Summary: This is a 'pre-episode/post-episode' piece. I have rewritten the season finale (or should I say 'prewritten' since I haven't seen it yet ;), tying up as many loose ends and staying as consistent as I could to what has come up during the sixth season. - S A MT UST/MSR Conspiracy/Mythology -PG-13

Lies and More Lies
by Vickie Moseley
vmoseley@fgi.net
disclaimed in part one
part four of seven

St. Jude's Medical Center
Albuquerque, New Mexico
4:50 pm

The biopsy left him in considerable pain. Dr. Garrett ordered a mild
sedative and a painkiller, and Mulder was tucked back into his bed
while Scully followed the sample down to the lab.

She watched the lab techs like a hawk. She was well versed
enough in lab work that she could easily follow the procedures they
were taking. Everything was in the open, above board. If the
Smoking Bastard and his friends were in any way orchestrating
false readings, they were not going to succeed with the bone
marrow sample.

It took hours for the results. The entire time, Scully's mind refused
to rest on Mulder's condition, on the possibility of his death. They
had been through too many rough times, too much hard work, to
let it all end.

For the first time since her own illness, she understood what her
partner had gone through. While she was dealing with saying
goodbye, he had fought her at every suggestion that she might lose
the battle she was fighting. They were fighting, she reminded
herself. But at times it seemed that they were fighting each other
almost as hard as she was fighting the disease.

At one point, she considered his anger to be selfishness. He just
didn't want to let go, regardless of the emotional pain his
determination caused her. But now, with the shoe firmly on the
other foot, she understood. He hadn't been fighting for himself,
he'd been fighting for 'them', for what they meant to each other.
Just as she was prepared to fight for them now. With that
understanding came the realization that she owed her partner a
great, big apology.

When the results came in, it felt like a physical blow. There was no
possible mistake. She double checked every value, reread the
results again and again. They kept saying the same thing. Even
with immediate treatment, Mulder was looking at a 15 to 25
percent chance of survival. The disease had progressed too far.
They were almost too late to do anything.

She dragged her feet to his room. She knew he'd still be sleeping,
Garrett had wanted him to sleep through the night after the ordeal
of the biopsy.

The room was dark, with only the light from the parking lot
security lamps illuminating it through the window blinds. The light
made a striped pattern across the blanket where he huddled on his
side, the side of the biopsy too tender to rest on. His face was
turned away from her, his back to her as she sat in the chair by his
bed. That was fine with her, she didn't want him to see her. She
sat on the chair and cried harder than she could ever remember
doing before.

Around two o'clock, she heard him moving in the bed and he rolled
over to his back. Quietly, she got up and stood closer, putting her
hand on his shoulder. His eyes opened and focused on her. He was
still glassy eyed from sleep and the pain meds, but he smiled at her
and yawned sleepily.

"Hey," he said, in a whisper.

"Hey," she smiled back. Her voice was caught in her throat, sore
from sobbing. She was glad it was dark in the room so he couldn't
see her tear-stained face.

"What's up, doc?" he asked, trying hard to toss off sleep. "What
did you find?"

She swallowed hard, her lip trembling. He reached through the rail
on the bed and took her hand, squeezing it hard.

"That's what I thought you'd find," he said calmly.

"Mulder, Dr. Garrett thinks you should start chemo immediately,
tomorrow if your stomach continues to cooperate."

"I want to go home, Scully. I don't want to start something like
that all the way out here in New Mexico. It will be easier on both
of us if I were back home, at GUMC or Northeast Georgetown.
Hey, think your oncologist is looking to take on any new patients?"
he added with a grin that hurt her more than if he'd been angry or
sarcastic.

"Mulder, we agreed on this. We're going to fight this. Trust me."

He looked at her with an expression she could only interpret as
love. Deep, forever and ever love. It took her breath away. He
squeezed her hand harder.

"I do trust you, Scully. With my life, with my heart, with all that I
am. But let's go home. It will be easier for us if I take the
treatments there. They'll work there as well as here. And you can
sleep in your own bed at night, and not in some hospital chair," he
said, nodding toward the seat she'd just vacated.

She nodded, agreeing. "Then we go home tomorrow. And I'll call
Dr. Zuckerman. I'm sure he'll see you tomorrow at GUMC."

"Good," he yawned. "Now, go ask the nurse for some more of that
good stuff, and let's get some sleep. We have a big day ahead of us
tomorrow."

She brought his hand up to her lips and kissed it lightly on the
knuckles. Then she lowered it to the bed and started toward the
door.

"_Now_ she comes on to me," she heard him mutter as went to
take to the nurse and make their travel arrangements. It was all she
could do not to break down into tears again.

FBI Headquarters,
Washington, DC
three days later

Mulder sat on the couch outside Skinner's private office. Scully sat
beside him. She resisted the urge to straighten his tie, but when he
reached over and took her hand, holding it in his own down on the
cushions between them, she didn't even blink.

It had been a difficult three days. The plane trip had taken every
ounce of reserve strength her partner had. Thankfully, the nausea
had subsided somewhat. They found a combination of mild doses
of compazine and ginger ale seemed to keep it at bay. His diet had
been dramatically altered. He seemed to do best when he stuck to a
soft diet of mild foods. If he didn't like it, he never said a word.
But she could see it in his eyes.

Zuckerman had examined him and agreed to start him on chemo
treatments at the end of the week. With the recent bout of
vomiting almost depleting his energy, the doctor was afraid to begin
treatments until Mulder had a chance to rest.

Under her watchful eye, Mulder had spent the first day home in
bed. By the second day, he was getting restless, even though he
couldn't stay awake for more than a couple hours at a time. By the
morning of day three, he convinced her it was time to go to work,
and at least let Skinner know what was going on. She hadn't been
happy about the decision, but in the end, she'd agreed.

Kim smiled up at them. "He said it would be just a minute. He's
on a call from the Director," she explained.

Scully nodded. Mulder squeezed her hand and she fought back a
smile. Touching had returned to their lives. Nothing overt, nothing
even sexual in nature. He held her hand, she touched his shoulder.
When he was sleeping, she would come in and sit next to him,
stroking his forehead. When the pain became too much for him,
she'd even rubbed his stomach in slow, even circles until he could
fall asleep.

Why do we only touch each other now, when it might be for the
last time, she wondered as she squeezed his hand in return.

The intercom on Kim's phone buzzed, and she answered. She
looked up at them with a smile. "Go right in," she told them.

Skinner hadn't really talked to either of them since their return from
New Mexico. He'd been busy with budget meetings and they'd
really wanted to avoid the discussion of Mulder's illness as long as
possible. So it wasn't surprising that their boss started the meeting
with his usual rant.

"It's my understanding you've been in town for several days,
Agents. So nice of you to come in and mingle with the rest of us,"
he said sarcastically.

"That was my fault, sir," Mulder said, leaning forward to place a
large envelope on the desk. "This is my request for medical leave."

Skinner took the envelope and opened it, his eyes never leaving his
two agents. "And what is the nature of the problem, Agent
Mulder."

Mulder swallowed and Scully was almost going to take over the
explanations, but he beat her to it. "I've been diagnosed with late
stage leukemia, sir. I'm to begin chemotherapy tomorrow."

Skinner's face dropped. The man looked like he'd just been hit in
the gut. "Mulder," he gasped out and stood to come around the
desk. "When did you find out?"

Mulder drew in a deep breath. "Three days ago, sir. In New
Mexico. I had a bad case of nausea, got dehydrated. Agent Scully
took me to the emergency room of a hospital in Albuquerque.
They did the blood test that made the preliminary diagnosis. Later
the next day, they did a bone marrow biopsy which confirmed their
earlier suspicions."

Skinner swerved his gaze frantically to Scully. "Agent Scully, what
can be done?"

She didn't want to speak at that moment. She knew how hard it
had been for Mulder to ask for leave. His first instinct had been to
continue working, as she had done. But it was clear that he was
much worse off than she had been when her cancer was discovered.
If anything, he was about where she was when she was admitted to
the hospital and he was thought to have killed himself. He was that
close to the end. But she knew he would have to tell Skinner that
on his own.

"Sir, Agent Mulder is in the care of the oncologist I saw during my
illness. Dr. Zuckerman wants to start chemotherapy and at the
same time, search for a suitable marrow donor. But it's quite
possible that Agent Mulder may need to be hospitalized during his
treatments. We'll just have to wait and see."

"I would like to work, on those days I'm able to come in, sir,"
Mulder added hastily. "I realize I won't be able to go out into the
field, at least not for a while. But I think I'd go stark raving mad if
I had to sit in my apartment and stare at the walls all day when I am
feeling up to working."

"Of course, Agent Mulder. I will give you the same latitude I
extended to Agent Scully," Skinner managed to choke out. The
man looked positively miserable with concern and grief. He pulled
the papers out of the envelope and signed them on the spot. He
took the papers and put them in his 'out box' at the side of his
desk. "I'll give these to Kim to take to Benefits immediately.
Agent Mulder, you're dismissed. Agent Scully, if I could have a
word with you."

As he got up to leave, Mulder gave her elbow a tap. She looked
into his eyes. "Tell him what he needs to know, Scully. It's OK. I
don't know if I can right now." He left quickly and Scully
remained seated.

Skinner perched on the edge of his desk. "This . . . this sounds bad,
Scully. How bad is it?"

She refused to let her emotions get the better of her. She pulled
down the curtain of detachment that she used so often in her line of
work. "His chances are about 20 percent, sir. If there were a
suitable donor, that might raise to fifty-fifty. The chemo might
slow the progression, but the number of immature cancer cells to
mature normal cells is well beyond the danger zone."

Skinner paled at her words. When he found his voice, it was full of
emotion. "How is he doing? Emotionally, I mean. Is there
anything I can do?"

She decided to answer the most painful question first. She looked
her superior in the eye. "He's doing better than I am, sir," she said
bluntly. "I don't like being on the other side of the looking glass, if
you can understand."

"I wouldn't know, Scully. I seem to be stuck on the same side all
the time. Well, except for recently. But I'm right back there
again."

It was the first time he'd mentioned the illness that had stopped his
heart only four months before. But as quickly as he said the words,
they were dismissed from his mind, she could tell by his eyes.

"What do I do?" he asked again.

She shrugged. "Be there for him. When he wants to work, let him.
When he wants to talk, listen. I'm going to do everything I can to
find a way to cure this. Sir, what Mulder didn't tell you, what he's
just beginning to understand . . . this disease is not normal. It's
progressed too far in too short a time."

"You're saying it's been engineered. Like a poison? Like what
was done to . . ." He stopped before he said the word 'me', but she
knew what he meant.

"Except, sir, I don't see an agenda here. No Senate Resolutions
hanging in the balance. I don't know why they're doing this."

"The obvious. To finally get him out of their hair," Skinner said
assuredly.

"But why now? They've had plenty of opportunities. Why now?"

Skinner shook his head. He looked down at the papers in the out
box and swallowed. "If you need any time, Scully . . ."

"Sir, I have some vacation time," she cut in.

"Take it. Take whatever you need to help him. Consider it . . . aw,
hell, consider it family medical leave. I don't care. Whatever you
need, we'll figure a way to cover for it."

She nodded, not daring to look him in the eye. She could feel the
concern coming off him in waves. "Thank you, sir," she whispered.

"Better get going. He's going to grill you on what we've said when
you get out of this office," Skinner said gruffly, but she could see a
glint of humor in his eye.

It was enough to break the tension. "Oh, I'm sure he's had a glass
to the wall the whole time, sir," she said with a grin. "Thank you,
again."

end of part four

Vickie

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^



Lies and More Lies
by Vickie Moseley
vmoseley@fgi.net
disclaimed in part one
part five of seven

Georgetown University Medical Center
Two days later

She sat by his bedside. He'd aged a hundred years in just
twenty-four short hours. The chemotherapy had caused a violent
reaction which had almost put him in cardiac arrest. Zuckerman
had admitted him to ICU immediately, put him on oxygen and heart
monitors.

The tremors were the worst. Scully remembered the chills she'd
had from her own chemo treatments, but they were nothing to the
gyrations Mulder was going through. It was as if the medicine
were killing him faster than it was killing the cancer cells.

She took his hand again. He had bruises all the way up his arms.
He was running a fever, had been suffering with one all night.
She'd stayed by his side, wiping his face with cool wet cloths and
tucking his blankets around him when they would slip off his
shoulders.

Zuckerman was standing in the doorway when she looked up.
"Dana, if I could speak with you?" he asked. When he saw her
reluctance to leave her partner, he added "just for a moment."

She wiped his face one more time, then leaned over to place a kiss
on his forehead. He was too far gone to notice. Quietly, she
walked out into the hallway to face the doctor.

"Dana, I'm sorry," Zuckerman started but she waved him off.

"This is the first dose. We have to give it time," she countered,
knowing already what he'd come to tell her.

"Dana," the doctor said with a grim expression. "He wouldn't
survive another treatment. It's not going to work. I'm
discontinuing the chemo immediately."

She looked up at Zuckerman sharply. "I want a second opinion,"
she spat out.

"Dana, you can get a second opinion. Hell, you can go get a third
and a fourth and a fifth. We both know they will all say the same
thing. The disease is too far along. I'm sorry. I wish I could say
there was an experimental treatment, something else we could do."
He started to put his hand on her shoulder but she shrugged it off.

"A marrow transplant," she said evenly. "That could still work."

Zuckerman nodded hesitantly. "But his mother is incompatible,
and so far we've not been successful in locating an unrelated donor.
And Dana, quite frankly, that is a long shot, at best."

"I won't give up," she said defiantly.

The doctor shook his head with a proud but sad smile. "I didn't
expect you to. Truth be told, I half expected you to show up with
one of those chips I put in your neck," he said casually. "I'll do
whatever the two of you agree to do. But you do know, he's made
it quite clear that when the time comes, the provisions of his living
will are to be implemented, regardless of your objections."

Her head jerked up and her eyes flashed in fury. "When?" she
demanded. "When did he tell you that?"

"At our first appointment. When you left the room so he could get
dressed. I'm sorry, Dana, but it's his life. He's allowed to want to
end it peacefully, without heroic measures. Just as you have
decided for yourself."

"It won't come to that," she vowed. Zuckerman stood silently, he
seemed to want to say more, but there was nothing left to say.
Finally, he turned and walked down the hall.

She would not cry in the hallway. She'd told herself she was cried
out, but that apparently wasn't the case. She ran to the nearest
bathroom and locked the stall door. Then she let the tears fall.

Searching for a tissue in her purse, she came across the card Jeffrey
Spender had given her. Zuckerman's words played over again in
her head. If she'd come in with another of those chips. Maybe, if
the rebel forces wanted their help badly enough . . .

It was ridiculous! She couldn't believe she'd even think of it. But
then she remembered the lengths to which Mulder had gone to find
her cure. The cure that lay just centimeters underneath the skin of
her neck. She rubbed her neck absently and stared at the card in
her other hand.

She tucked it back in her purse and washed her face before
returning to his room.

When she got back, she was surprised to find him awake. He
smiled at her, a weak, washed out version of his normal boyish grin,
but she was more than willing to accept it.

"Hey, I thought you were asleep."

"I dream better with my eyes open, these days," he said cryptically.
He reached out for her hand and she gave it to him gladly.

"Oh, yeah, Well, what do you dream about, awake, that is?" she
asked lightly.

He smiled and if not for the fever, she might have thought he was
blushing. "Oh . . . stuff," he said and smiled again, as if at a private
joke.

"C'mon, Mulder. Give. Or are they dreams like those videos you
don't own in the bottom drawer of your desk at work," she teased
playfully.

This time she was sure he was blushing. "Oh, nothing that exotic, I
assure you," he said quietly.

"Then what? Tell me, Mulder. I won't tell. Cross my heart," she
swore mildly while crossing her chest.

He grinned at her playfulness. "OK. I have fantasies. About us."

That stopped her cold. She stopped breathing, was certain her
heart stopped beating. He reacted almost immediately.

"I'm sorry, Scully. I didn't mean to upset you," he rushed to say.

"No, no, Mulder, you aren't upsetting me," she said quickly to
reassure him. "You just caught me by surprise, that's all."

"What? A guy works 60 plus hours a week next to the most
beautiful woman in the world and you think he wouldn't have a few
harmless fantasies?" he asked with a tiny twinkle lighting his eyes.

She smiled at his compliments. "So, what are these 'harmless'
fantasies?"

He closed his eyes, sighing. "Not much, really. Just you and me. I
figured eventually we'd find the truth or maybe just pass the torch.
And then we'd go off, just the two of us. Maybe take a vacation,
maybe a . . . honeymoon." He stopped to gauge her reaction.

She could tell he wasn't disappointed. Her smile spread from ear to
ear. "That's a beautiful fantasy, Mulder. Mind if I steal it?"

He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it tenderly. "I have a
better idea. How about if we share it? Then we can both have it."

The tears refused to stay where she wanted them. Instead, they
careened down her face to splash audibly on the rail of his hospital
bed. "You always have the better ideas, partner."

She held his hand, stroking the long fingers. He fell asleep with a
gentle smile on his face.

Now, to give them time to face the fantasy.

She didn't know what to expect. Half of her wanted to drive to
Mulder's apartment and make the call from there, after taping a big
X in the front window. But those days were gone, as was their
former informant.

In the end, she placed the call from her apartment and left a
message. It was coded, something Cassandra would understand.
"I'm looking for the stars." She left her cell phone number.

Mulder had told her not to come back when she said she had to go
out. He wasn't mad at her, far from it, he'd assured her. "You
look tired, Scully. Can't have tired babes hanging out in my
entourage. It's bad for the 'stud' image," he'd joked. But
underlying that flip remark was the truth that she _was_ growing
tired. And she needed all her strength, since his was leaving him by
the minute.

She agreed to go home and sleep in her own bed. She even agreed
not to return first thing in the morning, since it was Sunday and she
usually attended 9:00 Mass at the church closest to her house.

All the way to the hospital after Mass, she wondered what would
happen. Would one of the rebels make an appearance. From the
little she remembered, she wasn't sure she wanted to encounter one
of them alone. Or with a mob, if the truth were known.

If one of the Jeremiah Smiths arrived, that she could handle. She
could never admit it freely, even to Mulder, but she was convinced
that one of the Smiths could restore her partner to health again. A
simple touch of the hand. That was all it would take. She prayed it
would be that easy.

She stepped off the elevator and headed toward Mulder's room.
The nurse was just coming out of it.

"Oh, Dana, I was just about to call you," she said, closing the door
behind her.

Scully moved around the woman and started to open the door, but
the nurse held her hand. "The doctor's in there right now, Dana.
Give him a minute."

Although she didn't like the sounds of that, Scully sank down in
one of the chairs in the hallway and waited impatiently. After ten
minutes of teeth grinding, Dr. Zuckerman came out.

He sighed when he saw her. "Dana. I figured you wouldn't stay
away for long," he said, trying to sound in a better humor than he
actually was.

"What's the matter?" No point in beating around the bush, she'd
decided at least seven minutes before.

Zuckerman licked his lips. "Let's go somewhere more private," he
said, reaching for her elbow.

She resisted and pulled away. "Let's stay here and you tell me the
truth. What's the matter?"

"Dana, this disease is unlike any I've even seen. It's progressing
faster, beyond control, actually. Plus, he's having a hard time
fighting it. I have to be frank, Dana. He's weakening," Zuckerman
admitted. He stared off down the hallway as if he was hoping an
answer would magically pop out of one of the doors. "Dana, it's a
matter of time. I'd say we're down to days. No more than a week
at this point."

She didn't even know she'd started her descent to the floor until
she realized Zuckerman was picking her up off the polished surface.

"No, no, I don't believe that," she kept repeating over and over
again.

"Dana, listen to me. I've talked to Mulder, or rather, he's talked to
me. At great length. He's tired. He's putting up a good front for
you, he knows how terrible this is for you. Remember, he's been in
your shoes, once. But he's ready. He told me so this morning.
He's ready to let go."

"No," she said flatly, backing up and finding herself pressed against
the wall. "He wouldn't give up. Mulder never gives up!"

"It's not about giving up, Dana. It's about facing reality. It's about
the truth. The truth, Mulder's truth, is that he's going to die. Very
soon. And he wants to make peace with that. There are things he
wants to do before he goes and he'll need your help in doing them."

She was shaking her head from side to side, not allowing herself to
be caught up in the words. "No, I won't do that. I can't help him
die. I refuse. I want him to live."

Zuckerman shook his head sadly. "I know that. He knows that,
Dana. And it's breaking his heart that he can't do that for you. But
he needs you now. He needs your love and your understanding.
More than anything else, he needs to know that you'll forgive him if
he fails you this time."

She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. She just turned and ran
down the hall. When she got to the stairs, she hit them like a relay
runner on their last leg. All the way to the first floor and out into
the hot, summer sunshine.

In the cool of the parking garage, he appeared. She didn't expect it
to be Jeffrey, but there he was. He grabbed her arm to lead her into
the shadows.

"You called," he said abruptly.

"Yes, I did. How badly do your friends want Mulder's help?" she
said shortly, staring him in the eye.

He had the good grace to look slightly intimidated. "Badly. They
consider him, and you, key players."

"Then give me one of the Smiths," she countered.

Jeffrey shifted from foot to foot nervously. "Scully, I can't . . ."

"Mulder is dying, Spender," she bit out. Before he could react, she
forged on. "He's got less than a week to live. Leukemia, advanced
stage. He's getting tired, Spender. We don't have much time."

Jeffrey looked first shocked and then totally dismayed. "They're
gone, Scully. There are no more 'Smiths' left. The Colonists
hunted them down, killed them all." He licked his lip, thinking.
Then he shook his head. "I'm sorry."

She nodded, not letting the tears fall from her lashes. "Then you
lose both of us," she said flatly and turned to walk away.

Spender caught her arm again. "Give me some time. Twenty-four
hours. Let me see what I can do?"

"I'll be here," she said and this time when she started to walk away,
he didn't try to stop her.

She had no where else to go. She made her way up to his room
and this time, no one tried to stop her from going in. He was lying
on his back, eyes closed, chest barely moving under the blankets
and the hospital gown. It hurt her so very much to see him like
that.

She took up her post next to his bed. She scooted the chair over so
that she could reach through the rail and hold his hand. Scully
smooth the skin on his wrist and arm. More bruises, more pain for
him. She steeled herself against the tears that begged to flow freely
down her cheeks. Enough with the tears, she demanded. There
would be more than enough time for them later.

She'd not been there long when his eyelids fluttered and he drew in
a deep breath. He was still on the oxygen and even so, it seemed
that he had a hard time getting enough air into his lungs. When he
was able to focus his eyes, he looked at her.

"Hey. Did you say some 'Hail Mulders' for me?" It was an old
joke between them and the memory of the events around it caused
her to think of what Zuckerman had said.

"Yes, I did. What's this I hear? That you're breaking your
promise?" She stood and walked a step so that she was leaning
against the window ledge, far enough away that he couldn't reach
her hand. Her fists were planted firmly on her hips.

He chewed on his lip and it showed her that he knew he was in
trouble. "I admit it, Scully. I'm a coward. I don't like pain . . ."

"Mulder, you've lived with pain every day of your life," she shot
back, more forcefully than she'd intended. "Emotional pain that
doesn't go away. That should have worn you down a long time
ago."

"That's different, Scully. With that, there was always hope. With
this . . ."

"You know, Mulder, I'm really tired of you not trusting me!" Her
words boomed off the small room's walls. Mulder leaned back on
his pillows and just looked at her in shock.

"No, I mean it," she continued. She was on a roll. She had things
to say and he was damn well going to listen.

"When I was sick, when I thought I was never going to see the
outside of this hospital again, you begged me to hold on, to give
you time. And it was damned hard, Mulder, but I did it. I held off
death with every breath I had in me. I didn't want to, I was ready,
too, or I thought I was. But I held on for you."

"Then, when you came to me, you brought me that chip, Mulder.
A long shot so enormous as to eclipse any other long shot before or
after it. I had no time to inspect it, to understand it, to work it
through scientifically. But I took that chance, Mulder. I took it
because I trusted you. I still do. Mulder, I believe in you. Why
won't you believe in me?"

He wasn't saying a word. He just looked at her, and for a minute,
she wondered if he was going to call the nurse and have her locked
up for insanity. She was screaming at a man on his deathbed. A
man she loved and would do anything to keep safe and whole. But
as the first twinges of guilt crept up on her, he spoke.

"You're right."

Scully almost missed it. "What did you say?"

"You are right, Scully. Absolutely right. I guess it's the frustration
of not being able to leave this bed. Pain and I are old friends,
you're right there, but this pain, God, Scully, it just wears on me. I
don't know. All I can tell you is I'm sorry if you got the impression
that I don't believe in you. I do. Scully, you're the only one I
believe in."

She searched his face, for any sign that he was just trying to
appease her with his bullshit. Only his eternal honesty shone from
his eyes. His frankness was so bare and stark it took her breath
away. He really did trust her, he just needed something to hang
that trust on.

She was taken aback, but quickly recovered. She took two steps
forward and grasped his hand tightly, not ever letting go. "Good,
then. We'll hear no more of this 'tired' crap. And, as for the pain,
we can work on that, too. Your job is to rest. That's all I want
you to accomplish. Let me handle everything else."

He smiled at her. "Can I have that in writing? For after I'm
better?"

Her grin brightened the once dreary room. "Sorry, Mulder. One
time offer. But if you do a good enough job at it, I might cut you
some slack later."

He grinned back at her and reached for her other hand, squeezing it
hard. Then, she left to talk to the nurse about his pain medication.

end of part five

Vickie

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Lies and More Lies
by Vickie Moseley
vmoseley@fgi.net
disclaimed in part one
part six of seven

Georgetown University Medical Center

Twenty-four hours. That was what Spender had wanted, that was
what she was willing to give. But not any more time. If they didn't
come up with a solution, if the 'rebels' didn't have a way to save
Mulder's life, that would be the end of any negotiations. At that
point, she wouldn't give a damn what happened to the rest of the
planet. Her life, as far as she was concerned, would be over.

She hadn't given up completely on finding a chemotherapy that
Mulder could tolerate, but would still buy them some time.
Knowing what she did about her own cancer, and how quickly it
turned around when the chip was put in place, she wasn't above
looking for a similar easy way out. But just in case, she spent the
24 hours sweating it out in the lab.

Mulder was asleep, dozing on a cloud of morphine. Usually the
one to object to being zoned out on drugs, he'd welcomed the relief
from the constant pain he was in, and hadn't said a word as the
nurse injected the medication. Once he was asleep, Scully retreated
to the lab again.

Zuckerman was right, the disease was unlike any she'd
encountered. In her own case, the progression of the cancer was
frightening in it's normalcy. It reacted like other cancers, it just
progressed and didn't stop. Looking back on what she'd seen in
the 'illness' that had befallen the Assistant Director, she searched
Mulder's blood for an sign of the tiny machines that had spelled
death in just hours. But the machines had a switch and had been
turned off. The fact that they still flowed in Skinner's bloodstream
send shivers down Scully's back. But they were under control, for
now.

Mulder's disease seemed to be like the two combined. It had
started so quickly, like a switch had been flipped. Although it had
all the markings of a known cancer, it just wasn't acting 'known'.
Known to her, at least. But she was certain it was 'known' to
someone.

She glanced at her watch. She'd been up almost 36 hours straight.
She tried to sleep, finding a cot in the lab that the night shift used
from time to time, but sleep wouldn't come. She had time to work
now. There would be time for sleeping when she found the cure.
Or when the worst happened. She wouldn't allow her mind to stay
on those thoughts, though. Negativity would not help them. Only
forging ahead held any promise, and so that's what she did.

Skinner's secretary, Kim, had once told her a story about her
abduction. Unlike any of the other agents and staff at the Bureau,
Kim seemed to sense that Scully needed those blanks filled in, she
needed to own the time she'd had stolen from her life. It was at
lunch one day, when Mulder was running at the track, that Kim had
sat down and told her about her partner when she was abducted.

According to Kim, Mulder had searched for her from the moment
she'd gone missing. Kim told of the reports from the police at her
apartment. How they first thought that Mulder was Mrs. Scully's
son from the way he comforted her, took care of her, saw that she
wasn't shoved in a corner to wonder and wait.

Skinner himself had been worried about Mulder the next day. The
man was possessed, everyone could see that. He was hanging on
by a thread and was completely exhausted. After the stand off in
the Travel Agency, Mulder had gone to work at the office instead
of going home to sleep. By the morning after Duane Berry's break
in at her apartment, Scully figured that Mulder had gone almost 56
hours without sleep.

If he could do 56 hours for her, she figured she could do 48 for
him, at the very least. So Scully went back to work.

When the 24 hours she'd given Spender were up, she took off her
lab coat and walked down to the parking garage.

She was amazed at the change in weather. It had been hot and
humid for days, at least for the short time she'd been outside.
Now, a cold front had moved in and it was dark and drizzling.

The dampness of the parking garage sent chills up her spine. She
went to the corner where she'd last spoken to Spender and waited.
She didn't have to wait long, but the person who showed up
surprised her.

"Hello, Dana," said Diana Fowley.

Scully searched frantically for the younger Spender, but he was no
where to be found.

"Were you expecting someone?" Fowley asked. Scully jerked her
attention back to the woman and tried to determine if she was
joking or merely being her own duplicitous self. If anything, she
just looked curious.

"No, Diana. But I must say, I'm surprised to see you here without
your boss," Scully shot back.

Diana smiled and dropped her head. "You think you know so
much, Dana. And you don't know anything at all."

"What don't I know? Enlighten me, Diana. Tell me all about why
your 'boss' has decided to kill my partner, slowly, painfully. Tell
me all about it!" Scully growled, her voice low and dangerous.

Diana shook her head and her lips formed a grim line. "This is not
our doing, Dana. You don't want to believe that, but you must.
This started when Fox decided to follow a rock to Russia. That's
when the seeds of his destruction were planted."

"What are you talking about?" Scully hissed. She knew she
couldn't trust anything Diana might say, but still, her curiosity was
piqued. She wanted to know the 'Fowley version' of Mulder's
illness.

"When Fox was in Russia, he was detained in a gulag."

"I've heard this story," Scully said spitefully.

"Oh," Diana said with a raised eyebrow, but an disbelieving look.
"Then he told you how they beat him, starved him, drugged him?
How they injected a serum into his spinal cord? How he then woke
up encased in chicken wire, flat on his back? How they poured oil
containing the black cancer down on his face and the alien entities
infested him, crawling into every opening they could find to squirm
beneath his skin? Funny, the Fox Mulder I knew would never have
been so forthcoming. But then, you two have a special relationship,
don't you," Diana sneered.

Scully blinked, trying to hide her revulsion. He'd told her about the
gulag, but nothing about the serum, the black cancer. He'd hid it
all very well. And by the time she'd been able to drag him into an
emergency room on the way back from Canada, his blood had
showed no sign of any abnormality. It was possible that Fowley
was lying through her teeth. But Scully felt certain that this time,
that was not the case.

"The serum was a vaccine against the black cancer," she said
evenly, in reply. She was guessing, knowing that Mulder had used
a vaccine on her in Antarctica.

If Fowley sensed Scully's bluff, she didn't show it. "A prototype,
yes. Developed by the Russians. They aren't known for the
medical advancements, as a rule. But they had plenty of 'human'
test subjects to play with. And Fox was one of them."

Scully closed her eyes, but the images there were worse than the
words she was being forced to hear. She opened her eyes again and
Diana continued.

"Basically, the serum worked. It protected him against the black
cancer. Believe me, if it were that simple, we would have been
mass producing the stuff to coat corn flakes. We'd have it pumped
in the water supply, if we thought it would stop at that. A vaccine
we've been working on is much weaker against the black cancer."

"That's how he got the leukemia," Scully breathed out. The
revelation hit her straight in the gut. Fowley could still be lying, but
what she was saying made a sick sort of sense. The serum caused
his disease. It was the cure to the black cancer that was killing him
now.

"How long have you known?" Scully demanded when she could
finally speak.

Diana sighed, which surprised Scully more than if she'd smirked. "I
found out about two days ago. Oh, I knew he'd been in Russia,
even knew about the serum and the experiment. But the last part,
the part about this illness, that was kept from me. I couldn't
understand why we were working on reproducing the weaker
serum here, if the Russian serum was so effective. I was told it was
still in trials. I had no idea that Fox was one of the trial subjects."

Diana stared off in the dark cave of the garage, and Scully was
certain that when she turned her head, a tear was streaming down
her cheek. "If I'd known sooner, I would have told him." Fowley
looked at Scully with a rueful smile. "I wouldn't waste my time
trying to tell you, of course. You would have thought I was up to
something."

"I still think you're up to something," Scully shot back. "So why
are you here? To rub my nose in the fact that you know what's the
matter? That doesn't keep him from dying, now, does it? If you
really cared for him at all . . ."

Diana's eyes flashed with hatred. "Don't you _ever_ question my
feelings for Fox," she growled. "I loved him. That was my
mistake. If I could do it over again, we never would have gone to
that level, I never would have taken him to bed. That's when we
got separated. It was not _my_ idea."

"You were working _against_ him," Scully cried in incredulity.
"How can you stand there and confess your love for him when you
were trying to destroy his work?"

"I was trying to _guide_ his work," Diana stormed. "I was keeping
him from dangerous pursuits. He's needed, Dana, there is no doubt
of that. That's why he's been kept alive this long. But believe me,
if he chooses the wrong side, there are those who won't be able to
protect him anymore!"

"Like you and your boss?" Scully sneered. "Besides, it's all moot.
Mulder's disease has progressed to a point that little short of a
miracle could save his life now." The minute the words were out of
her mouth, her throat closed up and she felt like she was dying
herself.

Diana reached into the pocket of her raincoat. When she withdrew
her hand, she grabbed Scully's hand and pressed something into the
palm.

It was a cylinder, small. Like a test tube. Metal, about three inches
long. Scully looked at it, terrified of it's implication.

"I think you know what to do with that," Diana said softly.

Scully looked up in wonder at Diana's sad eyes. "At what price?"

Diana smiled wistfully. "Keep him alive." She turned and started
to walk away. She'd gotten only ten feet when she looked back at
Scully over her shoulder. "Oh, and Dana, never wonder about
where Fox has his loyalties. He's monogamous, but he doesn't
take betrayal well. He was over me before I even landed in Europe.
He was more cautious with you. It took you a while to worm into
his heart, but now that you're there, you're there for good."

And she was gone.

Scully stood there for ten minutes, just staring at the cylinder in her
hand. The metal felt cool. She was totally lost in thought, not
knowing what to do. Finally, she headed for her car.

Lone Gun Man
12:35 pm

"Agent Scully, this is a surprise," Frohike said, opening the door
wide.

Byers and Langly were behind him in a split second. "I just made
some chicken caesar rollups, care for one?"

Scully shook her head with a grin that wouldn't leave her face.
"No, thanks, Frohike. I need your help."

"How's Mulder," Byers asked, concern clear in his eyes.

Scully swallowed hard. "You know he's in the hospital." Three
heads nodded.

"We understand it's bad. We'd have been up to see him, but well,
we found out he was in ICU," Byers explained.

"Besides, we figured if you needed us, you'd call," Langly said.
Scully almost took that as an accusation but the look on his face
made it plain that was not his intention.

"Well, good because I need your help now." She handed Langly
the cylinder. The tall man exchanged looks with his two friends.

"Gee, deja vu all over again," he muttered as they moved in unison
over to a table holding a large microscope.

Each man looked at the contents with serious expressions. They
turned to Scully.

"It's just like yours," Frohike said quietly.

"You're sure of that?" Scully asked. "I never really got to examine
mine."

Langly came back with a color glossy photo. He laid it on the table
next to the microscope. "Check it for yourself."

She examined every detail. "But can we be sure it will work the
same?"

"Agent Scully, the one that was taken from your neck the first time
self destructed when your FIBBIE lab guy tried to mess with it. I
would be afraid to screw around with this one. Especially if it's
supposed to be for what I think it's supposed to be for," Langly
said with a shrug.

"OK, then we just have to hope that appearances aren't deceiving,"
Scully said, using a small scalpel to scrape the chip back into the
cylinder.

As she headed for the door, Byers called out to her. "Agent Scully,
if you don't mind . . ."

She turned to look at the three of them, standing there with
hopeful expressions on their faces. "

"We'd really like to know when it works," Frohike said.

She nodded her promise and left.

Georgetown University Medical Center
1:34 pm

He was asleep when she tiptoed in to his room. The nurse had told
her that he'd been given another dose of pain killer just an hour and
a half before, so he should continue to be out of it for another
couple of hours. But she needed him awake.

Gently, she touched his shoulder. He jerked slightly, it must have
caused some pain to seep through the fog of his brain. She did it
again. This time, he slowly dragged his eyes open. It took a long
time for him to focus on her face.

"Hey, beautiful," he slurred. She had to smile. Mulder didn't get
drunk often, but when he did, he was a fun drunk. Hopefully, when
all this was over, she could take him out and get him good and
plastered.

"Mulder, I need you to listen to me. Please, you have to
concentrate. Can you do that?" She was talking loudly right in his
ear and he was still slipping his eyes shut.

"Scully, don't yell," he muttered plaintively.

"Mulder, wake up. This is really important. I have a chip,
Mulder." She pressed the cylinder into his hand. After a few
seconds, his fingers curled around it.

"Don't feel like a potato chip," he complained.

She shook her head. Why was she bothering, she wondered.
Because she needed him to know what was happening. She needed
his approval. She couldn't just stick the chip in his neck without his
knowledge.

"Mulder, listen to me," she said. She hated doing it, but knew it
would work. She pinched his earlobe, hard.

"Ouch!" he yelled, offended. But for the moment, he was truly
alert "Why'd ya do that for?" he demanded.

"Mulder, that chip is just like mine. It should work on your cancer,
just like mine. Do. You. Want. To. Try. It."

As if for the first time, he looked at her face. "Scully?" he said,
momentarily confused. Then he held his hand up to see the cylinder
in his palm. "Looks just like the other one," he murmured.

"Mulder, I think it can save your life," she said, no longer yelling.
"But I want this to be your decision. I can keep working in the lab,
I can search for another way. I don't know if my chip is why I keep
being called, why I went to Ruskin Dam. I don't know if it means
they can control our thoughts or our actions. I just know it should
keep you alive. If you don't want to take the risk, I'll understand, I
swear I will. But it has to be your decision."

He looked at her and smiled a gentle smile, placing the cylinder
back in her hand.

"We'll be twins," he sighed, his smile still firmly planted on his lips.

She felt a similar grin tugging at her lips. "Well in a sense, yes."

He tried to chuckle at his own joke, but coughed instead. When he
got his breath, he looked back up at her. She was still waiting for
the words.

"Do it," he said in a whisper, leaning back with his eyes closed.

"You're sure, Mulder?" she asked breathlessly.

"I trust you, Scully. If you believe it'll work, then let's do it."

That was all she needed to hear.

end part six

Vickie

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Lies and More Lies
by Vickie Moseley
disclaimed in part one
vmoseley@fgi.net
part seven of seven

Georgetown University Medical Center
next day

Zuckerman told her they couldn't risk putting Mulder under
completely, so they settled for a local. He was so pumped up on
morphine, he slept through the procedure anyway. He continued to
sleep for the rest of the day and through the night.

Scully sat by his side and waited. That had to be the worst of it.
The dark hours before dawn, when he'd broken out in another fever
and struggled weakly against the bed sheets, she'd been near to
hysterics. She was certain his symptoms were being caused by the
chip and almost called Zuckerman at home, to demand it be
removed.

Reason won out, but just barely. When the fever dropped around 6
am, she calmed down and the nurse was successful in getting her to
go down and get some breakfast. A quick shower in the resident's
locker room and she felt she could face the rest of the day.

She was back in his room by 7:30. His breakfast tray, consisting of
broth and jello, sat on the bedside tray table, untouched. She sat
down next to the bed, in her usual spot and took his hand.

She was surprised to see his eyes staring back at her from mere
slits. She stroked his forehead and he moved his head slightly into
her hand. She smiled at him.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Tired," he muttered.

"That's OK, just sleep. You're off the clock, for the moment," she
teased gently.

He slipped back into sleep.

At noon, the nurse came in to take blood. Scully held her breath,
and then followed the sample back down to the lab. The lab
technicians greeted her warmly, and stood aside while she put the
sample under the scope.

She closed her eyes, whispered a prayer, and then put her eye to the
lens, bringing it into focus.

There were still immature blasts in the sample, but the number of
healthy mature blood cells swimming before her eyes made her tear
up and have to turn her head away.

It was working. Mulder was going to live.

He was going to live, but it appeared to her that he was going sleep
through it. It was a combination of the morphine and the
devastation wrought by the disease that caused his total exhaustion.
As Zuckerman weaned Mulder off the morphine, he had longer and
longer periods of alertness but none amounted to longer than thirty
minutes. Scully took the chance when he was asleep to catch up on
her own rest. She knew the next part of his recovery, making him
take it easy, would take all her strength and more.

GUMC
Two days later

He was sitting up. Eating the hospital cafeteria's idea of 'a burger
and fries' which meant the meat was ground turkey and the fries
were oven baked. And he was complaining all the way through it.

She was loving every minute.

"Scully," he said in disgust as he held up a potato stick between his
thumb and forefinger, watching it curl limply in half. "This is _not_
a French Fry!"

She bit her lip to hold back the giggle. She knew that within a
week, she'd be ready to duct tape his mouth shut, but for now, she
was content to just sit back and enjoy the show.

"Mulder, if you eat all your lunch, and don't make a nuisance of
yourself this afternoon while I'm at the office, I'll bring you 'real'
French Fries tonight for dinner," she promised.

"Mickey Ds'? Uncle Ronalds'?" he asked hopefully.

"I might even throw in a Big Mac for good measure," she said with
a grin. "But you _have_ to be very nice to the nurses," she warned.

He picked up the burger, grimaced, but took a good sized chunk
into his mouth and chewed. "Ra'll be goof," he said around the
mouthful of hamburger roll. He nodded down to her laptop, open
on the end of the tray table. "Done with the report?"

She shook her head.

"Still trying to figure out why Diana gave you the chip?"

She thought about that for a moment, then shook her head again.
"No, I think I've got a handle on that. You know, Mulder, I think
in a perfect world . . ."

"No, Scully, in a perfect world, you two would still hate each
other," Mulder said with a grin.

She shot him a sour look. "That wasn't what I was going to say. I
think she really feels she was doing the right thing when she and
you . . ." She trailed off, not ready to give voice to all her
suspicions.

"Diana . . . is the past, Scully. I've tried to tell you that in every
way I know how. I was upset when she left, but it never entered
my mind to try and follow her to Europe. She was gone. Out of
sight out of mind. Following her to the ends of the earth was never
a consideration."

Scully wasn't sure how they managed to get on the topic, but now
that they were there, she wasn't about to stop him. She nodded to
encourage him along.

"Diana has always lived 'in the moment'. And that's one thing she
taught me. But with you, Scully, it's different." He stopped and
looked down at his plate, pushing the last remaining fries around
the little pool of ketchup with his fork. "You've taught me to look
to the future, Scully. When I'm with you, I believe in the future. I
want to go there. As long as we're together." He looked up at her,
sighing.

"Guess you're gonna go see how much morphine I've had today,
huh?" he said in disgust and tossed the fork down on the plate.

There were tears in her eyes and they were just clinging to the
lashes. She wiped at them hastily so they wouldn't fall. "No,
Mulder. Not this time. No 'oh brother', no walking out of the
room." She bit her lip and looked at him warily. "We share more
than a chip. We share a fantasy, remember?"

His smile was blinding. "Yeah, I remember," he said. He rubbed
the back of his neck, just above the spot where the chip was buried.

"Is it bothering you?" she asked quietly.

"Just the potential for nocturnal wanderings to out of the way
bridges to witness mass emulations," he said lightly, but she could
tell he was worried. "So, if we both get 'called', who comes to find
us?"

She shrugged. "Skinner?"

He snorted. "Well, you, maybe, but I have a feeling I'll be left to
wander the woods."

"I don't know what to tell you, Mulder. If you're having second
thoughts . . ."

He shook his head emphatically. "Contrary to established wisdom
on the subject, I'm not looking for an early checkout, Scully. I
have my fantasies and I want to live long enough to work out most
of them. But I just wonder where this leaves us. You and me.
Whose side does this put us on?"

Scully drew in a deep breath. "I wish I knew, Mulder. But at least
we can be assured one thing. Whoever's side it is, we're there
together."

the end.

End Notes.

I wanted to do several things here. I liked the idea of Scully having
to go through some of the emotions, hardships and tribulations that
Mulder had to go through during her cancer, especially in Redux II.
I also wanted to finally come back and revisit that serum that was
injected into Mulder's neck in Russia. I wanted to know why the
Well Manicured Man didn't give Mulder _that_ serum when he was
telling him where to find Scully in the movie (he kept saying 'weak
vaccine' and that seemed anything but 'weak'--they covered
Mulder with the oilien and he was fine). I wanted to have Scully
'dance with her own devil' in the form of Diana. And, like I try to
do with most of the villains I encounter on the show, I wanted to
give the 'she-witch' a little more depth. Diana, like Smoking Man,
thinks she is doing the right thing. Although Skinner might have
played a bigger role, he didn't in Redux II, so I didn't put him in
here. As much as I like the 'friendship triangle' I wanted this story
to be about Mulder and Scully facing an impending and painful
death together, who would fight and who would have to be
dragged by the hand as I saw it in Gethsemane. Finally, I never
intended for Cassandra and Spender to stick around and save the
day. They are still out there, the 'rebels' still want Mulder and
Scully to work with them, and for all I know, Diana brought the
chip to Scully without CSM knowing anything about it. Or maybe
it was a scheme to control them both . . .

Alternate views and opinions are always welcome :)
vmoseley@fgi.net

Vickie