet, when there are no more
lives left to share...we die.

<When you're left all alone?>

Yes, when we're alone, we die. Try to sleep
now, Fox.



<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>



Entry no: 2001/03/06
Report of:#8\18081957/Fox
Local Name: Miriam



You're taking a nap right now so I'm going to
try to catch up on all that has happened
today. I think it was almost dawn when you
finally drifted off, so we aren't exactly
making any headway on getting you into top
form. You were subdued as you picked at your
breakfast, and even Scully was beginning to
frown. You're still painfully thin, more so
than you'll admit.  You're not sleeping like
you should, and the stress of this assignment
is wearing you down.

"Why don't we take a walk?' she finally asked
brightly, after watching you transmute your
toast into a pile of crumbs.  Grabbing your
wheelchair, she steered you down the hallway
and into a quiet corner of the solarium.

"Okay, give.  What's wrong?' The look she
gave you was filled with concern.

You looked up, guilt all over your face. "I'm
sorry, Scully, for getting you into this.  I
had some time and...uh..encouragement to
think through all the details of this
assignment.  I'm more of a liability than an
asset to you on this one, I'm afraid.'  You
peered at her, trying desperately to see what
her expression might be.

"Mulder, I never consider your presence a
liability,' she started but you interrupted.

"Scully, dammit I can't SEE.  If that
vampire-thing goes for you I doubt I could
trust my aim enough to be sure that I hit the
wall, much less anything attacking you.  At
least, Clarissa has enough ability for that."

Scull's lips began to twitch.  "Oh, so you
admit Clarissa may be good for something.
That's generous.  But the fact remains,
Mulder, you're the one who looks like a
cancer patient; you're our in. Regardless of
the method, we both agree that Elizabeth
Anderson has been keeping Coston alive. The
way he looks this morning, she's going to
have do something soon."

I felt your stomach tense, "He's sinking?"

Dana sighed, "Before you woke up they took
blood for a T-lymphocyte test. I can only
guess that it's fairly low."

"We need to be ready; she'll probably come
tonight," you murmured glumly.

" After she kills another child," Scully
replied bitterly and on that depressing note,
began to wheel you back to the room.

We were surprised to see Assistant Director
Skinner, waiting outside in the hallway.

"There you are," he rumbled, moving quickly
to greet you. " Coston's doctor is inside. We
need to talk."

Once more we ventured back down to the
glassed in room to chat.

"What's happened?" Scully asked the moment we
stopped.

Skinner eased himself down to the arm of a
large recliner and leaned forward to talk in
low, conspiratory tones, " The killer struck
again last night.  They found the bodies of a
girl scout troop, seven girls who were
staying overnight at their scout leader's
house.."

Scully took in a long, shaking breath.  " My
God, seven?"

"The leader was found wandering in a daze,
and when they checked on the little girls,
all seven of them were in the house, all
dead, all prematurely aged."

"St. Jude medals?" You asked slowly, thinking
hard.

"None.  The killer just...killed them, then
folded their hands over their
chests.....What?" Skinner stopped, seeing you
slowly nodding.

"Regret.  Elizabeth doesn't feel good about
killing.  When she has the time, she leaves a
holy medal on the body,  says a prayer. She's
probably run out of medals, so she does the
best she can to honor the dead."

"Mulder...are you still asking us to believe
that a hundred year old nun is doing this?
That she's Michael Coston's girlfriend?"

You sighed and gnawed at your lip, too tired
to argue, too worried that even if you did,
your wife would still hold on to the doubt
that could kill her.

"Agent Scully, I need you to oversee the
autopsies. You've mentioned your theories
about poisoning, can you proceed along those
lines? I'll stay here with Mulder," your
supervisor offered.

Scully started to object, but paused,
realizing that she did wish to find out whether she
could find evidence proving her theories.  She could
see that you were going to be
left in good hands.

The fact you were being left with a
babysitter stung your pride and Scully's quick peck to
the cheek as she hurried off was not
acknowledged.

"How bad is it, sir?" you asked, finally
breaking the quiet that had blanketed the air
after your wife's hasty departure.

"About as bad as it gets.  Seven little
girls, ranging from age 8 to age 12 were
found lying peacefully in their scout
leader's living room. Each one looked as
though she were a hundred years old.  The
leader is distraught. The last memory she has
is of making chocolate chip cookies with the
girls yesterday."

"Sir, why did you call Scully in today?
Really?"  You frustratedly peered through
your coke-bottle glasses trying to read
Skinner's expression.

Skinner took the chair across from you and
let out a breath.

"I've been reading her reports and I know
that she doesn't believe your theories about
the nature of the killer.  That will put her
in danger when the killer arrives."

"You believe me?"

Skinner gave a faint chuckle at the
incredulous tone of your voice. I told you
the man can laugh.

"Is that so strange? I generally do believe
you, after some persuasion.  I think in this
instance that your scenario is the most
logical and believe that the case is better
served if both agents on duty have a clear
understanding of what they're up against."

You nodded slowly. "And since Scully has
already been attacked by this creature, it's
safer for her if she's miles away when it
strikes again."

You two sat for a while in complete
agreement, then the A.D. rolled you back to
your bed. Coston's doctor had gone and you
heard the faint hiss that announced your
roommate was now on oxygen. Due to the man's
condition you and Skinner conversed in hushed
tones and your supervisor left the room to
take the call when his cell chirped.

"Where's your shadow?" Coston wheezed, the
moment the door shut behind the AD.

I couldn't believe your answer, but it
worked. You told the man the truth. It was
brilliant.

"The 'Dorian Gray' killer struck again. Seven
little girls, a girl scout troop. They needed
help with the autopsies," you replied
wearily. Your exhaustion wasn't feigned. Your
lack of sleep was catching up to you.

"That's right, she's a doctor."

You tensed, realizing that Coston probably
knows quite a bit about the agents who had
been investigating this case. That isn't
comforting news.

"Yeah, she took her leave at the first of
this month when we found out...well when the
doctors told us that there's no hope. But,
they needed her since she's familiar with the
case. That's my boss...my ex-boss, I guess I
should say. She left him to babysit."

"Seven girls..." Coston murmured.

I felt you shiver, making the connection
between his interest in the case and the fact
that these children had been killed to feed
his needs.

"Yeah, seven little girls..." I think you
fought to keep the bitterness from your
voice. You were unsuccessful.

It was noon when you fell asleep. I believe
knowing that you have Walter Skinner on your
side helped you to relax. Maybe, you'll be
rested enough because tonight is bound to be
when this all ends.



<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>



Entry no: Final
Report of:#8\18081957/Fox
Local Name: Miriam


It's not supposed to end like this. This is
not what was supposed to happen.

Elizabeth Anderson only comes at night. No
one has seen her visit Coston in two months.
This wasn't supposed to happen...we weren't
ready.

I thought Skinner had just stepped outside. I
thought he was just in the hall. Mulder woke
up at around 2:30. He was still tired, but
the nap had done him some good. Skinner took
him for a walk to explain the plan. We all
expected her to come tonight. She always
waits to feed Coston 'til night. Skinner was
making sure we would be ready for her. He was
setting it all up. This wasn't supposed to
happen.

It was shift change. That's what she said.
When they were talking in the bathroom I
heard her tell Coston, the shift was
changing...

Mulder was dozing when she came in.

"Beth..." Coston was so weak his voice was
just a whisper.

I heard her move to the bed. There was the
sound humans make when they are going to
copulate. They call it foreplay, soul
kissing.... this time, across this dim
hospital-like room, the faint smacking noise
is almost akin to a starving man
feasting...it's wet, there are moans, a
hunger being sated.

Fox! She's here! Mulder!

<What!?>

He came awake with a start.

"Miriam?"

He spoke out loud and I heard the bodies in
the next bed part.

"Hey, you're awake. Fox, you want to meet
Beth?" Coston's voice was no longer weak. I'm
frightened as I sense her presence. She's not
quite human. She's like nothing I've felt
before. Not in 3000 years. I shrink inside my
host. I try to hide in fear, but I'm not
quick enough. She has reached out to touch
Fox. Her touch is at first light and gentle,
but when it brushes against me, it grows
firm. Greedy.

Mulder doesn't know what has hit him. He was
still half asleep. I hear him gasp in
surprise. She has a heart. I feel it pound
with excitement. She allows her hand to
linger, and there is a tug...I feel her
pulling our life away. She sips our essence
with each beat of her heart.


Oh yes, this was indeed Sister Teresa, our
vampire. Mulder knew. He was right from the
start. And he knew then, as she pulled her
hand away, that she had tasted something that
made her crave more.


Her touch had been electric. I could feel the
Void pulling at me, trying to draw me into
itself in the moments she was touching
Mulder's skin. She let go and backed away,
slightly breathless. Fox had suddenly felt
his energy drop, and he lay drained, gasping
for air.

Mulder?  Can you hear me? You still with us?

<Yeah...man, I feel...wiped.>

Not surprising, considering the hit she just
took off us.

<Us?  She got...you too?>

Yes.  I think I was her target.  Mulder,
you're in danger.  Terrible danger.

<Why me...I'm too old...still sick...>

You're carrying me, and I'm tied to you.
Mulder, she sense me and all the years I'm
carrying. I'm pretty close to immortal,
remember?

<You're the Mother Lode...>

"Hey, Mulder what's wrong?"

Coston is standing beside her. He knows what
she's done and isn't happy.

"Beth, can you help me? I need to take a
leak."  She helped him into the bathroom,
closing the door behind them.

<Miriam...we need help. Where's Skinner?>

Shhhhh....they're talking, let me
hear....they're talking about you.

They were talking about Mulder all right.
Dinner.

"What the hell do you think you were doing,
Liz?  They could have caught you! His boss is
here. Right outside. They're FBI!"

"There's no danger, the other one is out of
the room.  And that man, Mulder, he's
positively glowing with power.  Mike, I could
power a city with him. If I had what's inside
him, I wouldn't have to take any more of
them, of the children."

"It's too open here, you'd get caught."

"Honey, you aren't getting any better.  The
energy I've been feeding you just isn't
enough. I killed 7 kids to give you another
day of life. Tomorrow how many will it be?
Ten?  I can't do this any more.  Let me just
take *him* and I'm done.  And you're cured."

"Well then, wait until tonight at least."

"No.  It's shift change out front.  It'll
take the nurses a while to figure out what
happened.  We'll harvest this energy and we
can walk out of here together. Nobody
believes this is murder anyway, regardless of
the way they're investigating it.  Nobody can
figure out how it happens.  They think it's a
poison or a disease. Who's going to believe
in what I'm really doing, after all?"

"You're sure this'll work?  Okay.  Then do it
fast. Uh-oh, I think that other one is back.
Can you get him?"

"Child's play."

I break my concentration as Skinner enters
the room and closes the door. Mulder is too
weak to warn him. Elizabeth exits the
bathroom and brushes her hand across
Skinner's shoulder.

He grabs at her, loses his balance and falls
back, his knees collapsing beneath him.  As
he writhes on the floor, struggling to remain
conscious, she advances on Mulder, smiling
sadly.

"I'm sorry to have to do this Agent Mulder.
But I promise, you're the last." She's
reaching her hand out to you, touching you...

God...she's pulling at you....at me...I can
feel the energy draining away...fight her,
Fox!  Push her away!  I need to....hide,
hide, hide..she could kill
me...death...darkness...alone...

<I can't think...can't breathe....Miriam?
Where are you?>

Her hands warm on your chest...she's
breathing in time to your breaths.
Pulling...tugging...void...void...black...Fight
it, Fox!  Fight her, she's stealing your
life!  Damn it....I'm hidden as far in your
body as I can and she isn't pulling at me so
hard any more.  She's going for you, for your
energy.  I'm hiding too well.  I'm a coward.
A nasty, selfish coward.

<Chest...hurts....shooting PAIN!!!!!
Arm....left arm....HURTS....Miriam,
make...it...stop......>

Hey!  You!  Vampira!  Hey, I'm over here----a
nice, juicy tutti-frutti ice cream cone for
you! Whadda ya want with this dried out Rye
Crisp over there? Huh?  Come and get me!
That's right, latch right on to me, now let
go of him, dammit let him go....

I can see through your half closed eyes,
Skinner on the floor crawling toward us.  His
face is a mask of grim determination as he
moves inch by inch and grabs her by the
ankle, pulling her off your body.

She staggers back, against the wall, but the
bond to us is unbroken.  Damn, she's still
pulling from us both.  I have it to spare but
you don't.  Mulder?  Mulder can you hear me?

<Tell...Scully....>

Stop that!  You tell her yourself!  Skinner's
beating her head against the wall, keeping
her from attacking him, but she doesn't let
go of us.

I dimly see him cuffing her to the back of a
chair, staggering back to us.  Mulder?
Mulder? Where are you, Mulder?

Skinner reaches us just as the door opens and
Scully rushes in.  She takes in the scene at
a glance.  Skinner has taken a look at your
blue, cyanotic lips and is beginning CPR.

And the woman is still still still pulling.
Your energy is a thread, but mine is going
strong. Gotta stop that...somehow gotta stop
her...can't let you die. I owe you.

"Mulder!" Scully rushes forward and checks
your carotid artery, then takes over from
Skinner.  "Get a crash cart!  FAST!"

Skinner's leaving the room and the vampire is
sitting in the chair, quietly smiling and
still pulling.  Okay lady, I owe you one for
that.  This guy's the first friend I've had
in 3000 years. You want power? I'll give you
power, bitch.

I'm letting her have it, Mulder.   If you
ever access this, remember not all aliens are
evil colonists.  Some of us are just people
doing our jobs.  Okay?  Now, let's see how
you like this...bright light...power....focus
the power along the channel and PUSH!  I'm no
7 year old girl scout, am I lady?  Yeah, I
can see you starting to sweat...too much
power at you? How 'bout I step it up some?
Brighter light, the room is
glowing....temperature rising....

The people in the room don't notice, think
they're just sweating in a warm room.  Scully
and Skinner are clustered around you,
watching the doctors intently.  Hope you make
it, friend.  I'm gonna give you my best shot.

Okay, the vamp's looking uncomfortable, now
to really ruin her day.  Step it up
again....warmer, glowing power...too
much...too much for her.  Ha ha ha!  She's
wilting, shrinking back, can't take
this...still I hold on...


ZZZZZPPPPP!  What's that? Electric shock? How
do you like that Sister....She's screaming,
it's killing her Mulder...Mulder, stop doing
this, breathe now, okay? They can't reach
you, the shock can't reach you through me.

"Did it charge?" Dana is yelling at them. She
can't understand why it's not working. I
can't let go though. She's still alive. If I
let go, if I let the doctors through to you,
I let her though and she'll kill you...

If you'd just start breathing
again...ZZZZZP!.....damn that hurts...She's
screaming, this is killing her...This is
killing me.I'm an immortal, almost, but she's
really taken it out of me. As I watch, in my
mind's eye, her eyes glaze over and her
breathing slows then stops.  I keep up the
stream of power, can't be sure she isn't
playing possum.  Then I notice her skin
aging, drying, wrinkling, shriveling.  I am
the only one in the room who sees her
collapse into a pile of gray dust with white
bone fragments.  And a handcuff suspended
from the chairback.

Gonna take more energy to fix you,
Mulder....I owe you....I like you.....C'mon,
Mulder, don't die on the alien, huh? Now, I
can try to help you...I've got a little left
in me. Let's get that heart pumping now...

"I'm so very sorry, Mrs. Mulder.  Tracy, what
time is it?"

"No.  NO, he isn't dead.  He can't be.  Try
it again." Tell them Dana, tell them for me!
No...you can't stop now! I'll help...you have
to help him...he can't be...

"Mrs. Mulder, he's not coming back.  We've
tried but he's gone. It's been too long. "

"Try it again or I'll do it myself!  Dammit
Skinner, let go of me!  He can't be dead.  He
can't be..."

Her warm hands clutch at your cold one.  So
cold...you're fading fast. This isn't good.
Tired....so tired....it isn't working... I'm
trying so hard and he isn't responding...she
took too much from me, from him...

"Time of death is 3:25 p.m. doctor."


Title: Symbiosis (16 of 16)
Author:  Xenith and KatVictory



<><><><><><><><><>
 CHAPTER SIXTEEN
<><><><><><><><><>





Entry no: Final
Report of:#8\18081957/Fox
Local Name: Miriam



You simply said, "no."

You said no and meant it. Keep meaning it.
Don't stop fighting.

How are you still alive? My guess is the
energy that finished off Sister Teresa was
finally released. It flowed back though me,
since I still held tight my connection to
her, and into you. It had dissipated some,
but was still enough to damage me, jump start
your heart, and almost bring your wife to her
knees.

The crowd of medical personnel all froze when
the unmistakable spasm of current brought you
up from the table. Skinner caught Dana as she
toppled back. That she started probably saved
her life. Her heart could have been stopped
by the jolt.

And then you uttered "no". You'd been through
too much to give up now.

You're in CCU right now. They've got something
stuck in every orifice and have you wired for
sound. They're telling Dana now, that it took
too long. That even though the heart they
said was stilled is now beating on its own,
you won't make it back. Ever.

And that, if Fate is kind, you'll die quietly soon
without ever regaining consciousness.

Tell them no, Fox.

Say, "NO!" Don't let them write you off.

"The idea is to die young as late as
possible." Words to live by Mulder. "Love
makes us poets and the approach of death
should make us philosophers." I'm dying, so
listen to me. Not them. I promised you you'd
have your life back. I didn't lie. It's
there. If you want it. If you go after it.
Don't give up. Don't let them tell you you
can't have it.

"Mulder, it's me. I'm here. I'm waiting.
Stay. Don't leave me. Don't leave me alone."
Listen to her. She needs you.  Mulder, Mulder
I've spent my life alone, but you haven't.
Go back to her!  Fight for her!

I'm tired. Hey, 3000 years was a good run.


"The dead have nothing except the memory
they've left." You've got promises to keep,
Fox, and miles to go......

#8\18081957/Fox





<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>



Dana Scully-Mulder
March 13, 2001


Michael Coston died at 6:30 this morning. I
can't help but wince at the painful irony
that his life was extended 1 day for each
child that was killed on his behalf. I met
with the man on the 10th, the afternoon
before he lapsed into the coma that lasted
until his death. I'd meant to return to
interview him for the files. I, of course,
never got the chance. Our talk lasted less
than twenty minutes. His failing health was
not a factor in the brevity of our
conversation. I just didn't need any longer
than that. I had only one question that I
wished answered and when I discovered he
didn't have that knowledge, I found that I
really had nothing else to say to the man.

"So, you want to hear my story?" His voice
was a harsh rasp, but his eyes gleamed with
excitement. I could tell he reveled in the
attention and notoriety his involvement with
Elizabeth Anderson had brought him.

I shook my head, unable to keep my eyes off
the lesion that stood out in such stark
relief on the right side of his nose. Since
I'd seen him last, a scant 4 days before, his
illness seemed to be consuming him, whittling
away his flesh, both inside and out.

"Then why the fuck are you here?" His tone
was lost somewhere between the petulant whine
of a child, being denied a chance to take his
turn in the limelight and the crotchety
bitterness of the very old, angered at being
asked to squander a few precious ticks of the
clock.

"I have to know the truth, I murmured,
catching his eye, holding it to assure myself
of the honesty of his answer. "What was she?"

"I thought you knew." His cackle was sharply
brittle, cutting me deeply. "Aren't you the
expert they all quoted in the papers? You're
the one who came up with the theory that
they'll use to hang Beth with...if they catch
her."

"I want the truth. I need the truth. Don't
lie to me. You know she's dead."  Try as I
might to keep my voice at persuasive level, I
knew my words came out as a tearful plea.

"She's dead," he softly admitted. "I watched
her die. You were all watching your husband,
but I saw her. I don't know what killed her,
but I watched her die."

"What was she?" I repeated. Once more my
voice betrayed me. He knew what had happened.
He knew why I needed to know the nature of
the thief. He knew what had been stolen.

"I DON'T KNOW! I don't know what she was. I
don't think she even knew."  That a voice
that loud and that strong came out of this
wizened shell surprised me, and I flinched
away from him.  "We'll never knew HOW she did
what she did. We only knew WHAT she was able
to do. You already know what she could do.
You saw what she did to your husband. And you
know it was HER. You know there wasn't any
poison. It was power. She had the power to
harvest life, and she fed me. She kept me
alive."

"She stole life, and you accepted what she
stole."

"She killed because she loved me," his voice
was now a weak shadow. "We loved each other."

"If you loved her, you wouldn't have let her
do it."

"You're telling me you wouldn't have moved
heaven and earth to save your husband that
day?" His face turned ashen as he argued.
"You wouldn't have done whatever it took to
keep him alive?"

"No," I choked, making it to my feet, needing
to leave before the tears came. "I'm telling
you he would have died before he'd let me."





<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>




JOURNAL OF DANA SCULLY-MULDER
March 11, 2001


Later---

I am sitting at my desk in this all too empty
apartment.  The place is neat without
Mulder's clutter.  Silent without his noise.
I miss the constant blare of the television
set, although it used to drive me crazy.

I miss him.  I miss his presence, somewhere
behind my right elbow.  I missed waking up
next to him this morning, missed his biting
commentary on the headlines in the morning
paper, miss watching him eat two bowls of
Captain Crunch cereal and claim glibly that
it's health food because it's fortified.

Mulder...come back. Please.


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>




JOURNAL OF DANA SCULLY-MULDER
April 11, 2001


He's coming home to me today.

He's not the Mulder I married. This is not
even the man who I brought home in February.
I'd noticed differences then too. A person
doesn't go through what he'd endured and not
be affected by it.

But this time he has been reborn. Wanting to
believe is no longer what drives him.

"Scully, remember telling me that you
learned, when you were sick, what was
important?"

I nodded, blushing a bit. My list of family,
work and faith seems so cliché now.

"I've learned that wants are not important.
Wants aren't what keep us alive. They're fine
of course. In their place. They're what keeps
moving, they keep us motivated. But what it
all comes down to is finding out what you
need. Scully, I ask myself, do I really need
this? I mean, I'm working hard to get back to
work. I do want my health back. I really want
for my sight to level out. But those things
aren't what's important. Scully I've lived
through losing my health, my sight, my
job...shit, even my manhood so to speak, and
even though I really wanted those things
back, I found out I didn't NEED them to go
on. It's what we NEED that's important."

"Well, what all did you find out you need?"
I asked expectantly. Hell, I wanted to hear
how high I rated on his list. I'd hoped it
was going to be a little ego boost.

"Just you." There was no blushing. No shy
coyness that hinted at snowing the wife. I
saw only sincerity in those wide greenish
gray eyes.

He takes my breath away. I need him.




<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>



Entry no: 2000/06/13
Report of:#8\18081957/Fox
Local Name: Mulder


Scully says it was typical. She tells me that the
doctor pronounced me dead and I argued with
him. I tend to do that with people who are
blinded by science. But so does she. They
told her that I was dead too long. They said
she should let me go. Again, she just said
"No."  And who said we have nothing in
common? We're perfect for each other.

A week to the day after I died, I spoke
again. I woke up, saw the blur that was my
wife's lovely face and softly told her,
"#8\18081957/Fox".  Not exactly what she was
expecting, but it made her happy. She claims
it was proof that my beautiful mind was still
there. Right.

I don't know if I'll make it back to work by
the end of the summer like I planned. We've
postponed the wedding 'til our first
anniversary. For someone who is supposed to
have a photographic memory, I've always been
lousy with dates. It'll make it easier to
remember just the one day. And the plan is a
month long honeymoon in the Bahamas. My old
bones will love missing those dreary post
Halloween days in DC.  Still, if there's one
thing this past year has taught me, it's that
growing old isn't too bad. Not when I've got
Scully with me. And not if I consider the
alternative.

Coston died the day I left the CCU, two days
after Scully interviewed him. The papers claim his
girlfriend, 'Doreen Gray', as they so
cleverly dubbed her, is still at large.
Scully's theory of a century old poison that
attacks the immune system, triggering
premature aging is what has been accepted as
the method by which Elizabeth Anderson killed
her victims. The murders have stopped.

A month ago, after months of trying with no
success, I opened Miriam's Archives. My days
have been spent, transcribing the entries
that have played in my head. My wife spends
her evenings, after a hard day at work, proof
reading the imaginative tale her dearly
beloved has spun. She thinks it's wonderful
that I have so cleverly laced the true life
story of my battle with cancer with a science
fiction yarn about an alien taking over the
body of an FBI agent. She claims it would
make a great movie or maybe a mini series.
She wants me to try to send it off. In her
opinion, you just never know; it might be the
birth of a new career.

Personally, since I just have been pronounced
in remission and my vision, (with corrective
lenses only slightly stronger than last
year's prescription) is almost back to
normal.  (Except when I'm tired, or overdo.)
I plan on sticking with my same old boring
job. I put this story down on paper to be the
first volume of the Fox Mulder Archive. It's
just one chapter of many that lie scattered
across this planet, all which document the
history of the Symbiote 8\18081957, also
known as Miriam.

"We're just people from another place. We
argue and ponder the same questions your
people do.  I like to think that death isn't
an ending, but the beginning of something
new. And, somehow...I think you humans never
are alone, even when you die. You've always
got someone, waiting for you, watching,
remembering..."

You're not alone, Miriam.

And I'll remember.


The End