TITLE: World Without End: Book Two (13/18)

AUTHOR: Rachel Anton

E-MAIL: RAnton1013@aol.com

xxxxxx

Just keep going. In retrospect, that seems like a pretty stupid
thing to say. There were so many other options, things I could have
suggested that might have prevented us from reaching this point.

For instance, I might have said, "Why don't we start with you
telling me what the hell is going on?"

Maybe I just didn't wanna know. Maybe I already knew and couldn't
bear to hear it.

The signs were all there. She's been distant and peculiar for so
long now that I can barely imagine her any other way. She's been
disappearing for long periods of time with no explanation, quite
frequently, for at least a month. Catching her in his arms was really
just the icing on the cake.

But I still refused to believe it. When she came to me that day, I
honestly thought she was being sincere, that maybe I was being
paranoid and insecure. I thought she wanted to try. And I have been
trying. For the past week, I've been trying my damnedest to make
things right between us, despite the fact that I've been busier than
ever planning this raid, despite my suspicions and my fears. She
seemed to be working with me, even allowed me the privilege of making
love to her a couple of days ago. I thought we were hitting another
upswing on this fucking amusement park ride from hell we've been on
for the past five months. I guess I was wrong.

Sometimes I wonder if she thinks I'm the stupidest person who ever
lived. Did she think I wouldn't figure it out? I used to be a
freaking spy for God's sake.

No. After tonight, I guess it's safe to say that she wants me to
find out, but she doesn't have the balls to say it to my face. That's
what makes me saddest of all. I expected so much more from her. I
thought she was brave.

I'm not a real stickler for rules. I haven't abided by them, and I
haven't really set too many of them. As far as I'm concerned, most of
them are hypocritical and unimaginative, more of a crutch for people
who can't distinguish between right and wrong for themselves than any
kind of safeguard. Not that I'm the most reliable source on this
subject...

In any case, the point is that Dana and I don't have too many rules
in our relationship. Most of our expectations for each other have
gone unspoken. In all the time we've been together, I've only had one
real demand, one simple courtesy that I've asked of her.

No, it's not fidelity, although I'm starting to think it might have
been a good idea to negotiate that right up front rather than blindly
expect it from her.

The rule is that the night before any kind of battle, raid or other
potentially life-threatening situation, both of us leave work early,
eat dinner, talk, and go to bed. Together.

I told her that I needed this very early on, before we even lived
together, and she's always been very accommodating. So much so that I
came to believe that she needed it herself.

Another mistaken assumption.

I'm leaving tomorrow. The trucks are all packed up, the plan is set,
watches synchronized and all that crap. I conducted our last minute
strategy session in a frantic rush, skipping over some important
points in my haste to get back here and cook what may well have been
my last meal with Dana. May have been if she had shown up.

The first few hours weren't too bad. I was a bit early, it turned
out, and I spent the extra time preparing our food to perfection. By
the time I was done with dinner, she was a little late but I figured
if I kept it in the oven, it'd still be warm when she got home.

It's burnt now. Burnt to a pathetic, blackened mess. Been that way
for about six hours. I don't even remember what it was anymore.

I have to say, those six hours were the longest of my life. I went
through several stages when I realized she wasn't coming home. First,
denial. Yep, any minute she was gonna walk through that door, all
apologies and reasonable, believable explanations. That faded into
anger at about nine or ten o'clock.

How dare she blow me off like this? Could she have forgotten? What
kind of bitch...

After a few hours of infuriated pacing and chair kicking, I started
to get worried. What if something had happened to her? Surely she
couldn't have forgotten. Surely she couldn't be doing this to me on
purpose. Things have been strained between us, to say the least, but
still, she'd never go out of her way to hurt me. She must have been
injured or in some kind of trouble.

That's when I decided to look for her.

I hadn't wanted it to come to that. I suppose denial still had a
pretty strong hold and a huge part of me was still waiting for her to
come back on her own. But I couldn't just sit here if she needed my
help.

The first place I went was, of course, the most obvious. If I'd just
gone there in the first place, at five or six when she was supposed
to come home, maybe things would be different. Maybe I'd have been
able to leave here in my happy, deluded little world.

But I didn't make it to the lab until about one o'clock in the
morning. I guess it's the stalker in me that wanted to peek through
the window rather than knocking at the door. The stalker and the
realist, the one who knew from the start what was really happening.

She was there, all right. Looking post-orgasmically happy and
disheveled and for a moment I was actually relieved. She was okay.
Thank God she was okay.

And then I saw him with the same nauseating look, leaning over her.
She jumped into his arms and I watched them hugging like a couple of
lovesick teen-agers for as long as I could stand it. Maybe I was
waiting for them to stop. But they didn't stop. They just kept
hugging and laughing and jumping the fuck up and down and I finally
gave up. Completely.

And now, almost two full hours later, I sit at what used to be our
kitchen table, still waiting for her to come home. But this time it
is with acceptance.

Her bags are packed and piled in the hall outside the door. If she
doesn't make it back before I leave, there will be no need for a gory
scene. She'll see them and understand that I'm finally giving her
what she wants. For the first time ever, I believe.

Perhaps I'm being too kind, letting her off too easy. Maybe I'd be
better off pretending I don't know and just carrying on, making it as
difficult as possible for her to be with her real love. But sadly, I
don't have that in me. I couldn't bear the torture myself.

No, the time has come. There is nothing left to say, no pain left
for us to inflict on each other. I only hope that losing her doesn't
destroy me.

xxxxxx

In the end, the answer was so simple it was difficult to comprehend
the amount of time spent finding it. How could I have overlooked
something so basic, so fundamentally obvious, for so very long? I
suppose I knew that the solution was in Mulder's blood but who would
have guessed that it would be the blood itself?

It doesn't matter anymore. We found it. A way to convert without the
conversion. The right mixture, the right temperature, the right
everything. That's all that counts.

There will have to be more tests of course. We'll need to inject the
serum into someone infected with the cancer first. A human guinea
pig. I've already resigned myself to that fate because I am almost
completely certain it will work

I should have told Alex I was going to be late. It must be at least
four in the morning. The moon is gone already and the night is at its
darkest point. The only sound on campus is that of my feet making
contact with the frosty grass as I make my way home. He must be
worried.

It doesn't matter. Once I tell him where I've been, what I've done
tonight, he'll forget. He'll be happy. Euphoric even. And best of
all, my discovery will surely be enough to stop him from going on
this fool's mission tomorrow. It will have to be. I'm not letting him
go without making love to me properly, and there's just not enough
time left. He's supposed to leave in two hours.

When I get into the dorm, I feel like running up and down the halls,
pounding on every door and waking the world to tell them all that I
did it. I finally did it. But there's only one door that's really
important and I find myself bolting up the stairs, taking two at a
time, to reach the fourth floor and my home.

In my excitement and haste, I almost trip over the pile of garbage
bags sitting in front of our door. Maybe Alex has been doing some
cleaning. It looks like a lot of stuff to be throwing away though.

I step over them, making a mental note to go through them tomorrow
and make sure he's not tossing anything we actually need, and unlock
the door.

All the lights are out and the room feels very empty when I step
inside. He must have gone to sleep already. I close and lock the door
behind me and start making my way through the dark. When I reach the
bedroom door, I hear a noise, something like a sigh, coming from the
kitchen area. I spin around, startled.

"Alex?"

Silence. Deafening, eerie silence.

I grope around in the dark, searching simultaneously for a
lightswitch and the small pistol I keep strapped to my boot.

"Who's there?"

No answer.

I clutch the weapon in my right hand and hit the switch with my
left. The small, dim bulb of the kitchen lamp flickers on and,
relieved, I let out a gust of air. It is Alex.

"Why didn't you answer me?" I ask. He shrugs, not averting his gaze
from the table top.

"Why are you sitting here in the dark?" I try again, putting my gun
back where it belongs. Still no answer.

"Alex, you're not gonna believe what happened tonight," I blurt out,
simply bursting with the need to share the good news with him. His
eyes dart up and he sniffs, sneers. There is something dangerous in
those eyes tonight.

"I'm...I'm sorry I'm so late, Alex but there's a reason. A very good
reason."

"Really," he says but it's not a question. It's that same barren
tone he used with me in his office the other day.

"Yes, really. I think that...I think we found it Alex."

"It?"

I can't stop myself from running over to him and wrapping my arms
around his shoulders. He might look irritated now, but when he
understands...

"Alex, this is so exciting!"

I lean around and kiss him on the corner of the mouth, wanting to
just fall into his lap and be surrounded by him. But his body goes
tense, hard and cold, and he flinches.

"What did you find, Dana?"

"Alex, we're saved. I'm saved," I whisper into his ear, and he jerks
away.

"What are you talking about?"

"I found it."

I move so that I'm kneeling on the floor in front of him, so that I
can see his face when he understands.

"A cure, Alex. I found a cure."

His eyes get wide and I laugh, just laugh. It feels so real saying
it out loud like that.

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty much absolutely."

I lean in to kiss him full on the mouth, but this time he stands up
and walks away from me completely, leaving me sitting on the floor
alone. He turns his back on me and rests his hands on the ledge of
the sink. More silence.

"Alex, aren't you going to say anything?"

I'm not going to die, Alex. Don't you care?

Of course, he doesn't know how close I came. Still, I thought he
would be ecstatic. He's wanted this as badly as I have for some time.

"I'm glad. I know you've been working for awhile on this.
Congratulations."

"Glad? You're glad? Congratulations? Alex, don't you understand what
this means? Don't you see how much this will help us?"

"Yes, I know what it means. You did a very good job. It won't go
unappreciated."

I don't even know how to respond to that. Not just the words, but
the tone. Even that day in his office, I don't think he was this cold
to me. This couldn't be just because I was late. Not now that he
knows why.

I stand up and move behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist
and snuggling my head into the crook of his shoulder.

"Alex, what's wrong? Aren't you happy about this?"

I feel his chest rise and fall heavily as he sighs.

"I've gotta go soon. I need to get ready."


"Go? Alex...you're not still going are you?"

"Yes."

"But Alex, we have what we need from them. You don't have to go
anymore. That's what I'm trying to tell you. Why don't you just stay
here with me?"

I reach my hand through the buttons on the front of his shirt and
caress his stomach lightly. I feel the muscles twitch under me,
andwed over one too many times."

"So you're going for vengeance? You're risking your life and the
lives of all those people to prove that nobody fucks with Alex
Krycek?"

He looks up at the ceiling and laughs shortly through his nose.

"Something like that..."

"Alex, you can't..."

His head drops down, and his eyes meet mine from across the room.
He's so far away now, and he looks angry. Very, very angry.

"What are you doing here, Dana?"

"What am I...what do you mean, Alex? What's the matter with you?"

"Did you miss something on your way in here, Dana? Maybe I didn't
make it clear enough."

"Alex," I breathe, growing more and more alarmed and confused as his
voice raises.

"Do you want me to write it out on a piece of paper for you?" he
roars. His eyes squeeze shut, and he inhales sharply. His rage is
frightening, but at least he's showing me something. It's better than
the cold shoulder.

"No, Alex, I want you to talk to me. I want you to tell me what's
wrong."

"Where do you want me to start?"

"Wherever you need to start."

"Well, we don't have much time, so I'd better just stick to tonight."

Tonight? Is that what this is? Could he possibly be this angry
because I'm late? I realized he might be worried or a little
irritated, but I figured once I told him why, he'd realize how
important it was. Of course I also thought it would stop him from
going and that missing this night together wouldn't be such a huge
issue.

"Alex, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't here tonight. I really am. I
thought that when I told you...I just thought we'd have more time."

"Well, that's where you're wrong, Dana. We don't have any more time."

His voice is cold and flat again, and it is with a terrifying
finality that he reiterates, "None."

My heart drops into my stomach at the sound of that word because all
at once I realize that he is not just referring to our time tonight.
There's something much bigger happening here, and it's finally
starting to sink in through the delirium of my discovery.

"Alex, why didn't you come down to the lab if you were waiting for
me?"

"I didn't come at first because I wanted to see how long it would
take you to come back on your own."

A test? Is that what this was? What the hell kind of game is he
playing with me here?

"But when I started to hear the birds singing I got a little
worried. So I did come down to the lab, Dana."

"You did? I didn't see you there."

"No, I'm sure you didn't. You seemed quite distracted. Quite happily
distracted."

"Yes, Alex. Because I was working."

He winces and spits, "Working on what exactly, Dana? Is the cure for
cancer in Mulder's pants?"

I can't stop my jaw from dropping to the floor at that one. I think
I'd slap him if we didn't have a table between us.

"Just what am I being accused of here?" I manage to choke out
through my anger and confusion.

"All I know is what I saw. Again."

"And what exactly was that?"

"You and...him. Pawing each other at two o'clock in the morning,
seven hours after you were supposed to come home and be with me."

"Alex, that was...it was nothing. It was a hug. We were hugging
because we were happy about finding a cure. I can't...I can't even
believe I'm having this conversation. You're being ridiculous. Again."

He just stares back at me with those unblinking eyes and that gaping
mouth, the crease above his nose deeper than ever. Disgust. That's
what that look is. Disbelief and disgust.

"I'm going to sleep, Alex."

I start to walk, on shaking legs, towards the bedroom. He sighs
heavily behind me.

"I think you're still missing the point here."

"Alex, where's Ret?" I ask, suddenly realizing why the place seemed
so empty when I came home. No slobbering mass of dog jumping on top
of me when I walked through the door.

"He's in Bryan's room."

"What the hell for?"

"Because, he and his owner don't live here anymore."

I spin back around to face him again and goddamn him, he actually
looks smug. His arms are crossed over his chest, and he's fucking
smirking at me.

"What are you doing, Alex?" I ask quietly, fear clamping my chest in
a vice-grip.

"I'm sorry. I thought it was obvious by now. I'm throwing you
out...Scully."

"You're...what? You're not...Alex, no."

"Your stuff is outside already. Feel free to take any room you'd
like just as long as it's not in this building. You can keep your job
and everything else. Just stay out of my way."

"I can't believe this. I can't believe you. I can't believe you're
doing this!"

And doing it so damn easily. Negotiating it like a business
arrangement or something. Can't he see that he's killing me all over
again? Isn't this killing him? I want to shake him, to smack him back
into the Alex I know, but I'm afraid there's nothing left of him
anymore.

"You're gonna just...just give up on us? On me? Because you
misinterpreted a perfectly innocent hug?"

"It's not just the hug, Dana. Do you remember what you told me that
night in the pool?"

"Which night? What are you talking about?"

God, this is so completely surreal. I feel like the universe is
disintegrating under my feet. What in the world is happening?

"You said that if you weren't happy, if I knew that you weren't,
that I had your permission to throw you out. So, here we are."

"I never said that I was unhappy! I never said that! Never..."


I feel tears of panic and horror burning the back of my throat,
trailing down my cheeks, and I wipe them away frantically. Why should
I let him see me break when he couldn't care less?

"You don't have to say it. Don't you think that I can see it, living
with you every day? Dana, the only two times I've seen you happy in
the past five months have been the two times I saw you in his arms."

Bastard. Goddamn you, you bastard. Why are you doing this to me?

"I can't believe this. I can't BELIEVE it! You wanna know something,
Alex? I wish that Mulder and I were fucking so that I'd actually
deserve this kind of treatment. But we're NOT! We're not doing
ANYTHING!"

Oh God, I'm really losing it. I've gotta get out of here before I
start hyperventilating.


Deep breath. Don't let him see you hysterical.

"It doesn't matter if you are or not," he says, quiet and calm. Fuck
you, Alex Krycek. Fuck you.

"No, obviously it doesn't."

"The point is that whether you can admit it to me or yourself or
anyone else, you want to be with him. You're only happy when you're
with him."

The sun is coming up. He has to leave on his stupid, pathetic little
adventure and I can't be here anymore. I just can't.

"You're going to be unreasonable no matter what I say, Alex. There's
no point in even talking about this anymore."

We stare each other down, and I wait for a long moment, the longest
in my life, for him to put an end to this. But he doesn't, and the
knife cuts a little deeper.

I can't even wipe the tears away anymore because they're coming too
fast.

"Have a nice trip," I tell him, walking quickly past him and to the
door, taking pains not to let any part of me touch any part of him. I
swear the doorknob burns like fire when I put my hand around it.

"Have a nice life," I whisper, and my voice cracks irreparably.

"I just can't live like this anymore, Dana. I'm not trying to hurt
you," he says softly, and it's just the final twist.

"Too late."

I pull open the door and step through, closing it quickly behind me
so that I don't have to look at his blank fucking face anymore. This
time I do trip over the stupid pile of garbage bags in the hall, and
it finally hits me that this is really my stuff. All of it.

I let myself collapse into the junk, let myself really cry now
because I know he's not going to open that door until he's sure that
I'm gone. I find myself leaning against the door, whimpering, fucking
whimpering like a whipped puppy, touching the wood, wishing I could
go back to the other side. And then I hear him.

Or rather, hear what he's doing. Breaking glass, cracking wood,
smashing things. He's in there smashing things, tearing our home to
pieces. I take no comfort in the fact that his stoic facade has
cracked. In fact somehow, it only deepens the agony. And the most
miserable thing of all is that even though I hate him more than
anything right now, I'd give the world to go in there and be able to
make him stop. To comfort him and make it all better.

But I can't make it better. And I fear that I never will be able to
again.

xxxxxx

end chapter thirteen

(the unluckiest chapter)

TITLE: World Without End: Book Two (14/18)

AUTHOR: Rachel Anton

E-MAIL: RAnton1013@aol.com

xxxxxx

A bluish-black fluid swirling in a glass tube in my hands as I turn
it over and oven personal glory? Did it matter? She'd betrayed him.
Double-crossed him. Again.

He'd been a master at this game. In another life, another soul. No,
no other soul. He hadn't had to bother with a soul. She'd given him
that. He thought it was a blessing but maybe now, it was his curse.

Why?

He asked her why. Why was she doing it? What was she after?

She offered a macabre smile and told him it was his turn, before
knocking the row of vials to the ground. Broken glass and red fluid
on the floor. U?St=t= "T?x>0HE

ELVEVEVEVE'  =/dVEv>tFVEhET

TITLE: World Without End: Book Two (14/?)

AUTHOR: Rachel Anton

E-MAIL: RAnton1013@aol.com

xxxxxx

A bluish-black fluid swirling in a glass tube in my hands as I turn
it over and over and over. Reminds me of one of those relaxation,
lava lamp type things businessmen and shrinks used to keep on their
desks. How can something so simple hold so much hope, so many answers?

I couldn't sleep when I got home last night. Well, technically, this
morning. Not that this is anything new, but this time it wasn't an
insomnia born of anxiety and melancholy. I was just too excited to
let myself rest.

I walked to the lab at the crack of dawn, anxious to continue the
work Scully and I started last night. I couldn't really do anything
without her here though, so I've spent the last two or three hours
staring at the strange gelatinous substance and marveling at how much
the two of us can accomplish together.

Roseanne showed up about fifteen minutes ago, and she's joined me in
my staring and marveling. I don't think she's completely fathomed it
yet. I think she wishes she'd been here last night. I'm glad she
wasn't. It was our moment, mine and Scully's.

"Do you think anyone will volunteer?" she asks after several moments
of awed silence between us.

"I don't see why not. Anyone who's sick will probably be willing to
take the risk."

And hell, it's not like we've got any shortage of sick people around
here. We've got lists upon lists of people who've come to us with
symptoms. People who've come to us for help. Help that we haven't
been able to give beyond taking some blood from them and handing them
meager supplies of medication to lessen the pain a tiny bit.

"I think they'll be lining up outside the door, Roseanne."

She nods in agreement and then shakes her head in disbelief.

"This is unreal, Mulder. You guys are just...wow."

"It was mostly Scully," I tell her, honestly. Scully has been
working hard on this for as long as I've been here, but for the past
month or so she's been going after it with a ferocious tenacity. And
this past week has been the absolute height of that. I really didn't
provide much more than fluid. And encouragement. And an annoying
voice, second-guessing everything she said. I guess it was just the
right combination.

"That's not really true," we hear a voice muttering from the
doorway. We turn around and both of us break into spontaneous
applause at the sight of her.

Our savior. My Scully.

My Scully who...who is always beautiful to me but right now looks
like a pile of shit. I have seen her suffering the most abysmal lows
of a lifetime and yet, I have never seen her in this kind of a state.
She's always been meticulous about her appearance, even under the
most dismal of circumstances.

Today her hair is hanging in clumps around her face, tangled and
greasy. Her eyes are surrounded with dark, raccoon-like circles. Her
jeans are dirty, and her shirt is buttoned wrong.

But there's more to it than just the superficial dishevelment. There
is an energy surrounding her, an aura of defeat and disappointment.
An atmosphere of death that is completely inconsistent with the
moment, dissociated from any reality I understand right now.

"Stop it guys," she grumbles, staring at the floor and holding up
her hand to stave off our appreciation.

Roseanne runs over to her and gives her a bear hug, to which Scully
barely manages to respond. Her arms hang limply at her sides and she
doesn't smile.

"Dana, I can't believe it! Aren't you excited?"

"Yes. Yes, it's very exciting," Scully intones in a flat deadpan.
Roseanne pulls back from her and takes a good look at her face for
the first time.

"Dana, what's wrong? You look like hell."

"I'm fine. I just...I didn't get much sleep."

She walks past Roseanne and sits down at the table across from me.

"Scully..."

"I'm fine, Mulder. Have you prepared the injection?"

"Not yet. I figured we'd make some kind of announcement first and
ask for a volunteer. I thought you'd want to call a meeting. Gather
the people on the list and..."

"Just prepare the injection, Mulder."

"You don't want..."

"Just prepare the damn injection, Mulder."

Roseanne and I exchange a glance fraught with worry and confusion.
She walks over to the sink, takes a needle out of a sterilization jar
and brings it over to me. I dip the point into the test tube and fill
the syringe. Roseanne stands behind me and watches silently. I can
feel her nervous breath on my neck.

"Well, I guess all we need now is an arm."

Scully begins rolling up her sleeve, and a horrible truth starts to
dawn on me. Something I suppose I must have known in the back of my
head. Must have. How could I not have?

She drops her naked arm onto the wooden table with a terrifying
thump, and all three of us stare at the white skin and the bluish
veins for an interminable moment.

"Are you going to do it or not?" Scully finally asks. The syringe is
shaking in my hand. I'm afraid I might drop it, or crush it.

"Scu..."

My throat refuses to strangle out anymore than that syllable.

"Give me the injection, Mulder."

Has she looked like this all along? Has she been this sick for all
this time? No, I would have noticed that. Surely, I would have
noticed.

God, Scully. How could you not tell me?

"Dana, what the hell are you doing?" Roseanne whispers, sounding as
mortified as I feel. I suppose she was in the dark as well.

"I want you to give me the injection," Scully intones again.

"But you...oh my God, Dana. You...why didn't you tell me?"

I'm glad Roseanne is capable of asking these questions because I
seem to have lost the power of speech altogether.

"I didn't want you to worry," she answers. As if this explanation
will suffice for either of us.

"Does Alex know?" Roseanne asks, and I feel like slapping her for
giving voice to my worst fears. For making me feel a sickening
jealousy when all I should be concerned with is Scully's health.
Could she share this with him? With him and no one else?

"Just give me the damn injection!"

She slams her arm down emphatically, rattling the table. Roseanne
and I exchange another nervous glance. The excitement I could barely
manage to contain just five minutes ago has transformed itself into
absolute terror.

"Scully, are...are you sure? There could be side effects. I mean, we
don't really know what this is gonna do."

"Side effects? Mulder..."

I look at her bloodshot eyes and sunken cheeks and realize that what
I said earlier applies just as much to her as anyone else. Whatever
side effects there may be, they can't be worse than dying of cancer.

I swallow a mouthful of bile and reach for her arm. With shaking
hands, I plunge the needle into her flesh and share my blood with her.

xxxxxxx

Metal. It was everywhere. Shiny, silver sheet-metal. The floors, the
walls, the ceiling. It was like running through a tin can. The
bastards just loved metal. He could see himself reflected in every
direction. Sweaty, bloody, gripped with a lunatic desperation.

They were losing. Lost. Devastated.

Even with the extra troops, sent by the old Brit to help them out,
there simply weren't enough of them. There could never be enough.

He'd seen so many die in his lifetime. Should have been able to
stand the sight but couldn't. Not when they were his men. Not when
this was his fault.

So he ran. For his life and theirs. To give their deaths a meaning.
He ran through the cold, inhuman hallways, through the stench of
smoke and death, over piles of fallen bodies. He would find what they
came for. He would find it if it killed him.

xxxxxx

Dead. Brittle and broken.

She held the ends between her fingers, watched her reflection in an
unfamiliar mirror tacked to an unfamiliar wall in an unfamiliar room.
Her new home. Her bags on the bed and floor, still packed even though
it had been two days already.

He usually trimmed it for her. Straight lines all across, an
incredibly steady hand. He loved to do it. To caress the fiery
strands and cut away the fragile, splitting bottoms.

Her eyes traveled from the tips of her fingernails down, over her
palms and the white expanse of her arm. Her veins. A bandage just
below the underside of her elbow. White gauze to cover the puncture
wound left behind by the needle that gave her new life. New hope.

But what hope was there for her when he would never want to touch
her hair again?

Another wave of nausea. The third since she'd gotten the injection.
Side effects already?

Cold steel blades and a heavy black handle, resting on the dressing
table in front of her. She ran her fingers tentatively over the sharp
metal, wrapped them around the base.

Perhaps she could do it herself. Perhaps she didn't need anything
from him anymore. Perhaps a part of her new life would have to be
letting go. Letting it all go.

She brought the blades to her hair and started cutting.

xxxxxxx

Sharp needle, steel blade to the back of the neck. Green fluid
oozing from the wound as the man falls to the ground in the doorway.
The third guard he has had to kill to get to this room.

Always, he remembers this as an easy task. Forgot again how much
strength and precision, how much intensity is required. They don't
die easily.

Already exhausted from doing this so many times, he stepped over the
fallen body, only mildly distracted by the way the blood scorched a
hole in the floor.

It was the room, the one that had been described to him so many
times. It was all here. Everything. Everything and nothing. A cure
that had already been discovered and a weapon that would be useless
if they didn't get out of here alive.

Cold, so cold he could see his own breath. The room, bigger than
he'd been told. Huge. Endless. Equipment covered in frost and glass
cabinets filled with mysterious substances of varying color and size.
Labels in a language he never learned to read. How was he supposed to
find it?

He pulled the tattered piece of paper out of his pocket,
descriptions and codes that were supposed to lead him to it. Caught a
glimpse of his watch, the time. It was almost time. The whole place
would be going up in flames in a matter of minutes.

Flashes of panic, white-hot and sickening. If only she were here.
She could help him figure this out quickly, calmly.

No time to think of her either. Another one of his bridges, burned
beyond recognition.

Palms pressed against the glass, the handle not turning, plastic fist

through glass in desperation, releasing who knows what into the air
he was breathing. Pulling vials and jars frantically, dropping some
onto the floor. Not this one. Not that one. All of them cold as ice,
burning his skin.

Footsteps behind him.

Blond hair and icy smile. She would help him. Someone had to.

She held up a paper-thin, plastic card. Walked calmly towards one of
the cabinets and slid the key through, gaining entry.

She knew. Right away, she knew which cabinet held the weapon. Rows
of small tubes filled with a reddish, thick-looking fluid. Not enough
in itself but mixed with what they already had, it would be. It was
the substance they needed, the missing link. The one thing in the
universe that might make all the loss worthwhile. That might redeem
him.

How did she know?

How did she know so quickly?

Realization crept into his consciousness as he approached her. But
too late. She was already pointing a gun at him.

xxxxxx

She'd cut too much. Almost to her shoulders, and uneven. No more
straight lines.

She looked ridiculous, like a child who'd had a mishap with a pair
of scissors. Too much hair, too thick and long to cut precisely. How
did he do it?

She tried to shorten the longer patches to match the shorter ones
but only succeeded in shortening them too much.

Frustrated, she slammed the scissors down on the table. Tears
clouding her vision for a moment. A blessing really. Couldn't bear to
look at herself any longer.

But, no. To cry again would be to admit defeat. The reaction had
been understandable at first. Natural. But now, pathetic.

Rubbing her fists against her eyelids, an attempt to banish her
weakness. She could do this. Had to. Such a simple task. Surely she
couldn't have become so dependent.

Deep breath and the metal in her hand again. No reason to try and
maintain her appearance anymore. She'd already destroyed the cut.
Better to be different, new.

She brought her hand up to her chin, captured a chunk of hair
between her fingers, and started to create.

xxxxxx

He'd been here before.

Not physically here, but internally, emotionally. This was too
familiar to be surprising.

She'd done it to him again. He was her fool. Again. The difference,
significant. This time she was taking the entire world down with him.

Who was she working for this time? The smoking bastard? The
colonists? Rebels? Or was she only out for her owseless now. Even to
her.

Hatred. That was her only reason. For whatever alliance she might
have formed or what she might hope to gain from this. It didn't
matter. She was filled with hatred and resentment. That was the true
motivating factor behind this.

She wanted him to suffer. It was as simple as that. Or as complicated.

He wondered if her father was a part of this betrayal. If this had
all been an elaborate trap, setting him up like a hunted animal.

Either way, she was probably protected.

Time. He had so little time. There was no way to salvage the bio-
weapon, no way to save any of his men. No time. Getting himself out
of the building had to be his only priority.

She stood in the doorway, armed to the teeth. Blocking him. Mocking
him.

He told her that the place was set to explode, that they would both
die here together if she didn't let him pass. Strangely enough, that
seemed to be her plan.

He wondered briefly if he deserved this.

Probably.

But still, he wasn't willing to give up. Even now when there was
nothing left.

Overpowering her turned out to be relatively easy. He was halfway
out the door when he heard her call to him from where he'd shoved her
on the floor. He was holding her gun.

"You're going to lose everything, Alex."

He turned to her and said, "I already have, Marita. I already have."

And then he shot her dead.

xxxxxx

New style, but old as well. Familiar. Too familiar.

She'd done a decent job this time. Chin length bob. No frills. A
little more curly than she'd kept it but it was the same, more or
less. Scully's hair.

It was still wrong.

She needed something else. Something even simpler, colder, more
harsh. Straight lines.

It would make her far less attractive. She found that this thought
was actually a motivating force.

She moved the blades a little higher, then higher still. She cut a
line just above her ear. Shorter than it had ever been.

When she was done, she barely recognized the woman in the mirror.
There was a pile of hair, covering her feet and the floor surrounding
her.

She smiled.

xxxxxx

end chapter fourteen

TITLE: World Without End: Book Two (15/18)

AUTHOR: Rachel Anton

E-MAIL: RAnton1013@aol.com

xxxxxx

This road had a name. Back when it was a major interstate highway
and not a path of decomposing rubble.

They don't know that it still exists. There aren't any checkpoints
on it, no signs of colonization at all. Other than the fact that when
I look out the window, all I see is a deep, black, emptiness. It's a
secret road.

But it hasn't always been this way. Once upon a time it carried
vacationing families, returning college students, grandma and grandpa
and their clunky old motor home. It had tolls and exits with little
blue signs to let those folks know that there was another Stucky's
coming up soon, another Texaco.

I used to take this road. From Boston University to my father's
house in Connecticut. Not often. But sometimes.

What the hell was it called?

I look through the passenger side window and out into the night,
searching in vain for a remnant, a clue. Bryan drives on
relentlessly. We stopped to camp on the way here, but we're going
straight through to get back home. Three nights. There's enough of us
left to take shifts. Ten. Ten people. Two trucks.

God, there is nothing out there. What the hell was the name of this
stupid road?

"Bryan, what was this road called?"

He drums his fingers against the steering wheel and then shrugs.

"I dunno, Boss. Don't remember."

I wonder if anyone else remembers. I glance towards the back of the
truck, but the three men traveling with us are sleeping. Three men.
Five in this truck and five in the other. We left with over one
hundred. Almost one fifth of our population.

Why can't I remember? Was it a number? 84? 91?

Dammit.

My eyes squeeze shut in frustration, but when I feel tears building
behind the lids, I open them quickly. It's just a stupid road.
Nothing to cry about.

I wish we had some music. A tape player or even a radio station that
plays something other than news reports that aren't true, tailor-made
to appease the drones in their servitude. It's so damn quiet out
here. So dark.

I wish they'd talk to me. I wonder if they're even sleeping or if
they're just pretending so that they don't have to deal with the
awkwardness, the unease of looking at their leader and wanting to
kill him. I wonder if Bryan feels it too.

He hasn't been saying much to me either, but he's a pretty quiet
person in general. Does he hate me the way the others do now? Will he
defend me when we get back and my lynching party begins to form?

I wish that we didn't have to go back, that we could just keep
driving until we fall off the face of the Earth. Or into the ocean
maybe.

But at the same time, I can't get home fast enough. Can't help but
wonder if I'll be able to stand the next two days of waiting to get
back. To her. To my love, my life.

Will she still be there, or has she given up? Have I lost her
forever? Oh, devotchka, what have I done? To you, to myself, to all
of us.

Let's see. What have I done? Alienated the only person in the world
who gives a shit about me, the only person I've ever loved. Probably
sent her into the arms of another man, if she wasn't there already.
Led a fifth of our population to their deaths. Murdered a woman out
of pure spite. Ended a perfectly good symbiotic relationship with the
one group that has been able to help us.

All in a day's work I suppose.

"Do you think it was a number?" I ask out of the silence. Bryan nods
slowly.

"Yeah...yeah, I think it might have been."

78? 101?

Shit.

I wonder if she'll forgive me. For anything. Even one thing would be
a blessing.

I wish there was some way for me to contact her. Cell phones would
be nice. Or maybe psychic messages. A singing telegram. I'd be
willing to try anything if it meant being able to tell her that I'm
sorry. That I love her. That I'm the biggest fuckup who ever lived
but if she'd take me back, I'd do the best I possibly could for her.
That even if she would be happier with Mulder, I still want her. I
still want her.

I close my eyes again, hoping for sleep to overcome me, but this
time I see Marita's cold, dead eyes behind my lids. When I open my
eyes, I feel her behind me and turn around quickly in my seat.

Will she haunt me forever?

Will she come to me in dreams? I'm just waiting for the first
nightmare where Dana's body crumples to the floor instead of Marita's.

It might as well have been Dana. Might as well.

God, two more days. I don't know if I can stand it. I wish I could
remember the way she smells. I lost it to the stench of burning
bodies.

"What the hell is the name of this stupid road?"

Bryan looks over at me with some concern. My eyes are tearing again.
I turn away from him and stare out the window.

He clears his throat and drives on.

The night seems to grow even darker.

"It's not that bad, Boss," he says after several moments of silence.
And I laugh. And eventually, so does he.

Not that bad. Could it be any worse?

xxxxxx

My blood is flowing through her veins. Funny how the intimacy of
that gesture has only just occurred to me, three days after the fact.
I suppose I've been too worried, too sick to my stomach and ravaged
by sleeplessness, to really think about much at all.

But now, tonight, my head is slowly clearing. It's finally warm
enough for me to run outside at night without dressing like an
Eskimo. I can't even see my breath tonight. And the sky is so clear,
it's really quite beautiful.

But I can't enjoy it. Not really.

I haven't seen her since we gave her the injection. We decided it
was best not to make any kind of announcement until we knew for sure
that the cure was working, and we won't know that for at least a few
more days. It's too soon to do any kind of bloodwork on her, so there
hasn't really been anything for us to do at the lab. No reason to see
each other.

No reason for me to ask her if she's all right.

Of course, if I had any balls, I'd just go right up to her door and
knock. But that would mean seeing the place she lives, the room she
shares with...him. I don't know if I could stand it. And it would
also mean talking to her which, frankly, scares me to death right now.

I'm just not sure how I would react to another "I'm fine, Mulder".
And I know that no matter how terrible she looks, how dreadful she is
feeling, that's the reaction I would get.

I'm afraid I'd smack her. Or kiss her. And I don't even know which
would be worse.

My running path ends near the cafeteria. There are still a few
lights on inside, even though it must be after midnight. I could go
for a glass of water and maybe some fruit.

Hell, who am I kidding? I could go for a fucking quarter pounder
with cheese and extra large fries from McDonald's right now.

But water and fruit will have to suffice.

I stretch for a minute then head inside. There's only one other
person here besides the guys I hear cleaning in the kitchen. For a
minute I don't recognize her.

She's sitting at a table that could probably seat twenty, next to a
window that she is staring out of intently. A cup of coffee sits in
front of her, untouched. Ret is under the table, curled up at her
feet. She has no hair.

Well, that's not entirely accurate. She's not bald. But in contrast
to her formerly waist-length style, this new, short cut has the same
effect.

She looks different. Very very different. But a little better than
last time I saw her. A little healthier. Not much, but a little.

I briefly consider leaving, but that seems so overtly cowardly. I've
got to talk to her. Or at least try.

She doesn't really look like she feels like talking though. Maybe I
should just go. She hasn't seen me yet.

Shit. This is stupid.

I approach her quietly and sit down across from her. She doesn't
look at me, but she obviously knows I'm here. Or that someone is.

"Think it'll storm tonight?" she asks.

"I...I dunno," I respond with my usual cleverness. "Does it do that
a lot in the spring here?"

She shrugs and continues staring out the window. A couple of lights
go out, and the sounds of water running and plates clanking continue
to echo from the kitchen.

"It's getting pretty warm, huh?" I continue the enthralling weather
discussion. She nods.

"S'that why you cut your hair?"

She finally looks up at me. Our eyes meet for a minute before she
glances at her cup.

"Do you want some coffee? I'm sure they've still got some."

"No, no thanks. It looks nice."

"The coffee?"

"Your hair."

She looks up at me again and smiles faintly.

"Th-thanks. Thanks."

It really does, now that I look at her. Doesn't distract from her
face the way the other style did. She looks a little older, a little
harsher. But still beautiful.

"I'm kind of surprised to see you here," I tell her. "Usually I'm
the only person awake at this hour."

"Well, Ret needed to be walked and I...I didn't wanna be inside."

I nod. She takes a sip of her coffee, scowls.

"Cold?"

"Sort of."

The question I dread asking seems to be making itself unavoidable. I
can't sit here staring at her for another minute without knowing.

"How are you feeling, Scully?"

"I'm...getting better."

"Yeah?"

"I think so. A little nauseous but...I think it's working."

Relief washes over me. She's not going to die. And she didn't say
the word "fine" even once.

I look past her a bit and notice a small, mustached and aproned man
standing in the kitchen doorway with his hands on his hips. He looks
a bit irate.

"Scully, I'm getting a very definite vibe from our host over there."

She turns her head around and waves, rising to her feet.

"G'night, Louis. Thanks for the coffee."

The man nods and waves happily, bidding us good-night. I stand up
too, taking Scully's cue.

"Night, Mulder. Come on, Ret."

She starts heading for the door, Ret following closely at her heels.

"You want me to walk you back to your place?"

She spins on her heel and stares at me, startled, almost frightened.

"No! No...no, I...no."

"Are you sure? It's kind of late."

She sounded pretty damn sure, Mulder.

What the hell am I doing?

"No, that's okay. I think I might walk around some more anyway.
Night."

She turns around and starts walking again. I should let her go. I
have to let her go. Why can't I let her go?

"Well, wait. Where are you gonna go?"

I start walking next to her, not daring to look at what must, by
this point, be a very irritated look on her face.

"I, I dunno. Maybe to the barn to see the animals. Maybe the pool. I
dunno, Mulder."

I cringe involuntarily at the word pool, but continue relentlessly.

"That sounds nice. Why don't you let me come with you?"

"I'll be fine. Ret's with me."

She pauses and runs her hand through what's left of her hair. Her
left hand. That damned ring reflects the fluorescent light right into
my eyes.

"You don't need to take care of me, Mulder."

"I know, I know that," I answer, a little bit too quickly perhaps.
"I just don't wanna be inside much myself. I thought we could walk
together."

She chews on her lip and continues to pointedly avoid making eye
contact as she considers this suggestion. Am I making her
uncomfortable? Does my behavior seem inappropriate?

"Um...I suppose, I suppose that would be all right," she finally
responds.

We walk out into the night together.

We wander around for a long time, not speaking. I just don't know
what to say. I feel like my insides are about to jump through my skin.

Still, it's not an uncomfortable silence. It's very peaceful
actually. Very nice.

Eventually we end up in front of one of the dorms. She stops walking.

"I'm gonna bring Ret inside. I'll be right back."

She unlocks the front door of the building and disappears inside
with the dog before I have a chance to ask any questions. Like, why
is she dropping Ret off here instead of her place?

Unless...

By the time she comes back out I've just about got myself convinced.
For whatever reason, she isn't living with him anymore.

She stands in front of me with a completely enigmatic expression and
a sweater she wasn't wearing before she went in there. She folds her
arms across her chest.

She's not wearing the ring anymore.

And then she says something that causes my entire universe to spin
on its axis.

"Mulder, do you think we could go back to your place?"

xxxxxx

end chapter 15

TITLE: World Without End: Book Two (16/18)

AUTHOR: Rachel Anton

E-MAIL: RAnton1013@aol.com

xxxxxx

The Buddhists believed that there is no real self. That what we are
as human beings changes so vastly, so frequently, that there is
nothing inherent inside of us that remains throughout our lives.
Nothing to mark us as the same person at thirty as we were at six.
Every day is another reincarnation.

Being raised as a Catholic, I've always had problems with this
concept. No self means no soul, and no soul means...well, something
bad, that's for sure.

But there are no Catholics anymore. No Buddhists either. No
organized religions at all. People might still hold onto their faith,
but they keep it hidden now. Private.

I started my life as Dana Katherine Scully. Bright if somewhat
ordinary girl. A tomboy who decided to join the FBI and kick some
butt.

One day Dana Katherine met a man named Fox Mulder. And then she
turned into Scully. A quiet, hard and lonely woman. Desperately in
love, but too repressed and afraid to do anything about it. Fighting
a losing battle with forces unknown.

Then they came and took Scully away. Turned her into twenty-four-a
slave with no thoughts, no feelings of her own. She had flashes,
brief reminders of her former life, but essentially her only purpose
was to serve.

Alex found twenty-four and he turned her into his Devotchka.
Resistance fighter, lover, doctor. A new woman, rebuilt from the
ashes.

But since he left, Devotchka has been changing again. Turning into
someone else. A new self. New blood, new hair, new emptiness.

There is less inside me right now that is recognizable than there
was yesterday. And yesterday I was a completely different person than
I had been two days ago.

I don't know who I am today, but three days ago I most certainly
would not have asked Mulder to take me to his room in the middle of
the night. But nevertheless, here we are.

He works the lock on his door, trembling like a frightened rabbit. I
am not afraid. I feel so calm it's almost disturbing. Eerie.

I should be scared. Nervous. Careful, at the very least.

"Has anyone else moved onto this hall?" I ask as he continues
turning the key back and forth, not making any progress in the door
opening project.

"Uh..no, no. Just the one above."

"Right above your room? Or down the hall more?"

He stops moving and stares at me for a second. I laugh at myself for
the paranoia.

"Never mind. It's not important."

"I think they're down the hall," he tells me quickly and then adds,
"Way down."

I can't help but smile at his exuberance.

Finally the door pops open and he steps inside. I follow him and
close it behind me, lock it. He fumbles around for the light switch
on the wall but I catch his hand.

"Don't. There's enough light coming from the moon."

He's got a big window next to his bed and the curtain is pulled
back. The moon is full and it does light the room. Enough for me to
realize how small the place is. Just room enough for a small dresser,
closet and...the bed of course.

I've seen it before. I'm the one who brought him here. I suppose I
just wasn't thinking about it.

"Well, I'd offer you a chair..."

We both chuckle and I sit down on the bed, my back against the
window and my legs dangling off the side.

"I'm sorry, Mulder."

"Sorry for what?"

"For...this," I make a broad gesture with my hands.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for," he says quietly and sits
down next to me. "I don't need anything more than this."

"I should see what I can do about getting you another place, though.
Really, I should've done that a long time ago."

"No, Scully, most of the other rooms I've seen are like this. It's
really okay."

My room is bigger. Much, much bigger. But it's not my room anymore,
so I suppose I've got nothing to feel guilty about.

"I'm hardly ever here anyway," he tells me, and that makes me wonder.

"Where do you go, Mulder? I usually only see you in the lab."

"Oh, I dunno, I just poke around."

"Scouring for more tapes to listen to?"

He smiles at the memory of that day and so do I, even though it
reminds me. That was the day I really lost him...

"Sometimes."

"Make any friends?"

"Oh yeah, you know me. The social debutante."

I laugh a bit and then frown at the pang of sadness I feel.

"I miss you, Mulder."

"I...I miss you too, Scully. A lot."

"I mean I miss...us. You know?"

"I know. Believe me. I know."

I hear him take a deep breath and let it out slowly. He seems closer
to me than he did when he first sat down.

"Can I confess something to you, Mulder?"

"Of course."

"Sometimes I wish that things hadn't turned out this way. Sometimes
I wish...I wish so very hard that it would all go away and that I
could have back what I had."

"I think everybody feels that way sometimes. I feel that way almost
all the time."

How do you stand it, Mulder? How will I?

"I feel that way right now, Mulder."

I shift a bit, turning myself towards him so that I can see his
face, and the bed creaks noisily underneath me.

"Well, you're already halfway there." He points towards my hair with
a small grin.

"Yes, I suppose."

"It looks great. Really."

"I'm sorry, Mulder. We shouldn't have...not..."

"Not your fault."

"Yes, yes it is. I should have said..."

"No, Scully, I knew. I knew."

"Why not, Mulder? Why were we so stupid?"

I know the answer to that already though. Fear. Just fear.

Is he moving even closer or is that me?

"I dunno, Scully. But even if we had, we'd still be in the same
situation right now."

"Mulder, let's...let's forget about right now. Please."

"Forget?"

My hand moves, seemingly of its own volition, towards his face. I
find myself stroking his cheek, running my fingers through his hair.
It looks silver in the moonlight.

"Help me forget, Mulder. Please."

xxxxxx

Forget to remember, Scully? Or forget to forget?

"Scully..."

"You know, Skinner's going to have your ass, Mulder. You were
supposed to have those reports to him over a month ago."

She whispers these words quietly, seductively, close to my mouth.

It makes me sad to hear Skinner's name. I've never been able to find
out what became of our old boss and friend. I still hold out the hope
that he is alive somewhere, thriving, fighting...

But that's not a world I'm supposed to be thinking about right now.

This is weird.

But I don't care. I just don't care. I can play along with this game
if that's what it's going to take.

"Re...uhm, reports? Scully, you can't, you can't put the truth in a
neat little report."

"The truth? The truth is what you want it to be, isn't it Mulder?"

She's kissing my chin.

There should be a voice in my head telling me that this is not
right. But there isn't. I suppose sometimes fate conspires to bring
you to a certain point and you've got no choice but to go with it.
Sometimes you've got to take the chances you are given, the doors of
opportunity that open quickly and snap shut even quicker.

Sometimes desperate men make desperate excuses.

"What's it gonna take for you to believe, Scully?" I try to whisper,
but it comes out more like a high-pitched squeal. She doesn't seem to
mind.

"Proof, Mulder. You know that."

Her tongue circles my ear and I shudder involuntarily. I don't know
how I'm going to possibly be able to make this last.

"All you're giving me is speculation."

I close my eyes and she kisses the lids with her gentle, sweet lips.

"You were there, Scully. You saw the same thing I saw. How can you
still deny it?"

Behind my eyes, this room is no longer what it is. It is another
hotel room in another town, on another case. And Scully is sitting on
the hotel bed with me, telling me that I'm delusional, challenging me
with her expression.

"I saw something. I'm not going to just assume it's
extraterrestrial. I saw lights, that's all."

She nips at my nose. I laugh nervously and clutch my blanket for
dear life.

"It could have been an experimental aircraft," she mutters into the
crook of my neck.

"Maybe it was the Goodyear Blimp."

She chuckles and the sound vibrates against my skin. Pulses against
my veins. Her fingers tangle in my hair and she starts sucking on my
Adam's apple. I open my eyes again and the first thing I see is red.

"Scully..."

"Yes?"

"It's against Bureau policy for FBI agents to fraternize in hotel
rooms this way."

"Well then, we'll have to keep this meeting classified, won't we?
And refuse to answer questions about it if we're asked."

"Are you sure you wanna risk your job for this?"

She answers me by running her tongue up my neck and then slipping it
between my lips. I grab the back of her head and pull her against me,
surrendering all hope of common sense.

We kiss slowly, lingering, exploring. All those years of imagining
what this would be like, all the different fantasies I've had, and I
never once pictured it like this. Why would I?

But still, it is wonderful. It is beautiful.

This is what I was missing for all those years. This is the taste
and the feel that I ran from like a startled rabbit.

She is the most amazing thing I have ever known.

She starts unbuttoning my shirt with cool, steady hands. I am
shaking like a leaf. No, this is definitely not how I'd imagined this.

But that doesn't matter anymore.

For once, for tonight, I can only think of the here and now. Scully
may be trying to forget the present. I will try to forget the past
and the future.

This moment, this gift, this is the reason for everything that has
happened. This gives purpose to all of my mistakes.

We lie down together on the bed, facing each other, slowly removing
each other's clothing. When we are finally completely exposed to each
other we begin touching, tasting, testing for sensitivity.

It feels good when she touches me. Physically good. But that is
really a secondary concern. The most important thing is that I am
touching her. Finally.

When I roll over on top of her she sighs, and the sound gives me
hope. Hope that there is beauty and love left in this world. Hope
that after tonight, our first and last together, we will still have
something special. Something truly unique.

"I wanna make love to you, Scully," I whisper.

She murmurs her assent into my shoulder.

I love her more than life. More than any word or action could ever
express. And in this moment, on this night, she is mine.

I will never be able to thank her enough for this.

I sink into her with ease, achingly slowly. She moans softly and
runs her fingers down my back.

Before I can move, I have to tell her. She has to hear it from me,
finally.

"I love you, Scully."

xxxxxx

"I love you, too."

Effortless. So simple. Why is it so much easier to say when it means
goodbye?

I feel a wracking sob building in my chest. All the lost
opportunities, chances I've had to say those words. To Mulder. To
Alex. Even to my mother. How could I not have realized how good it
would feel to just say it already?

I swallow it down, but I can't stop the tears from trickling out of
the corners of my eyes as Mulder moves inside of me.

Mulder. Mulder is making love to me. And it's just the way I always
knew it would be. He is so gentle, so full of his own brand of
worship, it's almost heartbreaking.

So many times, we have come so close to this moment. So many times,
I almost reached out to touch him, to tell him.

I feel his mouth on my face and realize that he is trying to kiss
away my tears.

"Don't cry, Scully. Don't be sorry."

"Not sorry."

At least I don't think that I'm sorry.

But as my body begins responding to Mulder's, building slowly to
climax, I feel a sudden sense of panic. And guilt. Would I feel
guilty if this didn't feel good? Does it not count as sex if you
don't have an orgasm? What kind of twisted morality is that?

Or is it just that deep down inside, I was hoping this would be a
horrible experience? That when it was over, my situation would be
more clear cut?

Is it really a betrayal if you've been essentially discarded by the
person you're cheating on? Is it even cheating? I suppose that it's
not, technically. And for some reason that makes it even worse.

God, I miss him.

But these are ridiculous questions. The point is that I am making
love to Mulder and it feels good. Alex should be the furthest thing
from my mind. The fact that making love to Alex makes me feel free
and alive and that this experience with Mulder is tinged with death
and loss shouldn't even be an issue. Should it?

Mulder moans into my shoulder and I feel him shuddering, close to
his own completion. I reach around and grab his backside, pulling him
closer to me, deeper inside of me, and rub myself against him. My
orgasm is slow and sweet and when I come, my tongue is in his mouth.

He follows shortly after, whimpering out my name and another
declaration of love.

Yes, it is good.

Why do I wish that it hadn't been?

xxxxxx

This is the last time I will ever kiss Scully. This is our goodbye.
And our hello.

I will hold her now, curled against my chest, as she purrs happily
in a post-coital stupor. But she will leave and she will not be
coming back. It's only a matter of when. And how.

Will she give me an entire night? Or will she leave within the hour?
Maybe she'll fall asleep and wake up in my arms.

Probably not.

I almost wish that I could delude myself into thinking I could
change this situation. If I were a different kind of person, perhaps
I could change it. Perhaps I could beg and guilt her into staying
with me for longer than just this night, this moment. Maybe, once
upon a time, I would have done just that. But I can't bring myself to
that level of idiocy. Not after everything we've been through. To
have a shell of a relationship would only cheapen what we've
experienced together.

So I will hold her now because I can. And when she says that she has
to leave, I will let her. And I will know that we've had our moment
of release, of communion. And that we will move on. We will have to.

I only hope that this night will not be something she looks back on
with sorrow. I will hold it in my heart forever.

xxxxxx

end chapter 16

TITLE: World Without End: Book Two (17/18)

AUTHOR: Rachel Anton

E-MAIL: RAnton1013@aol.com

xxxxxx

I was wrong. She did spend the night. She stayed with me until the
sun came up. I think she even fell asleep for a few minutes. But as
soon as the light started pouring in through the window, she was
wriggling out of my arms and pulling on her clothes. I almost asked
her if she was going to turn into a pumpkin if she didn't get home
before six A.M., but thought better of it.

Once she'd gotten herself ready to leave, she turned back to me with
a sad, apologetic little smile. I was still lying there, prone and
naked, emotional wounds gaping, and she leaned over me and planted a
chaste kiss on my cheek.

I think there was a thank you in that kiss. And some kind of regret
over having to leave. But she didn't say anything in actual words
before she walked out the door. And we haven't spoken since then.
It's been almost two days.

Tonight I will see her again. When we first injected her with the
serum, we decided to run the tests to determine whether or not the
cure worked as soon as it was viable to do so, and that turned out to
be this evening, at eight o'clock. It's seven-forty-five.

Roseanne and I are already at the lab, waiting nervously for her
arrival. Well, I'm nervous, anyway. Roseanne looks more tired than
anything else.

I think my anxiety stems more from uncertainty about Scully's health
than about the state of our relationship. I think that I know what to
expect now where the latter is concerned. I might wish that it didn't
have to be so, but wishing cannot change the reality I have come to
accept over the past couple of days.

The reality is that Scully is not the same person I used to know.
Although I will always love her, she is not the person I fell in love
with. And she's not the person who fell in love with me. I miss that
person. I miss her more than anything else I've lost from my old
life, and I wish that I hadn't been forced to say good-bye to her two
nights ago.

Hell, who am I kidding? I said good-bye to her six years ago. The
person I made love to, the person who I shared a fantasy with, an
indulgence, is also not the person I used to know. She was just
pretending to be. And it doesn't take a rocket scientist, or even a
trained psychologist, to realize that if the person you're sleeping
with has to pretend to be somebody else in order to go through with
the whole thing, your potential for future encounters is pretty
limited.

Yes, it makes me sad. Yes, it makes me bitter. Yes, I have
considered taking a scalpel to my throat on more than one occasion
this weekend. But the longing, the desperate aching for her, it's not
as bad as it was before. It's less of a rampant desire for a person
who remains forever out of reach and more of a nostalgia, a mourning
for a lost love.

And I do know that no matter what there is to say about our night
together, the person she is now is still a person who loves me. That
has remained, although it's slightly mutated.

"Test tube for your thoughts?"

I stop staring blankly at my fingers, and look up to see Roseanne
standing over me holding a plastic, Tupperware-like thing with a
bunch of dirty lab equipment in it.

Before I can form an appropriately cagey response, Scully makes her
grand entrance. She looks only slightly better than I feel. But not
as bad as she did the last time I saw her.

Unwillingly, my eyes dart immediately down to her finger before she
even opens her mouth. She's wearing it again. I'm not surprised.

When she does begin to speak, it's all business. It's all about
tests and blood and her good old science. And that's fine. I don't
think I could stand anything else from her right now. Especially not
in front of another person.

But I will be able to, eventually. Sometime soon, I will be able to
be her friend again. I know that because when she stands next to me,
when she looks me in the eye and smiles, I don't feel the typical
jilted lover response. I don't want to scratch her eyes out of their
sockets or tear her heart out and stomp on it. I only want to start
the tests so that we know for sure that she is getting better. And so
we do.

And three hours later, I know two things. First, and most
importantly, she is getting better. There are no traces of the
cancerous cells left in her blood. And secondly, I know that Scully
and I can still work together reasonably well and with minimal
discomfort. In fact, in some ways, I feel more comfortable with her
than I did before.

Maybe we'll be okay. Maybe I won't die without her. Maybe.

xxxxxx

I remember a time, not so long ago, although it feels like a
lifetime, when I returned to her feeling proud. I walked through this
very door, wounded and bloody but smiling, and staggered my way into
the lab. And I showed her what I had done, what I'd accomplished.
Then I collapsed.

She took care of me then, tended to my broken body. What will she
say now when it's my spirit that is mangled?


I have nothing to show her this time. No victory trophies, no fancy
injuries to "ooh" and "ahh" over, nothing but a story of devastating
loss. And my regret. My deep fear that the way I left things will
forever color the way she looks at me, the way she feels.

It's dark out now but not so late that she'd be asleep. Thankfully,
I've managed to sneak over here under the cover of night without
being seen. There weren't enough of us coming back this time to
warrant a welcoming party. I don't think anyone even noticed the two
pathetically empty trucks pulling into the parking lot. Still, it's
only a matter of time before the few men who've returned start
talking. I need to get to her before anyone else does. Not that I'm
going to tell her lies about what happened. I want to tell her
everything, if she'll let me. But I need for her to hear it from me.

When I find her, she is not alone. Roseanne is sitting at a desk,
writing something, and Mulder...Mulder is there, standing next to
her, talking to her. All at once I remember why I threw her out in
the first place and everything that I was afraid of hits me in the
gut like a brick. I was right. She is sleeping with him. She is.

But then she looks up and sees me standing there in the doorway and
our eyes lock tightly and no...no she isn't. No.

I peripherally sense Roseanne walking towards me, touching my
shoulder, asking if I'm "all right?" I can't answer her though. I can
barely even see her. All I see is Dana, her body frozen in place like
a wind-up doll that's just wound down, but her eyes are traveling
over me. Telling me things.

And then Roseanne is leaving, the rubber of her shoes squeaking on
the tiled floor, but Mulder stays. He looks back and forth between
us, nervous and questioning, guarding her like her fucking dog does.

"It's okay, Mulder," she whispers, her lips barely moving. He purses
his lips and glowers at me but he does start walking. As he passes
me, I think he mutters something derisive under his breath, but I
don't really hear it.

Finally the door shuts behind me and we're alone.

The momentum that carried me back home kicks in again and I find
myself being pulled across the room towards her. When I'm standing
just a few inches away from her she also asks, "Are you all right?"

I start to nod, yes. Yes, I'm all right. But I'm not really. Not at
all. And soon I'm shaking my head no and before I can even consider
my actions, I'm on my knees in front of her, grabbing at her legs
like a lost child who's finally found his mother in a shopping mall.

She's still not moving. She feels stiff and cold. Resistant and
afraid.

"Dana...oh God, Dana. I'm so sorry. So, so sorry. Oh, God."

My voice sounds ragged and broken, even to my own ears. I sound
pitiful. I am pitiful. And she does take pity on me. After a few
moment's hesitation, I feel her hands in my hair, slowly stroking,
and I don't think I've ever experienced anything as comforting as
this.

"Sorry, m'sorry...so sorry," I repeat endlessly. There is so much
more that I want to say, but these are the only words I seem capable
of forming at the moment.

She kneels down in front of me and caresses my cheeks with her
fingers.

"It's okay. Alex, it's okay."

"No, no it's not. It's not okay. I was stupid. Stupid and wrong and
I do trust you, Dana. I do. I was just so scared, I was so...I
thought you were gonna leave me and I was scared so I just...I
thought...God, I'm so sorry..."

"Alex, shh, it's okay."

She plants a kiss on my cheek and it should be enough to quiet the
stream of incomprehensible nonsense that has started to come from my
mouth. But it's not. There's just too much I need to get out.

"No, no, Dana. I could have died. I almost died and all I could
think was that if I had died those would have been the last things I
said to you and they were so wrong and so stupid and I just couldn't
stand that and if...I don't want you to be unhappy, but if you're
unhappy, you know, I can change. I can. I can change if it'll make
you happy."

"No, no, Alex. God. Don't change. Please. Don't."

She takes my face in her hands and moves her mouth dangerously close
to mine.

"Don't."

"I screwed up really bad, baby," I whisper against her lips.

"It's okay. It's okay."

She kisses me. Or I kiss her. Somehow we are kissing. And shaking,
oh God, she is shaking as much as I am.

There is more, so much more that I need to tell her. But even more
than that, I just need her. I need to feel her, to bury myself inside
of her so deep that I might never find the way out.

I kiss her with that need and I think that she feels it too. She's
moaning and digging her nails into my scalp and we're both breathing
way too fast. Too, too fast.

"Alex...Alex," she sighs and then starts pulling at the buttons of
my shirt with a sound that makes me think of a dying animal.
Something like a sob or a squeal or a...God, does it even matter?
She's desperate for me. She still wants me.

I pull her body tightly against mine and blaze a trail down her neck
with my tongue. She wriggles and gasps in my embrace, so responsive
to the slightest touch that it boggles the mind. She doesn't just
want me. She wants me more than she ever has before.

"Missed you, devotchka. So much."

"Mmoh God. Me too. Me too."

She runs her hands over my chest, grabbing and scratching greedily,
and then down and around to my ass, my thighs. My head drops into the
crook of her neck and for a moment I'm still, panting and selfishly
basking in the sensation of having her touch me everywhere.

But soon the temptation of her skin calls to me and I start pulling
at her shirt, untucking it from her jeans and reaching my hand
underneath. Her stomach is quivering and hot. Thank you God, she's
not wearing a bra. Her nipples are gloriously hard and when I run my
thumb over one of them, she practically screams.

I kiss her again, if you can even call it a kiss. It's more like a
frenetic knashing of teeth and tongues and lips. My hand is shaking
so hard that I'm amazed when I manage to get the fly of her pants
undone. She may have foregone a bra this evening but she's got a pair
of panties on and they are nothing but an obstacle at the moment.

I can't get them off quickly enough to suit my needs so I just
plunge my fingers under the waistband. She's already wet. So, so wet.
I slip two fingers inside her and caress her clit with my thumb.

"Oh my God," she croons, rocking against me with her eyes squeezed
shut. I feel her hands at my waist, struggling impatiently with my
jeans. I would help her, but my hand is otherwise occupied. Soon
enough, though, she manages to work her way in. Soon enough my cock
is in her hungry little hands and she's grabbing and pulling at me
clumsily. I'm afraid she might hurt me.

"Dana, Dana, I wa...wa..."

"God, just fuck me. Fuck me, Alex."

It suddenly occurs to me that we are, in fact, kneeling on the floor
of the lab, under the harsh glare of fluorescent lights, behind a
door that is closed, but not locked. I guess it's too late to worry
about that now.

I take my hand out from between her legs and pull her pants and
underwear down to her knees. We've encountered a familiar problem
here. Those damn boots. Ah, well. She knows now that I can do it
better than this. I don't need to impress her with my prowess this
time. I just need to be inside her. Now.

She turns around and bends over, offering me the easiest method of
entry at this point, and I take it.

Oh. Oh, God. Yes.

This is it. This is where I belong. This is who I am. How could I
have even considered anything else?

"Alexxx," she hisses, grinds into me, and then again. "Alex Alex
Alex," almost as if she were expecting someone else and is pleasantly
surprised to discover that yes, it is really me.

I don't even bother with trying to take it slow. Gentleness can come
later. Right now all that I can do is slam into her again and again,
grope around between her legs and hope that this feels half as good
to her as it does to me. Nothing. Nothing could ever be this good.

Sooner than I even expected I feel her tightening around me. Her
breath comes in short, hyper little pants and she grabs my hand and
presses it harder against her clit.

"Alex, Alex, I'm...oh..."

One more particularly deep, sharp thrust and she's crying out
wordlessly, her spasms pulling me even deeper still.

Then she's pulling my hand away, overstimulated, but still bucking
back into me. So close, so good. She is so good.

I reach around for something else to grab onto. For her hair. Her
hair.

Her hair is gone. Oh my God. Her hair.

"Whu...where...hay...hair?" I choke, confused and terrified.

"S'gone. M'sorry."

I still don't understand but it's not enough to stop the tidal wave
of my orgasm. I come into her with a long, low groan of relief and
ecstasy and so many other things that I could never put to words.

I drape myself over her, needing to collapse, to lie down and wrap
myself around her and sleep for about a century. But we're still on
the stupid floor and now that my sexual energy has been spent my
knees are starting to hurt.

Dana is giggling.

I nuzzle the back of her neck with my nose, still missing the hair
but loving the smell of her skin post-sex.

"Let's go home, baby."

xxxxxx

end chapter 17

TITLE: World Without End: Book Two (18/18)

AUTHOR: Rachel Anton

E-MAIL: RAnton1013@aol.com

Author's notes at the end

xxxxxx

Home. Yes, this is my home. It's strange to find it the same as I
left it. The same as he left it. The ghost of the last night we spent
together here still lingers. We'll have to do something about that.

We walk to the bedroom together, undressing in silence, and I
remember the first night we shared this bed. That night was a
beginning, and I think that this one is as well. The similarity is
actually quite remarkable.

I wriggle out of my clothes first and crawl under the covers to
watch him, just as I did on that night. But that time I had to
pretend I wasn't looking. I didn't want to make him feel
uncomfortable. Tonight I gaze openly, and he gazes right back.

He stands naked before me, and this time I don't have to tell him to
take off his prosthetic. He sighs with relief when the straps are
completely undone and I realize he's probably been wearing it for all
these days. The skin underneath looks red and irritated.

"C'mere," I tell him, and he climbs into the bed next to me. We curl
around each other, snuggling deeper into the covers. For a few
minutes we just hold each other, basking in the small sanctuary we've
found together, glowing because we've managed to find our way back.

But there are still things to work through before we can face the
rest of the world again, before we leave our cocoon. There are things
that I need to tell him, and I sense there is much he needs to tell
me.

"Alex, what...what happened?"

He sighs heavily, and I feel his hand clench on my shoulder.

"I screwed up. I screwed up really bad."

"You didn't find what you were looking for?"

"It's worse than that, Dana. We lost a lot of people. A lot. And the
rebels...I dunno what's gonna happen, Dana. I think I just made us a
whole new set of enemies. And we got nothing. Absolutely nothing."

I'm not surprised enough to have any kind of reaction to this. I
pretty much expected this kind of outcome. I could have told him
that. I could have stopped this. But I didn't. Because I couldn't
tell him anything.

"What about your friend, the British man, and his group? Didn't they
help you?"

"They tried. It was pretty much a hopeless fight, though."

"Do you think they'll be able to help us now? I mean with supplies
and such..."

"I don't know. I made plans with some of his men. He's going to come
here in a couple of weeks for a meeting between both our groups.
Maybe we'll be able to work something out."

He doesn't sound very encouraged by this prospect. I get the feeling
this other group is in the same kind of shape that we're in.

"Alex, I'm sorry. I should have said...well, I had a feeling this
might happen."

"I wouldn't have listened."

He may have a point. Still, I should have told him how I felt about
this. If things had been different, if I'd told him about...

"Alex, I've got something I need to tell you."

"What is it? You're not gonna cut more of your hair off, are ya?"

He runs his fingers through what's left of my hair and kisses me on
the forehead.

"No, no it's...Alex, I was, I was sick. Before. I'm not anymore. But
I was."

"Sick? Sick how?"

God, I'm still afraid. I don't know if I can say everything I need
to say without breaking down and sobbing.

I reach down to the floor next to the bed, where my discarded pants
lie in a heap, and start fishing through the pockets. With sickening
butterflies in my stomach I hand the crumpled piece of paper over to
him. I'd been planning to throw the letter away ever since I wrote
it, but couldn't bring myself to do it for some reason. Now I know
why. It's so much easier to give it to him than it is to try to
explain.

He sits up and starts reading, his brow getting progressively more
furrowed as he goes along. Soon enough his mouth is set into the
deepest frown I've seen in quite some time. My heart does a little
flip-flop in my chest, and my stomach continues to twist.

A look of sheer terror crosses his face, and I'm sure he's reached
the words, "I'm dying, Alex."

When he's finished, the letter drops from his hand and flutters down
to his naked chest. He doesn't look at me for a long time. When he
does, his eyes are wide and moist.

He makes a strangled, squeaking sound in his throat, then shakes his
head and looks down again. He picks up the letter, swinging around so
that his legs are hanging off the side of the bed and his back is
turned to me.

"How long?"

"How...long?"

"How long have you known you had cancer, Dana?"

His voice is so cold. So similar to the way he sounded that last
night. He's shutting down again, forcing a distance between us.

"A couple, about two months."

"Two mon..."

"I...I didn't tell anyone, Alex," I offer lamely. As if this excused
my silence. I just don't want him to think this was an issue of
trust. That there was something unique about him that made me unable
to share this.

But, of course, the next thing he asks is, "Why? Why couldn't you
trust me with this?"

"It wasn't about trusting you, Alex. It was about me and my fears
and knowing what it would do to you if you knew. And what that would
do to me. And you were so far away from me, Alex..."

"I was far away because I knew that you were hiding something from
me."

Chicken. Egg. Who knows where it started. I should know better than
to use our problems as an excuse.

"It just would have..." His voice cracks a bit and he pauses to
clear his throat. I can practically feel the pain, the hurt coming
off of him in waves. "It just would have helped us a lot if I'd known
what was going on with you."

"I know. I know that. I'm sorry, Alex. I don't know what to say."

His back is so tense. Stiff. I want to touch him, but I don't know
if he wants that anymore.

"So this cure..."

"It worked. I tested it on myself. And it worked. It's gone, Alex.
I'm not sick any..."

"You tested it on *yourself*?"

At this he finally cranes his neck around so that he can look at me.
He looks positively horrified.

"It...it worked, Alex."

"I'm glad. But you know what? It might not have. Just getting the
fucking injection might have killed you for all you knew! I can't..."

He turns away again and leans his elbow on his knee, resting his
head on his hand. I watch him run his fingers through his hair five
or six times in a row.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me," he says and then he stands up
and walks out of the room.

I lie in bed and listen as he paces around the living room, opens
and shuts the refrigerator, runs some water in the bathroom, and
finally seems to settle on the couch.

I want to go out there more than anything in the world, but I know
that

he needs to be away from me for a little while, to process what I've
told him and decide if he can even face me again knowing how I've
been lying to him.

The knots in my stomach have multiplied exponentially and my throat
and mouth feel dry as a desert. I don't think I've ever been so tense
in my entire life.

I don't think I can handle losing him again.

I wonder if he even knows what it does to me to think of it. I
wonder if he has any idea what I've been through since he left.

Suddenly my mood shifts from apprehension to anger. He left me. Just
left me without even giving me a chance to explain, and yes, he's
sorry and yes, I understand why. But I really don't think he knows
how it made me feel.

But how can I tell him without bringing what happened with Mulder
into it? How can I tell him anything when he's sitting out there in
the living room like a coward? Shutting me out again.

I manage to keep myself from storming out there and demanding a
confrontation for just long enough. After about fifteen minutes he
comes back to bed.

He climbs under the covers next to me, but he doesn't touch me.

"I can't believe you went through this alone," he whispers, staring
at the ceiling. He sounds so lost and afraid that my anger begins to
dissipate quickly.

"I wanted to be strong. For you, for myself...I guess I just made a
bigger mess of things in the end."

"No, it wasn't just you. I wasn't really there for you to tell. I
was far away. You're right."

"I guess we both made a lot of mistakes."

"Do you think we can get back what we had?"

"No, Alex. I think that...what I hope is that we can have something
even better."

"Where do we start?"

"I think we've already started, Alex. I just, I need to know that
you're really there. That you really do trust me and that you
won't...that..."

"I'm sorry."


"I know you're sorry, Alex, but it scares me how easily you can turn
cold on me. I know that it's just a defense mechanism, but I want...I
don't want you to have to defend yourself with me."

He turns slightly to his side and looks into my eyes. I think I must
be crying because I feel his fingers running over my cheeks, wiping
away the tears.

"I didn't realize. I didn't know it hurt you so much. I do trust
you, Dana. And I don't want to feel like I have to protect myself
from you. But I need you to tell me what's going on with you, too. I
need to know things like...well, like when you're dying of cancer,
for instance."

I suppose it is a definite sign of progress that we both chuckle at
that. I feel a nagging bit of remorse, though. Full disclosure seems
to be his desire for our relationship. I suppose that's always been
what he wanted. It's what I want as well, but there is still one
thing I can't bring myself to tell him. Not out of fear of losing him
or any kind of fear really, but out of a desperate need to protect
him.

Telling him what happened between Mulder and me would serve no
purpose other than unburdening my own guilty conscience. It would
hurt him so badly, so deeply, and there's no need for him to know.
There's no reason for what happened to effect our relationship in any
way. It doesn't have to and it won't. I won't let it. He'll never
have to know how I managed to close that door in my life.

He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into an embrace.

"I'm just glad you're okay," he whispers and kisses the top of my
head. "You are, right? Honestly?"

"Yes, getting there."

"You will tell me if you're not?"

"Yes. I promise. I'm sorry, Alex. So sorry."

"I am too. For everything..."

"Don't be. Please."

I'm starting to wish he'd just stop apologizing already. I
understand that he's sorry. He understands that I am sorry. We are
two sorry individuals. Should be the end of the conversation.

But once again, he manages to read my mind and dredge up the one
issue I'm still dreading talking about.

"So...in that letter you um, you said some things about...about not
really...um," he picks up the paper again from where I'd placed it on
the bedside table and begins reading aloud over my head.

"I thought we'd fight after you found me dancing with Mulder. I
expected you to feel threatened and angry and I was prepared to deal
with that, to attempt to allay your fears about the situation. I was
almost looking forward to the opportunity to hash it out. Perhaps if
forced to explain my feelings to you, I might become more clear about
them myself."

I just nod, knowing full well where he is going with this and
fearing the minefield we'll be walking through.

"So, do you...do you have anything to say about that?" he asks,
putting the letter back on the table. "Do you want to hash it out,
Dana?"

"I...don't...I was...I think, I think that I am a lot more clear on
my feelings than I was when I wrote that letter."

"And they are?"

"They are that...that I want to be with you. That I'm only happy and
truly myself when I'm with you. That you make me feel....everything.
You make me feel alive, Alex. There's nowhere in the world I'd rather
be than right here, with you. Nothing could ever change that."

He lets out a heavy sigh which could either be relief or irritation.
Have I dodged the issue in his eyes?

No, it is relief. He squeezes me tight and says, "That's all I need
to know."

Yes, yes it is.

We hold each other in silence for a long time, and eventually he
seems to fall asleep. God knows, he needs a good night's sleep. Just
as I'm feeling like I might doze off myself, he starts talking again.

"I need to tell you something, Dana. Something...kinda bad."

For some reason the first thing that pops into my head is that he's
slept with Marita. The urge to vomit, followed immediately by the
urge to kill someone that this thought induces in me are enough to
tell me that I've made the right decision in not telling him about
Mulder.

"I did something...bad. Just, bad."

God, he didn't. Did he? Please, Lord, don't let me be a
hypocritical, psychotic bitch if that turns out to be what it is.
Please?

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

I run my hand over his cheek just as he blurts out, "I killed her."

Should I be worried that I'm relieved? Probably. But I am. It
doesn't even really matter who he's talking about.

"Killed who?"

"Marita."

Oh yes, very relieved indeed. Twisted. But I'm also afraid all over
again in a new way. What could have driven him to this?

"Why, Alex? What did she do?"

"She...she must have been working for someone else. I don't even
know who. Maybe just herself. Maybe the smoking bastard, I don't
know. But I had it. We had it, and she threw it on the ground, just
threw it away. She didn't even want it. God, I don't know what the
hell she wanted."

"Had what? The weapon?"

"Yes. The weapon. The only thing that might have made this whole
thing worthwhile."

I knew something like this would happen if he let himself trust her
again. I knew it down to the very core of my being. And again, I
didn't tell him. I didn't make it clear. I didn't stop him. Not that
I would have, but "I told you so" isn't even an option here. I
didn't. And it's finally becoming clear what a hideous mistake that
was. It's finally becoming clear that whatever happens between us has
ramifications beyond what bed I sleep in and whether or not my hair
is short.

And I am so glad that we've got this small chance to work through
everything before we go out there and face everyone else. Before the
shit really starts to hit the fan. We need to be together. Really,
really together, if we're going to make it through.

"I didn't have to kill her though, Dana. It wasn't self-defense. It
was just...just murder."

"But, Alex, if she did that, she might have done more..."

"Don't. Don't try to justify it. I wasn't thinking about anything
like that when I did it. I wasn't thinking at all. I just wanted her
to die."

"Alex..."

"Do you see, Dana? Do you see what kind of a person I am? Who I am
inside? What I turn into when I'm not with you..."

His breath hitches in his chest, and I run my hand over him, trying
to soothe.

"No, Alex, that's not...not what you are. You felt bad about this on
your own, didn't you? Otherwise you wouldn't have even told me."

"I felt bad because I knew I'd let you down. Because I knew I was
turning back into something you'd hate."

"But that's what I'm saying, Alex. You didn't turn into that. Maybe
you tried. Maybe you wanted to go back to the past, to being the
person you used to be. Because you were afraid of the person you'd
become, the feelings you had and how you were hurting. So you tried
to become what you used to be. But it didn't work did it? Because
that's not who you are anymore. No matter what you've done, the fact
that you're sorry for it, that you're even considering the question
of whether it was the right thing to do, it just shows how much
you've changed."

He just stares at me for a minute, probably wondering where this
burst of insight has come from. But his eyes tell me that I am right.
We've been through something very similar, the two of us.

"But...I did it. Doesn't that frighten you? Doesn't it make you
wonder..."

"Shh. I love you, Alex. I love you. Alex...I love you."

He looks so shocked, so startled and confused, that it makes me want
to cry. Didn't he know? No, how could he? God, could I be any more
idiotic?

Then he smiles. His eyes start to water and he looks so unbelievably
happy that I want to kick myself in the head for not saying it
sooner. For not saying it the first time I felt it, all those years
ago.

"I love you," I tell him again, and then again. I'll say it all
night long if it will make up for all the times I should have, but
didn't.

"I knew...I knew they were going to take you," he croaks in a tear-
saturated voice, and it occurs to me that this is the first time I've
seen him cry. Really, really cry. And it also occurs to me that
whatever he tells me now, it doesn't matter. I'm not afraid to hear
it anymore.

"I helped them. I stopped Mulder from getting to you in time. The
chip, the cancer, Emily...all of it. I could have stopped all of it."

Of course, he is overplaying his importance in the grand scheme of
all that. I have no doubt that all of those things would have
happened whether or not he was ever even born. But he feels
responsible, of course. Complicit. And he was. I kiss him on his
cheek, which is moist with tears.

"I love you, Alex."

"And your sister. I was there, too. I could've stopped that. And it
was supposed to be you. I was supposed to help him kill you. And we
would have. If you'd been the one to walk through that door, he would
have shot you and I would have let him."

God, I've been so afraid to hear this for so long. Not because I
couldn't believe it was true, but because I've known in my heart that
it was true and I've been terrified that when I heard him say it, I
wouldn't be able to forgive him for it. That I wouldn't be able to
love him the way that I do.

What I was unable to realize until this moment is that I forgave him
for it a long, long time ago. I think that I forgave him for it the
day he pulled that blade out of my hand and stopped me from slashing
my own wrists.

I don't need to be afraid of who he is or who he was anymore. I love
him without condition and, for possibly the first time in my life, I
let myself feel that. I let myself open up to the freedom of
unconditional love.

"I love you," I murmur into his chest.

"I killed Mulder's father. I killed...I've killed so many people."

"I know. I love you. Love you."

I kiss him on the lips this time. His mouth is soft and pliant, his
body trembling. Teardrops fall from his eyes and his nose and into
our mouths.

"I'm so sorry, Dana. I'm so..."

"I know. I know. I forgive you, Alex. I love you."

"I know you think I'm brave and strong, but I'm not. I wasn't. I was
scared. I'm always scared..."

"I don't care. I'm scared, too. And you're strong for me now, Alex.
Stronger than I've ever seen you."

"There are other things..."

"Do you want to tell me?"

"I want to tell you everything, but..."

"Nothing could make me stop loving you, Alex. Nothing."

And that is true. I have nothing to fear from anything he could tell
me. I know that he's been needing to say these things for quite some
time. So, I let him, even though it makes no difference to me now. I
curl up on top of him and listen to a litany of misdeeds, endless and
mindnumbing, and eventually I fall asleep in his arms, the sound of
his voice lulling me into a peaceful dreamworld.

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

I threw up again this morning.

That makes three times in the past week. I remember when I first got
the treatment for the cancer, three weeks ago now, I felt nauseous. A
side-effect of the treatment that disappeared after a couple of days.
When this new bout started, I thought it was more of the same side-
effect at first. I was nervous about all the injections we've been
giving out at the lab lately. Would everyone begin feeling as sick as
I do?

I don't think I've got anything to worry about as far as that is
concerned, though.

After these "side-effects" began recurring, I ran a battery of tests
on myself. On my blood, my DNA, everything. That's when I realized
something very strange. It seems that the serum has somehow caused a
series of unexpected events to occur inside my body. Most
importantly, and most inexplicably, it seems to have caused the
regeneration of some of my ova. It has made me fertile again.

This news is something I will need to share with the entire group.
There is surely hope in it. We don't have very many children here.
The ones that are with us were, with one or two exceptions, alive
before the invasion. None of the former slave or clone women have
been capable of conception up to this point. We are a dying
civilization. Just the way they wanted it.

But now, if this treatment effects others the way it has effected
me, we may have a cure for infertility as well as cancer. We may have
a new hope for humanity.

Unfortunately, what is good for the rest of the group has the
potential to devastate me on a very personal level. That's probably
why I've been avoiding the issue, refusing to allow for the
possibility, even in my own mind. But the fact is, I've exhausted
every other option. There is one more test I will have to take.

We're having a community meeting this afternoon. Alex has been back
for almost two weeks, and news of what happened has filtered through
to everyone. People are not happy with him. People are not happy. I
can sense the discontent every time I am in a public place. I hear
them talking in the cafeteria. I see them frowning when we pass. It's
time to deal with it.

It's time to deal with a lot of things.

We've been happy, Alex and I. Living in our little bubble and
waiting for it to pop. Knowing that it would, sooner or later.

I thought that when we reached this point, when it was time to rally
the troops and try to put our floundering community back on track,
that we would be together. And we are. For now.

We will be for this meeting because I won't tell him about this
until it's over. After we've thrown ourselves to the wolves.

I will have to tell him, though. If the test turns out to be
positive, which I am beginning to believe it will, I will have to
tell him, sooner or later, that I am pregnant. I will have to tell
him that there's a pretty good chance he isn't the father.

And I don't know what we're going to do about that. I don't have any
idea.

xxxxxx

end chapter 18

end book two

Author's notes: Wow. You made it! Congratulations and thanks for
reading this entire bloody thing. There will be a 3rd book but I'm
not entirely sure when the first chapter will be up. Hopefully within
a couple of weeks.

Special, mucho-huge thanks to my brave and hearty team of beta
readers. Laura, Cynthia, Alanna and Spicedrum have all contributed
more to this story than I could possibly say. Their support has been
an endless source of inspiration for me. I'd also like to thank
everyone on RATales for allowing me to test this thing out on them
before I posted it more publically.