~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life!-- and if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death." - Elizabeth Barrett Browning ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Her family surrounds Scully where she lies in the hospital bed, a tight little cadre of support and love. Excluded, as I have been since their arrival, I stand by the window, forehead resting on the cool pane. Even Scully's mother has apparently exhausted her tolerance for me and the disasters I bring to her family. I have always stood in awe of the woman's ability to accept me into her home, to look on me with affection despite the losses she has sustained on the altar of my quest, but I had never realized how much I counted on her continued goodwill until she turned cold eyes on me when she entered the room instead of offering the hug I expected. Still, her Christian charity is intact. She won't kick me out of the room even though Bill and Charlie clearly want her to. I can't get near Scully, can't touch her, talk to her, or even see her, but I can hear the rasping of her breath which means she's still here, still alive, that she has not yet left me alone and bereft. The drugs she is on for the considerable pain she's in keep her in and out of consciousness, although she's on the lowest dosage that offers any relief at all, wanting to be awake for as much of what is left of her life as possible, wanting to feel pain rather than feel nothing. The pattern of her breathing changes and I cease to breathe myself for a moment, until I hear her voice. "Mulder. Want Mulder." The Scully clan parts like a reluctant Red Sea to let me pass and I am at her side in an instant, leaning over her bed, holding her frozen fingers in my own. My ability to smile is limited but I try anyway and am rewarded by a brief shadow of a Scully-smile in return. "I'm right here, Scully." "Couldn't see you," she says, glaring accusingly at her family. "I'm not going anywhere, Scully. I'll stay right here if you want me to." I look at Bill defiantly. I accept the Scullys' need to blame someone, but I can't let anything stop me from being with her if she needs me. More than anything I want privacy. I had planned what I wanted to say to Scully the next time I got a chance, and it would be hard enough if we were alone, much less under the baleful gaze of five Scullys and Scullys-in-law. "Scully, I . . ." I begin. She squeezes my fingers with what little strength she still possesses and says, "Mulder, look at me." Her eyes are as blue as ever and as they draw me in I realize she is creating a bubble of privacy around us. Her family recedes and as I look at her my embarrassment ebbs and I feel we are the only ones in the room, the only ones in the world. Unbidden, tears begin to roll down my cheeks. "Don't--don't cry, sweetheart. 'Sokay." Indomitable Dana Scully. Always so strong. Dying, in excruciating pain, she is comforting *me.* "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Scully. Sorry about all this-- and sorry that I never let you know how much--" How much I love you, I'm going to say, but she never gives me a chance. "But you did." She smiles at me. Her strength shames me. "After the Triangle. And I knew anyway. Antarctica--so many other things. Love's more than words, Mulder. We were so far beyond words. You showed me. You showed me. You didn't need to tell me. I always knew." The speech exhausts her. She closes her eyes and I bend to kiss her cold cheek. "I love you, Scully." "I love you too," she answers sleepily. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "As a well-spent day brings happy sleep, so life well-used brings happy death." - Leonardo Da Vinci ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Another night is passing into the grey of a chilly November dawn. We're all at Scully's bedside. I have one hand and Mrs. Scully the other. Bill and Tara, Charlie and Kristin stand around the sides and the foot of the bed--having left a conspicuous amount of extra space next to me. They have suffered my presence only because Scully cries for me pitifully if she opens her eyes and can't see me. As much as this upsets--and in Bill's case, disgusts--them, they can't be cruel to Scully now. So on this, the fifth day since her admission to the hospital, I haven't left her side or let go of her hand for the past ten hours. If she opens her eyes again, I will be there. Death is in the room. We feel his ominous presence. I'm reminded of the shadow killer and feel as though Death too casts a shadow which is looming ever nearer. Soon it will touch Scully and extinguish her light forever. She's moaning in pain even in her sleep and she breathes only with great difficulty. Soon the effort to draw another breath will be too great. The distance between breaths will grow longer . . . and longer . . . until they cease entirely. The last time the doctor came by Mrs. Scully begged him to increase the morphine dose. He shook his head. "Dana's still capable of making decisions for herself and she was very clear about keeping the morphine down. She wants to remain awake and aware as long as possible. Morphine suppresses respiration and will hasten the end." "I can't stand seeing her suffer this way." "I know. I'm sorry." He hesitated a moment before adding, "She won't suffer much longer now, in any case. A few more hours at most. If--when she wakes again, I'll be glad to increase the dose if she consents." It is just past five o'clock that morning, 108 hours after she collapsed in our office, that Scully opens her eyes for the last time. Mine is the first face she sees. "Hi," I whisper, trying hard to smile through my tears. "Hi yourself." Her voice is faint. "Scully, sweetheart, the doctor can give you more medicine for the pain . . ." "No. I'm . . . fine." My heart breaks. "Need to talk . . . to you all." Without letting go of my hand, she turns her face toward her mother. "Mom?" "Right here, honey." Mrs. Scully kisses her daughter's forehead. "Sorry . . . to leave you." "Oh, Dana--no, sweetie, don't worry about me. I'll be O.K." "Love you." "I love you, too." I am awed by Mrs. Scully's strength, as usual. Big old Bill is blubbering like a baby-- we all are--but Mrs. Scully smiles steadily at her daughter, absolutely radiating calm and faith. Now Scully looks at her older brother. "Billy--" "What is it, Dana?" he asks, taking his mother's place at her side. "You love me?" Through tears he gasps, "You know I do. Of course I do." With more strength in her voice then there has been there in days she says, "Then leave Mulder alone." Bill shoots me one last glare of pure hatred before he answers her. "O.K. I promise." She smiles at him. "Love you." He can't answer. "Tara--Kristin--" she whispers. "Kiss the kids for me, 'kay?" Tara and Kristin bend to kiss her; it's all they can do. Then it's Charlie's turn. "Baby brother," she says. "Yeah, big sis?" "Glad . . . you're here." "Me too, Dana. I'm sorry I've been such a stranger." "It's . . . O.K. You're grown up . . . have things to do . . . hope you'll be around for Mom, now." "I will. I promise." Now, at last, she turns to me. She has saved me for last and I fear she has used up all her strength and won't be able to give me whatever message she wanted to. So, holding her hand in both of my own, willing warmth and life into her as though I could sustain her in existence by the force of my love, I kiss her gently--forehead, eyelids, lips. Oblivious to the animosity of the Scullys I try to say with those kisses what I don't have the strength to express in words. She smiles at me one last time. "Don't wanna leave you, Mulder." "No, sweetheart, don't hang around just for me. It's O.K. I don't want to make you suffer any more than I already have." "Not your fault." Bullshit, that, but I let it go. "O.K." "Love you, Mulder." My name on her lips. The sweetest sound in all the world to me. "I love you too." "Mulder--remember--you're not alone. Never alone. I'll always be there." Her eyes close. Her chest rises and falls, each time more slowly, three times more--then stops. There my memory ends. They will tell me later that two nurses have to pry my fingers from her dead hand, that Frohike and Skinner have to walk me from the room to the car, that the Gunmen have to do everything for me right up until the funeral. From the moment she dies until I stand at her grave, dropping white roses down onto the top of her casket, I remember nothing at all. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "The sunshine is a glorious birth. But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth." - William Wordsworth ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Frohike stays with me the night after the funeral. The other guys want to stay too, but it's just too much. Over Irish whisky which he produces for the occasion, we have our own wake for Scully. We speak of her beauty, her loyalty, her humor, her intelligence. Of how the world will be a poorer place without her. Frohike confides that he once shared a similar evening with Scully when they both thought I was dead. "But *you* turned up alive," he adds mournfully. "Know something funny?" I ask him. "I always thought, if Scully died, I'd know. Like when she was abducted, I knew she was out there. I could feel it. And other times when she was in danger--I knew she wasn't dead. But now, even though I was sitting right next to her, holding her hand when she died, even though I just put her in the ground--she doesn't feel dead to me, Frohike." "It's like I said to you the other day, Mulder. She still exists. It's only the body that dies, Mulder." Now I have a question I feel sure my friend can answer. "Did you tell Scully I was looking for any children that might have been made from her ova?" Frohike looks sheepish. "Yeah." "But why? You knew I didn't want her told. I didn't want to raise her hopes--to have her get attached to more children like Emily only to have them die." "I know that, Mulder! I didn't just go tell her! She came to me, asking me to help her look." "Why didn't she come to me?" "She was afraid you'd try to dissuade her. So I let her know you were both on the same page. She was happy you were taking care of it. I guess she figured we had it covered." I nod in understanding, glad that Scully knew I realized without her having to ask how important such a search would be to her. "How are we progressing on that, Frohike?" "Making steady progress, but nothing definite yet," he tells me. "Want me to step up the search?" "Yeah--yeah, I do. Put some of our other projects on the back burner. It was important to her--and it's one of the things I promised I'd do." "Will do." He looks at me quizzically as he pours us another round, then says, "Maybe now's not the time-- but have you considered the C.G.B. Spender situation?" "I'm not going after him, Frohike. I mean except in connection with the whole colonization thing. I'd like to extract his blackened lungs with my bare hands like . . . like that fucking psychic surgeon--but that's another thing I promised. No revenge." Frohike nods in understanding. "See? Scully's not gone. She's still your conscience even now." I almost smile. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "He said not, 'Thou shalt not be tempested, thou shalt not be travailed, thou shalt not be dis-eased,' but he said, 'Thou shalt not be overcome.' " - Julian of Norwich in "Revelations of Divine Love." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ In the darkened chapel I kneel, my face buried in my arms, my shirt sleeves wet from all the tears I have cried. Visions of my gun waiting in its drawer back in my apartment taunt me. At worst, using it means peaceful oblivion; at best, an instant reunion with Scully. But I promised her I wouldn't. So I reach out as best I can to a God I'm only trying to believe in. "Please, God, please. I promised her I'd go on. I promised her. But I don't want to go on. I *can't* go on alone. *Please* help me keep my promise." I always relied on Scully to cover the God angle. If He really was out there, her faith would protect me, too, I'd always thought. I knew she prayed daily, and that she prayed for me. But now she's gone and I have to do this in my own fumbling way. Then I remember that Catholics pray to saints to intercede with the Almighty. Well, Scully may never make it to the canonization process, but she's a saint in my book. There is no statue of her in the chapel but I have her cross to clutch in my fist and her image is burned forever in my mind. So I call up a vision of her face--smiling, healthy, alive--and I pray to Scully. "Scully, I always thought I'd feel it somehow if you died. But I never felt your light go out. Somehow, I know that you were right in your belief, that you still exist somewhere. I need you, Scully. I know I promised you. I know I did. But it's so hard. I'm so alone--more alone than I was before you came into my life because now I know what I'm missing. I want to keep my promise. Please help me." Then, as clearly as though she were speaking aloud, I hear her voice inside my head. "Mulder, it's me. You are not alone. I'll be with you, wherever you are." Even in death, I can count on Scully to come to my rescue. Comforted by the sense of her presence, I think about all the times Scully was there when I needed her. I think of her watching my back out in the field, protecting my credibility with Skinner, walking proudly down the halls of the J. Edgar Hoover Building by my side despite my reputation with my fellow agents. I remember how she conducted background checks and fertilizer inquiries without complaining when she easily could have moved on. I think of her refusal to blame me for the tragedies that happened in her life and her refusal to let me blame myself. I remember Scully mad as hell at me but never leaving me or for one minute making me think she didn't care about me. My eyes are drawn again to that lurid crucifix. Even I know that verse: "For God so loved the world, that He gave His only son." Christians believe that God sacrificed His son, and that His son suffered an agonizing death out of immense love for mankind--flawed and sinful though we are. It's that unconditional love Scully was talking to me about that evening not so long ago. I realize at that moment that I do know all about unconditional love--but it wasn't my parents who taught me. I would have hung on a cross for three years if it could have saved Scully's life. And she would have done the same for me. Scully taught me all about love, and maybe, just maybe, she led me to God too. For as I think about Scully I feel another Presence near--stronger, deeper, greater. I hear another Voice which lets me know with certainty that I will never be alone. Cradled in love and supported by a strength not my own, I stand, square my shoulders, and leave the chapel to continue my Quest. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Through such souls alone God stooping shows sufficient of His light For us i' the dark to rise by. And I rise." - Robert Browning ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ THE END Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you thought at PennySyc@aol.com (Leslie).