Title: Symbiosis Part 2 of 2 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? You're not hallucinating. Jesus, how long is this going to take? Mulder, for the millionth time, I'm really here.> No, I'm not a hallucination. I'm Miriam and I'm living inside you. (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. 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) 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. Okay, a vulture. I admit it. I'm a carrion eater. I'm a parasite. But, will you do it? 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. Mulder, I'm here. You're okay. The CAT scan said there's been no noticeable change since they first found the tumors... Mulder, why did she save you when you overdosed? She doesn't want you dead. She loves you. She needs you. 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? 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... 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. No. I never wanted to kill you Mulder. Never. I love you, Mulder. ***** 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 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. Actually, it's Christmas morning, has been for about an hour. Merry Christmas, Fox. ... ... Mulder, I know I deserve your hate...but I didn't mean for this to happen... Mulder, I've told you, I don't kill my hosts...I, I, just make them suffer... 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. ... ... You ARE a true bastard... 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. 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. 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. 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... (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... Hey, that's pretty sneaky, Fox, I didn't even know you were awake. How do you feel? 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. It's a yeast infection. You usually see it in nursing babies. We suspect one of the nurses... ...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. 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... 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. 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. Who said there's bad news? You're so paranoid. Well, you got me there. Out of 8 million Symbiotes you wound up with me. But, I bet your luck's changing, Fox. Fox...Fox...Mulder! Sh-h-h. Not out loud. The Demerol kicking in? Nothing important. Try to get some sleep. 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. 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? 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. "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." "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...