TITLE: REGARDING A CURE(3/4)
BY: Ainon
E-MAIL: mulangst@hotmail.com

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

REGARDING A CURE
PART 8
~
11th day, morning
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scully nervously twirled a few strands of her hair with her fingers. She
hadn't done that for a while. After all, short hair wasn't much fun to
twirl.

She looked around the hospital cafeteria, trying to spot if anyone was
coming towards her. She was fidgety, yet another new Mulder habit she'd
adopted. If she wasn't twirling her hair, she was busily spinning the empty
coffee cup in its saucer, or drumming her fingers on the table.

She wanted this whole nightmare to be over with.

Mulder wasn't getting better. Shaughnessy had allowed continual treatment
with AZT - after all, Scully had already given Mulder that dose of AZT, what
could anyone do now other than carry on with it? Besides, Dr. Pam Davies
agreed with its use, encouraged it even, in spite of the side effects, which
unfortunately, included severe neurological interferences after all.

Shaughnessy allowed Scully one saving grace: he never told anyone that
Scully was responsible for the overdose. But the drug wasn't killing the
viruses as fast as Mason had optimistically predicted. This failure caused
Shaughnessy to become doubly annoyed with Scully, and he now refused to
speak to her unless absolutely necessary.

Then there was more bad news. Scully had gotten the results back from the
lab yesterday. Samantha was not eligible for marrow donation. Period. There
was good news from the genetics lab however: Samantha was Mrs. Mulder's
daughter and Fox Mulder's sister. Unfortunately, now was not the right time
to announce to Mulder that his long-lost sister was indeed his real
long-lost sister.

Mulder's level of lucidity was dropping like crazy. He got names mixed up,
facts mixed up. This morning he'd woken from a slumber and queried in a
croaked whisper, "When did you last check your e-mail?"

"I don't know," Scully answered, bewildered by Mulder's question. "Some days
ago, I think. Why?"

"Why? Why what?"

"Why did you ask me about the e-mail?" she'd prompted gently but urgently.
Never knew with Mulder - there might be something going on that had to be
dealt with. "Are you expecting something?"

"Yeah. Yeah."

"What?" she asked.

"Well, I think it's about time I fed the fish," he said.

It'd be so easy to just give up.

Except that last night a man had called her. She was at home, packing fresh
clothes to bring to the hospital herself, because her mother had a dinner to
attend and couldn't do it for her. The short visit back to her house
painfully reminded her of how much of the 'ordinary life' she was missing.
She missed the luxuries of taking a warm bubble bath, of washing her hair,
of putting a kettle to boil. She missed the feeling of warm walls and soft
carpets underfoot, rather than the bright glare of hospital or lab walls and
cold tiles. And nothing could compare to sleeping in her own bed, to be
awakened by her own alarm clock. She was feeling utterly and selfishly
miserable and wretched when the call came.

The caller told her that he'd been hoping to speak with her regarding a
certain matter close to her heart. She'd been curt in replying she wasn't
interested in insurance. He'd been polite in insisting he was not a
salesman.

Instead, what he wanted was to share some tidbits with her - about a certain
very ill individual; she should know who he was hinting about. He'd meet her
in the hospital cafeteria at eleven the next morning. He would look for her,
he said. Just be there.

So here she was, nervous, fidgety, worried. Mulder was dying, time was
running out. Samantha, upon being told Mulder was indeed her brother but
that she could not donate, was suddenly reluctant about having her kids
brought in for testing. Her husband wanted more time to think about it, she
claimed. No amount of talking on Scully's part would convince her that time
was a luxury Mulder could ill afford.

On top of that, Scully didn't even know if it would be a good idea to inform
Mrs. Mulder about Samantha's existence. She did ask Samantha if she'd like
to meet her mother and brother now, but Samantha was suddenly reluctant
about that also.

Scully fervently wished that the test had proved Samantha was a fake because
then it'd be so much easier for her to just kill the bitch.

Scully went back to twirling her hair between her fingers. Then she spotted
the man walking in, a tall well-dressed, gray-haired man. There was a
determined expression on his face. He looked expectantly around the
cafeteria, saw her and walked over to her table. He sat down without waiting
for a word of invitation.

"Agent Scully, my name is Brian Oakes," he said by way of introduction. He
did not offer to shake hands.

"Do I assume that is your real name?" Scully asked carefully. She'd been
expecting a much younger man. Samantha had used the man's first name so
casually.

"I'm a friend of the Mulder family," he said, smoothly ignoring Scully's
question.

"So?" She wondered why the family friend wasn't known affectionately as
'Uncle Brian' but doubted she would get a straight answer if she asked about
that.

"Well, it distresses me greatly that Mr. Mulder should be so ill."

"Really," Scully said dryly. "It's reassuring to know that so many people
will have Mulder in their prayers tonight. What do you know about his
condition?"

"Nobody knows the specifics of this condition. Nobody else has ever survived
after being infected by the virus. No research was ever done to study the
virus either."

Scully gave an exasperated sigh. "What you're saying is that you don't know
and you don't know what to do, is that right? Well, you've been a great
help, Mr.Oakes. Thank you."

She started to get up and Mr. Oakes made a surprised sound. She glared at
him. "You think I'm going to waste my time listening to you if you have
nothing new to tell me? I don't know if you've ever been one of Mulder's
sources before, but I can tell you this: I am not Mulder. I do not sit and
listen to people wasting their breaths on mumbo-jumbo information that is of
no use to me. Nor do I appreciate the tongue twisting ego-stroking whatever
you may call it preliminaries prior to divulging information. You want to
talk, talk facts. Now. Or I walk out. Fair by you?"

Mr. Oakes glanced around quickly but no one else in the cafeteria was
looking at them. Every one else had their own miserable problems to ponder
over rather than pay attention to one old man and one woman having a hissing
argument. He signaled that Scully should sit down.

He said, "I can tell you only that there is no cure, at least none that we
could have ever created. We have worked on other things..."

"Which I don't care about right not," Scully interrupted. The man looked
into her eyes, noted her seriousness and nodded.

"As I said, against this virus we have no cure. However we have at our
disposal, healers. You met one of them - Mr. Walker."

"Funny. I thought his real name would be Jeremiah Smith."

Mr. Oakes smiled for the first time. "They may use any name or face they
wish, Agent Scully. Names and faces aren't important."

Mulder had claimed that Jeremiah Smith had been not just an alien, but also
a shape-shifter, a morpher. She had been highly doubtful of Mulder's claim,
preferring instead the theory that Smith was a very glib and quick
man/clone/whatever when it came to blending in with the crowd. Was Oakes
confirming that Smith/Walker really was capable of this physical morphing?

Mr. Oakes went on, "What is important is that they are for real. They do
heal. It is their power, their advantage over us humans."

"I don't believe that."

"You believe in the existence of extraterrestrial biological entities?"

Scully answered slowly and carefully, "I have seen enough over the years so
as not to dismiss such a thing straightaway, right out of hand."

"No, of course you wouldn't. After all, you have now, beneath the skin of
your neck, a creation that is distinctly of non-human origin."

Scully stiffened. "How would you know about it?"

"How would Agent Mulder have known about it if there hadn't been someone to
tell him about it? But it was not I who told him. In response to your
earlier question, no, I never had any personal encounters with Agent Mulder,
although I knew his parents. Now, you do acknowledge that Agent Mulder was
infected by a virus that is considered alien, as far as earthly criteria
go?"

"I believe the virus can be categorized as alien. Not of this earth. I say
this only after exhausting all possible means of research into its structure
and functions, and determining that it is distinctly different enough from
other like viruses that have been detected so far."

"Of course. And it was incredible that Agent Mulder could have survived the
initial infection. In fact we never knew about that."

"What? About his infection?"

"Yes, we never knew. We knew that he dashed along to Alaska on another fool
hardy attempt to chase down the alien and his sister, but we assumed that if
he didn't perish there in the bitter cold, he'd only return empty-handed;
these aliens are not fool enough to just wait and get caught. However, we
later learned that he did somehow manage an encounter with one of the alien
beings, and during the encounter he suffered severe injuries. He did not
die, for which I honestly say we were relieved. We didn't know the extent of
his injuries though. It was not to our interests at the time. Agent Mulder
is always getting injured one way or the other."

"So when did you know? And why should you care about this?"

"We found out only recently when he fell ill and those searches were made
for marrow or stem cell donors. We were concerned about why this should be
the case - a search for such donors is indicative of a terminal marrow
damaging condition, whereas the Mulder family has never had any history of
cancer or autoimmune disease. We were very surprised to discover the history
behind his present ailment. We were also well aware that there would be no
chance for a cure to be found, at least not while Agent Mulder is still
alive. It is to everyone's interest that we try to help Agent Mulder."

"And so you sent Samantha along," Scully said. She was starting to
understand. "You hoped to use her to convince me to accept the services of
something you refer to as a healer? You must think me a fool."

"I assure you Agent Scully, this is for the best. We have never done any
work on this virus. Experience with the Human Immunodeficiency Virus is a
clear indication that there is no such thing as an easy cure for a
retroviral infection. What then the chances for a cure to a retrovirus that
is not even of earthly origin? If we, with our unlimited expertise and
research facilities, lack confidence over how to deal with this virus; what
hope do you think you and your team of scientists have?

"I understand it's not even a team of scientists. It's just one man who
thinks the virus is a new thing he should be the one to give a name to. As
for the team of doctors - at best they can keep Agent Mulder alive for a few
more days, but he will die. He is too weak to have a transplant. His doctors
are well aware of this. Any moment now, they will cease to pretend that
there is hope and come to terms with it. Then their advice to his mother
will be that he should be brought him home to die."

Scully blinked hard. She did worry about all this. But she preferred to tell
herself that there was still hope.

"We want to spare that fate, Agent Scully," Mr. Oakes said confidently. "We
wish to save his life. The healer will."

"Why?"

"The healer will do whatever he is told to do. He can do it. We don't
question these types of miracles."

"I don't question miracles either. But I do wonder about the convenience
with which this particular miracle can be arranged. And what I meant was why
do you want to save Mulder's life? You've tried to kill him before. Now you
want to save him?"

"We have never tried to kill him. Well, at least not in any pre-planned
way."

Scully snorted. Of course. "I repeat my question: why should you want to
save his life? Why do you care?"

"There are those among us who value his talents."

"So? You save his life, you think that's going to help you? He's always
worked against you. He'll just go back to working against you."

Mr. Oakes smiled slyly. "Maybe. Maybe not. That is not the point right now.
Right now, you should save his life before time runs out. The clock is
ticking Agent Scully. The healer can heal Agent Mulder, but he cannot
resurrect."

That was definitely an ominous threat. "What is the deal here, Mr. Oakes?
You people never do something for nothing."

"Miss Scully, its been two days since you refused Mr. Walker, yet I hear
that Agent Mulder is not recovering. In fact his condition is
deteriorating."

Scully pursed her lips. She did not need any reminder about that.

Oakes continued. "You cannot save him on your own, I'm afraid. So it is our
hope that after this conversation you will reconsider."

"But what price will Mulder and I have to pay?"

Mr. Oakes smiled cordially and started to get up.

"No!"

Several heads turned this time. Mr. Oakes looked somewhat displeased. He sat
down again and said, "Agent Scully, do try to understand. We are offering
assistance. We are not dangling a carrot in front of you to yank away when
you reach for it - this offer is genuine. We wish to help Agent Mulder. No
ulterior motives, other than perhaps him being the son of one our founding
members."

"You people had his father killed!"

"That was then. Our policies change accordingly... we've always preferred
having Agent Mulder alive."

Scully changed the subject abruptly. "Why were you sent to me? Why not one
of the others whom I have met? Do you take turns at this?"

"I am now Samantha's caretaker after the sudden demise of her foster father.
It fell to me to convince Samantha to visit her brother and to speak to
you."

"And to set that Walker on me?"

"He is a healer, Agent Scully. I advice you not to be skeptical of that."

"A healer," Scully echoed, giving the word a harsh ring. "And what is a
healer?"

"Your partner would probably prefer to call him an alien."

"Perhaps. But I'm not my partner."

"Well then, call him a humanoid entity."

Scully didn't laugh. "How do I know that this healer will not harm Mulder
instead? How do I even know that this healer is not an imposter?"

"Why should he be?" Mr. Oakes asked. Then he said, "Must you always be so
disdainful? So pessimistic and skeptical?"

Scully snapped at him, "Answer my questions first."

"Mr. Jeremy Walker is who he is. He will heal Agent Mulder. If you're
suspecting us of some sinister motive, then I assure you that we would
prefer to get straight to the point. Or better still, to just let things be.
I'm offering the only cure here. If I were you, I would take advantage of
Mr. Walker's powers."

Mr. Oakes stood, brushing unseen dust off his jacket. He added, "I do have
him in my prayers, Agent Scully. We all have Mulder in our prayers."

Scully scowled at him, openly disbelieving. Mr. Oakes smiled thinly. "We do
not always wish for harm, Agent Scully. After all, he's been with us for all
these years. I'll send Mr. Walker again later today. At the very least, do
speak with him. You'll find him quite helpful."

The man walked away. She kept her eyes on him till he exited the cafeteria.
Was he just another player, another liar stringing her along, further and
further away from what she should really do to save Mulder's life? Or was he
to be given the benefit of the doubt? In which case was she sure that she
could trust a humanoid entity to not cause more harm than good?

She wished that the hardest decision she had to make for the day would be
whether or not she should have an extra cup of coffee.

~
END PART 8
~~~~~~~~~~

REGARDING A CURE
PART 9
~
12th day, morning
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dr. Shaughnessy tapped his fingers lightly against the folder on the table
as he spoke. Scully found his repetitive tapping to be both intensely
annoying and wonderfully distracting at the same time. Better than her
useless pondering over where he got his furniture - the chair she was
sitting in right now was the most comfortable chair she'd ever sat in in a
doctor's office. Seated beside her was Mrs. Mulder. She wondered if Mrs.
Mulder felt the way she did about fidgety people who kept tapping things
non-stop. She wondered if Mrs. Mulder understood even half of what
Shaughnessy was saying.

"Attempting a bone marrow transplantation when the donor is not a perfect
histocompatible match drastically increases the risk of graft rejection,
which is what we call it when the patient's body rejects the transplant, and
Graft versus Host Disease. Graft versus Host means the transplanted cells
attack the patient's body. Both are very serious conditions, which we wish
to always avoid at all costs.

"But in certain cases, we do find that it's necessary for us to use marrow
or stem cells from a donor who doesn't match the patient. Your son's case in
an example. Of his family there's only you and his sister but neither of you
are suitable donors..."

Scully looked up quickly. Shaughnessy wasn't supposed to bring up the point
about Mulder's sister! He'd agreed not to. He couldn't understand the
reasons behind the secrecy, but he claimed to respect the need for it. He
must have realized his mistake because he suddenly faltered in mid-sentence
and for the first time since Scully had met him, looked absolutely
chagrined.

Fortunately, Mrs. Mulder didn't seem to suspect anything. Nor did she seem
to notice Shaughnessy's choice of words.

"Fox had a sister," she said, by way of filling in the silence. "A little
sister. She disappeared when he was just a boy. We never got her back." Mrs.
Mulder paused, then added softly, "We'll never get her back."

Shaughnessy released the breath he was holding, shot a quick, relieved look
at Scully and said, "Well... right. I mean, I'm sorry to hear about the
loss." He sounded genuinely sympathetic. Scully was impressed in spite of
herself. Good save.

Mrs. Mulder closed her eyes briefly and shook her head, trying to regain her
composure. "It happened long ago. Fox was just a boy."

For a brief heavy moment no one knew what to say or do. Then Shaughnessy, in
that smooth gentle voice cultivated from years of experience in talking with
distraught relatives, said, "We searched for unrelated histocompatibly
matched donors in the bone marrow registries and cord blood banks of North
America. We found one possible donor, who will remain anonymous, from the
New York Bone Marrow Registry. But Mrs. Mulder, the thing is, the donor is
not a perfect histocompatible match either."

Frowning, Mrs. Mulder leaned back in her chair and asked, "So? You mean Fox
still can't have the transplant?"

"Well, technically he can. And we will proceed of course, if that's what Fox
wants and if you agree with him. There is just enough compatibility between
your son and this donor to maybe make it work - the best that we could find.
But you see, it's not advisable for us to proceed with a transplant at this
point. Your son is already very weak and there are certain conditioning
procedures prior to transplant, which will weaken your son further.

"Unfortunately, the only thing we can try now in order to save Fox's life is
this transplant. If we proceed, there are risks that we will face, and I can
predict several possible outcomes - some good, some bad. I'm going to
explain everything to you, give you all the facts. Then we'll take some time
to think about it and decide what's the best thing we can do for Fox."

Scully remained silent as Shaughnessy continued with the details. Mrs.
Mulder was silent too - the horrified shocked silence of someone being told
things that she never ever wanted to learn about.

Shaughnessy ended his little lecture by saying, "I'm sorry that it comes
down to this, Mrs. Mulder. I will try my very best to help him either way.
We do have an excellent palliative care program if that is the choice that
is decided on."

"How long if we do nothing?" Mrs. Mulder asked shakily.

"At most, maybe another couple of weeks, assuming he doesn't develop further
complications," Shaughnessy answered. Mrs. Mulder gasped. Scully couldn't
think of anything to say, so she reached out to squeeze Mrs. Mulder's hand.
Mrs. Mulder grasped her fingers tightly.

There was a lot that Shaughnessy wasn't saying, but which Scully was aware
of nonetheless. She was a doctor too after all. Mulder would never resume
his old normal life again, even after a successful transplant. Just for
starters, there would be a regular regimen of drugs for him to consume on a
daily basis. Certainly he'd never become a field agent again. He'd be lucky
to even work at the FBI as a Special Agent. Medical science could only do so
much.

In the silence as Mrs. Mulder tried to decide, Scully silently mulled over
the other option. The miracle cure option.

Jeremy Walker, dressed in a plain gray suit, had shown up yesterday
afternoon, as Mr. Oakes had promised. Scully had been waiting to meet him.
Walker had been very polite, very helpful, every bit like the Jeremiah Smith
who had walked up to her in the FBI lobby with the honorable intention of
turning himself in after learning about his 'wanted' status in the news.
Walker had been very forgiving too, in that he made no mention of his
previous visit that ended with Scully throwing him out.

Walker had stressed that he would never harm Mulder; obviously Mr. Oakes had
briefed him about Scully's suspicions. His presence was only to provide the
miracle, he said. So perhaps she should bring him in to see Mulder?

She remarked, "Well, there's the problem, Mr. Walker. They're very strict
about Mulder's visitors. I can't bring you in just like that."

He calmly informed her that he had it all planned. "I am capable of assuming
the form of any one of the staff. There should be no problems then."

"So you're saying that you can morph?" she asked, wondering what she would
do if he suddenly chose to demonstrate right there and then in the public
waiting area. She also wondered if a part of her wasn't secretly hoping that
he would, because then she would surely see the real thing. She had perhaps
seen it happen once, in a dingy motel room where she had let a Mulder in,
but the Mulder then turned into someone else. Literally. Without the aid of
make-up. Not that she really trusted that recollection. A bump to the head
could distort whatever it was one was looking at.

As for Eddie Van Blundht - well, he was different. Eddie was undeniably
human.

"Yes, I can," was the answer Walker gave. He made no effort to give credence
to his words though. "I can morph into any human form you see fit.
Preferably as one of his doctors, and the gender should remain the same."

"Is this your real form?" Scully poked his arm but he made no move to brush
her off. She gestured at his face. "Or is this Smith facade just that? A
facade?"

"No, no, this is my true form. My true human form, at least."

She'd asked him about Jeremiah Smith and his response was a resigned, "Ah,
but we lost him. For the Other came for him."

"So you are Jeremiah Smith's clone?"

Walker smiled indulgently. "No, we are not clones of one another. We are
similar by appearance only because we lacked the ability to diversify."

The answer made absolutely no sense. He shrugged. "What more can I say? I
cannot reveal who I really am. I am not allowed to do so."

"Why not?"

He only smiled. She demanded that he tell her. He responded by saying, "I am
a visitor to your home. I wish nothing from you. I wish only to give the
gift of life."

The answer was such a tacky one. Scully would have gladly pistol-whipped him
for thinking her stupid enough to even want to listen to that, but for the
fact that she didn't have her gun. Anyway she couldn't imagine anyone but
the most inane faith-healer quack to come up with lines as bad as that. She
told him so and he gazed at her curiously.

"Why do you refuse to believe? I cannot do anything to harm him. I either
cure him, or I do not. Once you allow me near him, that is. I assure you
that I am capable of curing him."

"Are you capable of murder?"

"I beg your pardon?" he exclaimed in a righteous tone. "I was told to cure."

"But if you're told to commit murder, you would, wouldn't you?" Scully asked
as she studied him carefully. "You are far stronger than I am. Certainly
stronger than Mulder now, in his condition. You can't heal him from a
distance, can you?"

Walker refused to answer.

"Well, can you?" she asked sharply.

Slowly, he shook his head.

"You have to get right beside him and place your palm on him? Right. So,
what can either of us do if you should suddenly, oh, I don't know - snap his
neck?"

"I would not do that."

"Why not? I've run into your kind before. Very strong. Very violent. Why
should you be different?"

"Not all of us are like what you have seen. You met Jeremiah."

"He tricked my partner into following him on some wild goose chase, all the
while expecting and knowing that Mulder would protect him. And when things
looked bad, he ran out on my partner."

Walker had that look on his face that said he didn't like what his
presumably deceased colleague was being accused of, but he couldn't find a
way to defend the presumably deceased's actions either.

She didn't bother to give him the time to consider a defense. "Can you tell
a lie?"

He glared at her in indignation, but didn't responded. Scully was satisfied.

"You want me to allow you into his room - where nobody can stop you from
doing whatever you want to do. Your blood is toxic. I can't risk causing
physical harm to you. Nor do I have the instrument that can supposedly seal
your doom. It would be the perfect crime. You kill him, and then just walk
out on me. And of course you'll be impersonating one of the doctors in this
hospital so any accusations I make will sound like absolute lunacy."

"No, no! I will not hurt him."

"In fact," Scully continued right through Walker's denial. "For all I know,
exposure to you is bad enough for him, at his stage."

"That is absurd. I have no injuries on me now. I go to great lengths to
ensure that I do not injure myself. I have no wish to harm innocent souls
exposed to my blood."

"Damned if I care what precautions you take. I'm talking about Mulder."

Walker pursed his lips and for the briefest instant Scully could have sworn
it was because he disapproved of her language. He asked, "If the objective
was murder, why should they even send me?"

That was such a favorite question. "They want the satisfaction of a job well
done?" Scully guessed bitterly.

"Well then, they should just let him die. The end is inevitable if there's
no intervention."

Scully had to agree with that logic, but it didn't mean she wasn't harboring
any doubts. Nor did it mean she had to believe him without proof either. She
suggested that he show the proof.

"What do you mean?" he asked reluctantly.

"Heal someone I choose. You heal that person with the palm of your hand. You
make that miracle happen in the full light of day, with me as your witness.
And then I'll let you near Mulder."

Walker had reacted with askance. "No, I cannot do that."

"Why not?"

"It is against our sworn creed and principles. We do not go around healing
any person on the street."

Scully hadn't been able to stop herself from cackling. "You have an oath to
adhere to? Why did Jeremiah Smith heal all those people then?"

"Jeremiah should not have. His rebellion could not be tolerated and it led
to his downfall. We perform this service only when conditions are right, and
when we are given due reason as to why we should heal a human to whom we owe
nothing."

"Really? Humor me then: so why Mulder?"

"His survival is important for the future of us all."

Scully snorted. "You almost made me laugh. Almost. So I suppose this means
there would have been countless broken hearts and unavoidable catastrophes
if Mulder had died prior to this?"

"Well I wouldn't place his importance on such a grand scale. But he is
important. His death would derail certain plans. I cannot say that there
would be much mourning however."

She scowled at him. Just what she needed. A morphing humanoid entity -
because what else could she call him - who lacked talent to understand
sarcasm.

"You say you can heal anything? Fine. There is a patient on the fifth floor
who has been comatose since 1994. Motor vehicle accident. Patient had no
living will and so has been maintained on life support ever since. They
can't call it brain death even at this point, and the parents are too
religious to consider termination of life support without proper cause. Heal
this patient."

Walker kept shaking his head determinedly as she spoke, and when she
finished he exclaimed, "I come here today only for Mr. Mulder!"

"I'll let you in to heal Mulder once you prove yourself. A show of faith, if
you will."

"No. I shall not be forced to do this. It is not allowed."

"Oh? Or maybe it's because you can't do it?"

"I will have to leave now, Miss Scully," Jeremy Walker said firmly. He
refused to look her in the eye anymore. "I'm sorry. You have just gone too
far."

She'd shaken her head in disbelief. She had gone too far? The bastard.

"Leave then. Tell your masters that I will not accept their cure without a
guarantee. Then come back and show me proof."

She had expected a phone call last night warning her to again reconsider,
but she had received none. She was sure that the silence could not be
because they didn't know her cell phone number. Either she had called their
bluff, or they couldn't be bothered to put up with her any longer. She felt
regret for neither.

But here and now, as she sat in Shaughnessy's his office, waiting for Mrs.
Mulder to say something, she pondered if maybe she had been a bit rash. She
knew she had been right in demanding that he show proof of his talent, and
it would be silly of her to simply take his word. She couldn't trust that
man... entity. She certainly should not trust the Consortium.

The very fact that 'They' would offer help was suspect. 'They' had to want
something - for surely merely keeping Mulder alive was not 'Their' sole
prerogative. Cancerman had helped Mulder with the metal chip now embedded in
the back of her neck - but she suspected that there had to have been other
factors in the bargain. A bargain which never came to be because Cancerman
was killed. Mulder never told her what Cancerman may or may not have
demanded in exchange for the chip, and so far, Scully had never had the
heart to press for answers. But that would have also been around the same
time Samantha was reunited with Mulder. He never told her about Samantha.
Was he hiding other secrets?

Not that it mattered now, did it?

But that was last night, when she had been quite confident that science and
medicine were Mulder's true salvation. The team of doctors would surely be
capable of saving Mulder? It was painfully crushing to realize now that the
clinical doctors truly knew little more than she did and that the reason
she'd been told nothing new was because they knew nothing either.

Finally Mrs. Mulder released her tight grip on Scully's fingers and shakily
stood up.

"I think I'll go see if Fox is awake," she muttered in a voice thick with
grief. "He's all grown up now. I should talk to him and let him..."

She sniffed, scrunched up her face like a child, and managed to stop her
tears from flowing. For lack of anything courteous to say, Scully asked if
she'd like company.

"No, it's all right, Dana," Mrs. Mulder said. Then she was out of the room
and the two who were left stared despondently at the door as it swung shut.

Shaughnessy exhaled a gust of air. Scully looked at him.

"Seriously, as one doctor to another, what are the chances of this
transplant succeeding?"

He eyed her critically. She could tell the idea of calling her a 'doctor'
made him blanch. But he replied, "Snowball's chance in hell, really."

"You'd still go ahead with it?"

"Sure. It's a great opportunity for one. No one's ever tried a transplant on
someone so sick, using an unrelated donor. But that's just the doc in me
talking. If it were my kid... I don't know. I never know what I'd decide if
it were my kid."

"He's not one to just let go without a fight."

"Yeah. Well. It's a tough fight though. A helluva tough fight. And who knows
what life is gonna be like for him afterwards." He left unsaid, 'assuming he
lives'. After the short pause he added, "We've given him so much blood and
platelets over the past ten days, I wouldn't be surprised if he hasn't
already contracted hepatitis or CMV. Now that would be irony."

"I've been trying to get his sister's children in for testing. One of them
might be a match."

Shaughnessy's mouth dropped open. "Why didn't you tell me that sooner?"

"I can't get the children yet."

"Why the hell not?"

"Having a bit of trouble getting their mother to agree."

"Their mother is the long-lost sister who's not a histocompatible match?"
When Scully nodded, Shaughnessy made a face and shook his head. "Oh. Well,
it's not going to happen. Very slim chance of having a match from her
children. Anyway, kids? Small kids?" He grimaced when she nodded again. "Oh
God, what can you expect to get from a kid, even if the kid is a match? He's
better off with that unrelated donor."

"Just let me get them tested - at least have the HLA genotyping done."

"Fine, sure. Go ahead. But make it quick. If we're going to have a
transplant, we should begin conditioning immediately. We start giving him
all that chemo and we're on really shaky ground. Anyway, until you show me
that one his sister's kids is a perfect 6/6 HLA compatible match, I'm still
going to hold on to this unrelated donor. If we go ahead with the
transplant."

That was perfectly sensible. There was no more small talk to be said and
Scully started to get up. Shaughnessy started to chuckle.

"And I thought family reunions were supposed to be joyful tearful occasions.
What crap."

Scully didn't respond.

~
12th day, late morning
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scully didn't like begging. Even when she was a child and Bill was pulling
her hair till she screamed in pain, she never begged for him not to do it
again. She never begged for anything in her life. She worked for, she fought
for. Never begged for. Yet here she was begging. And she couldn't even do it
in person. Had to use the phone. The damn woman had gone back home to
Chicago without prior warning. She just slunk off, like the coward she was.

"Samantha, I'm not sure that you understand the seriousness of his
condition."

"I do! But what can I do anymore? My blood isn't right for him. What more do
you want?"

"Your children..."

"I've told you. My husband disagrees."

"They are Mulder's family too. This is your chance to help him."

There was a long silence from the other end. When Samantha spoke, her voice
quiet and firm. "I don't even know him. I met him briefly in a cafe the
night before my dad died. Don't make me feel like I owe him something."

"He spent his life searching for you, Samantha." When all else failed, one
should use guilt.

"I never knew that! I never knew he was still alive. I never knew mom was
alive. I have a family now, a husband and three children we tried so hard to
have. We are doing our best for them; we're giving them happy normal lives.
I am sorry about what's happening to Fox, but..."

"You said you were going to help him," Scully reminded in a deadly tone.

"I would have helped him! I will still help him, if I could, but not by
subjecting my own children to pain."

"Look, we don't even know that they can be suitable donors. Just a bit of
blood from each child is what we need. Then if one of them should be a
match..."

"No. I said no. Not my children."

"You're the one who volunteered to have your children tested as donors."

"I changed my mind. I shouldn't have suggested it. I'm sorry."

"It's just a blood test!"

"And if one of them proves to be a match? What then? What if my youngest
baby is the match? You won't care, you'd just want to get Sarah's blood for
Fox and I won't allow you to do that, and we'll have this dilemma all over
again. So no. I will not even start down that path. My husband refuses to
discuss this anymore."

"Fox Mulder is your brother. Your children's only uncle on their mother's
side. There is irrefutable proof of your relationship. Tell your husband
that. You can't save Fox but maybe your children can. You cannot deprive Fox
of that hope. And what about your mother? Your mother..."

"Stop it!" Samantha's shriek almost made Scully jerk the phone away from her
ear. "Don't try to guilt me!"

"Samantha, your mother will lose her only son," Scully said, none too
kindly.

There was a choked sob from the other end. Samantha was crying, "I can't. I
can't."

"Please, Samantha. Mulder doesn't have much time. Your delaying will kill
him."

"I'm sorry. I can't. My husband won't. I won't. Not my children. I... I'm
sorry. No."

Scully squeezed her eyes shut. She was down on her knees here. Damn this
woman!

"Samantha, please. For the sake of a family that was lost without you. Even
now after you've been found, you remain lost to them... you never met your
mother did you? To tell her that you're here? Well, fine, at the very least,
do this for the sake of just helping someone. We've explained the procedure
to you. It's safe. Nothing will happen to the child."

"No. Every procedure always has a risk. I've read all about it. No."

"Please! You can help him! There's not much more we can do."

"Then let him go," Samantha murmured.

Scully's temper flared. "You would say that? You would just turn your back
on your brother?"

"I'm sorry," came the whisper.

"His death will be on you!" Scully said desperately. She wasn't winning
this. Samantha was not going to give her what she wanted.

"Then God help me. But I will not hurt my children. I will not. And perhaps
if you had children of your own you'd understand."

Scully could say nothing. In Chicago Samantha hung up the phone. In the
X-Files FBI basement office Scully slammed the phone down and leaned back in
Mulder's chair.

She stared blankly ahead. Office equipment was gathering dust after being
sadly deprived of Mulder's attention for almost a fortnight. She hadn't been
in here in all that time too.

She blinked rapidly to keep the tears away. She tried not to let her mind
wander to that little girl she had had to let go. Tried not to think of that
little girl that possessed her genes. Her biological daughter. Her dead
biological daughter. Dead because she'd had to let her go. Scully's lips
started to quiver.

Damn the woman! A single tear escaped Scully's eye and trailed down her
cheek. Scully wiped the tear away with one palm, slammed the other palm hard
on Mulder's table. She cherished the pain and the anger. She didn't want to
cry. Mulder was not going to die. She was not letting him go. Not him too.
Please, not him too.

The sob escaped her, she could no more halt it than she could stem the
hateful feelings she had towards Samantha. Samantha was a coward, a hopeless
bitch. Mulder never needed her. Best thing to happen in his life was to have
her taken away. Samantha insisted that she could not remember what had
happened to her that night in 1973, well, big deal. Who cared? Scully
certainly did not. Samantha should have just stayed lost. Who told her to
show up again, to make Mulder miserable again? But no, she had to show up
with her empty promises. Damn the woman! Her children were Scully's best
hope. Mulder's best hope.

Scully rummaged in her purse for a tissue. Damn. This was not the time for
tears and recriminations. In fact it was almost time for lunch, not that she
felt like any. She should return to the hospital to be with Mulder.

~
END PART 9
~~~~~~~~~~

REGARDING A CURE
PART 10
~
12th day, afternoon
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She wanted to reach the hospital by noon, but just as she was about to step
out of the office, Skinner showed up. He took in her swollen eyes and pale,
tear-streaked cheeks without comment; she would always be grateful to him
for allowing her that dignity.

He wanted to know Mulder's progress, and whether or not Mulder still
required constant transfusions. Skinner was helping in that regard by
promoting blood donation among agents and staff at the bureau, all under the
pretext of doing common good for mankind of course. A simple little bit of
assistance that went a long way.

Skinner hadn't been at the hospital for the past few days but Scully didn't
begrudge him that. He wasn't allowed to visit Mulder personally for one
thing, the other thing was that Mulder no longer remembered him. The last
time he had visited, Mulder had seen him standing outside the room and had
been puzzled enough to ask her, "Scully, who's that?" When Scully stepped
out to talk to Skinner, she had courteously told him that Mulder sent his
regards, but Skinner had already observed the lack of recognition on
Mulder's part. Things were a bit awkward for a while then.

Now Skinner was asking if there was anything more he could do, and Scully
was assuring him that he was already doing so much. Skinner was also trying
to help in terms of insurance for the hefty medical fees.

"Don't hesitate to ask for help if you need it, okay?" he said gently. He
tenderly laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Scully nodded. She lowered her face so that he wouldn't see the fresh tears
in her eyes.

His short visit reminded her of something though - she'd finally gone ahead
and asked the Gunmen to seek certain information, and she'd said she would
call them today. She sat back down in Mulder's chair, composed herself, and
hoped her voice wouldn't crack. She dialed the Gunmen's number. Langley
turned off the recorder before she even got a chance to tell him to do so.

"Scully! Where are you?"

"In the office."

"How's Mulder?"

Scully swallowed and said, "He's holding on."

"Of course he is!" Frohike interjected. Langley must have transferred the
call to the speaker. "He's the man. He'll be fine."

Scully cleared her throat. "Did you guys find anything?"

"Well, we backtracked and double checked, but Dr. Mason's clean as a whistle
- if you'll forgive us for using that over-used phrase."

"You're sure?"

Langley sounded peeved. "Of course we're sure. He's clean..."

"Could have died of boredom from following him around and listening to him!"
Frohike exclaimed.

Langley continued over Frohike's interuption. "No fancy Swiss account, no
fancy yacht, nothing swindled, nadda. One parking ticket and you know what
he did? He paid it! The man watches 'Seventh Heaven' with his kids. He's a
Republican dork!"

Byers' voice piped up. "We did find out the relevance of the virus name."

"Mil 3," Scully prompted hopefully. She quickly picked up a pen and tore off
a bit of paper from the paper pile on Mulder's desk.

"Here's the hint," Byers said. "His wife's name is Camille."

"And he has three kids," Frohike rejoined.

"Boring!" Langley concluded.

Scully closed her eyes, dropped the pen and rested her temple against her
palm. The Gunmen's voices continued to flood into her ear: Mason was one
perfect boring federal lab employee; he did nothing more adventurous than go
for annual beach vacations with his wife and kids, varying that one year by
going to Yellowstone Park instead; he was so ordinary and dull the guys
would nominate him anytime for the cover of 'Nerds of America Annual', if
such a thing existed.

Mason wasn't hiding any cures up his sleeve after all. He wasn't at all
tampering with the samples of Mulder's blood that were being sent to him
daily, morning, noon and evening, for testing to see if there was any
decrease in viral numbers.

It would have been wonderful if he had been a Consortium crony whom she
could threaten and force to spit out the truth... but no. He wasn't.

There was no hidden agenda. There was just a hopeless disease without a
clean-cut cure.

~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~

Her mother was waiting for her at the hospital.

Scully quickly tried to think if she'd asked her mother to come today, and
how much time her mother must have spent waiting for her. Scully sighed. She
shouldn't have gone back to the office just now - she should have just made
all the calls here at the hospital. But she'd needed to track the damn bitch
Samantha down and the office had been the best place to go to for that.

"Have you had lunch?" her mother asked as Scully pecked her on the cheek.

"Well, no. I was thinking of seeing Mulder first."

"You should take care of yourself, Dana. You'll do no good if you fall
sick."

"Mom, I'm fine. I'll just be having a late lunch that's all."

"I want you to have lunch with me," her mother said in a tone that brooked
no argument.

Scully argued anyway. "I'm just going to check on Mulder..."

"Is he alone?"

Scully paused. "Well, no. His mother is probably with him. But I did say..."

"When was the last time you had a full, complete meal, Dana? You're going to
become all skin and bones again. I want you to have lunch with your mother.
I'm sure Fox won't mind."

There was a certain sharpness in the way her mother spoke - it made her
sound almost sarcastic. But Scully knew that couldn't be so. She gave in.

"The cafeteria is..."

"No," her mother said. "Not here in this hospital. I do not like hospitals.
God help me if I never see this place again. We'll go out and have a proper
lunch."

It seemed rather a preposterous suggestion under the circumstances - lunch
having greater priority than saving Mulder's life - but she followed her
mother obediently. Maybe the short break would help her. It should give her
time to reconsider every angle again, without the burden of having to stare
at Mulder's wretchedly deteriorating form.

The lunch was a simple affair, in a nice little restaurant next to the
hospital. Outside the hospital. She really did miss the outside world,
especially since her time within the confines of the hospital was voluntary.
She wasn't sick or in need of recuperation. But she had to remain with
Mulder.

Talk jumped about from one mundane thing to another. In spite of it all,
Scully managed mild interest in her mother's stories. Regular ordinary talk.
Less than two weeks ago, she had participated in this kind of talk. Even
with Mulder.

Finally all that was left to do was to pay the bill. Scully looked around
for the waiter and at the same time asked, "Do you want to come back with me
and visit Mulder? You still can't go into the room with him though."

"There's only so much terminal illness that I wish to see, Dana," her mother
replied.

Scully forgot all about calling the waiter and the waiter, who had already
been walking in their direction, now turned away to tend to another diner.
Scully stared at her mother. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said, Dana. I meant exactly what I said."

"Mulder will be fine," Scully said grimly. "We'll find some way to cure
him."

"Do you know that you keep saying those words to me each time? Since - was
it two weeks ago? Since he's been sick."

"Well, we are doing all we can," Scully said. She was quite hurt by what her
mother was implying. This was just too much like when she'd had her cancer,
when she'd felt like everyone but Mulder seemed to have given up on her. Her
own family hadn't had much hope in her life. Her own family, when things got
tough, seemed to prefer to take the easy way out... to let things go... or
to pretend that things weren't happening.... Till now her mother managed to
find original and inventive ways to avoid acknowledgement of Emily's tragic
existence.

Her mother looked her in the eye as she asked, "Would you like me to call
Father McCue?"

"I... I'm not... I don't think they're Catholic," Scully stammered.

"Are they Christians?"

"I don't know," Scully answered with an embarrassed shrug. "But they
celebrate Christmas. Well, they celebrated Christmas. Mrs. Mulder was
telling me about one Christmas when..." Scully trailed off. Why was she
repeating a story about Christmas? This wasn't the right time to talk about
such joyous events - and besides Mrs. Mulder had told that story in a sad,
reminiscing air.

Anyway, her mother wasn't inclined to pick up the Christmas angle. "Father
McCue won't mind. It doesn't matter what you are, it's the prayer that
helps. And if the Mulders don't mind, then he can come over and pray with
them."

"I can ask Mrs. Mulder," Scully said finally. To depend on faith to heal
Mulder?

"And in the meantime we can continue to pray for him on our own."

Scully nodded weakly. She wondered what Mulder would think of this. Faith.
To pray to God to save his life. She was praying, she was praying a lot, in
fact. She had faith. But to convince Mulder to pray along with her? Would he
scoff at her the way she had so often scoffed at his more ludicrous
theories? Mulder's stand on religion was just so firmly negative sometimes
that it was bewildering. His refusal to believe was a flat out refusal,
unlike her science-based, logic-based arguments against his intriguing
paranormal beliefs. She had the impression sometimes that Mulder just did
not want God. Hated the idea of it. Period.

Her mother was twisting the napkin between her fingers and Scully watched
the destructive motion as she tried to consider what she should say next.
The moment was tense somehow. Then her mother asked, "What he has - it's
infectious, isn't it?"

"Not to anyone around him," she answered reassuringly. "They've run all the
tests and they're certain now that he can't infect anyone else."

"Why?"

"It's non-transmissible from person to person. It is actually pretty
interesting that..."

"Why is he in that isolation room then?"

"Well, they weren't sure at the time about how the virus is transmitted. Now
they know, but we still keep him isolated in that room because his immune
defenses are very low. Now we want to protect him from getting any
opportunistic infections from the outside. Mom, I've explained this
already."

"But he's been sick with this thing for a long time, right?"

"Not really sick. I mean, he's been infected for a long time. It's just that
finally, he's manifesting all symptoms now."

"You could be infected and not even know it!" her mother exclaimed.
Obviously this was what she'd been waiting to discuss. She'd tried bringing
up the matter a week earlier but Scully had managed to change the subject -
she hadn't been sure about the infectivity of the virus then. Now she was
absolutely sure.

"No, Mom. I'm fine. I am. I've been with him from the very beginning - the
first time he got sick in Alaska. I went there and helped nurse him back to
health. It's not transmitted from person to person. Trust me, Mom."

"Trust you? I should, Dana. But you never tell me anything do you?" Her
mother paused, her lips trembling. Her fingers were mercilessly pulling the
napkin to shreds. Scully frowned as her mother went on, "Alaska. That was
three years ago, wasn't it? You never told me that the reason you went to
Alaska was because Fox was sick. I thought you went there because you had a
crime to solve."

"I didn't want you to worry unnecessarily," Scully said defensively.

"I'm your mother, Dana. It's my privilege to worry."

Scully had no idea why her mother would suddenly turn the conversation in
this direction. She was flummoxed and distressed at the same time.

"I've always respected your choices and decisions in life, Dana. Always. But
at the same time do you know how you keep breaking my heart? You don't visit
your brothers. You don't tell me where you're going - but of course you're a
big girl now. You don't tell me what's happening and suddenly I find out
that you hurt yourself doing this, or doing that. All of it is work, is it?
Just work. And you walk all the way to my home to cry on my shoulder. And
Fox calls me and tells me that you're missing, then you turn up at my home
sick and crazy. Fox calls me to tell me that you are in hospital and you
have cancer. Fox..."

"Mom, stop it. I'm not going to have a fight with you here."

Her mother stopped and passed her hand over her eyes. "I'm not fighting,
Dana. I am upset. My little girl has all grown up and won't tell her mother
anything because she thinks her mother won't understand."

"Mom..."

"She won't tell her mother that she's spent all these years - years! -
working with a man who's infected with some strange virus."

"I thought he was cured! I didn't..."

"I don't care about that, Dana. What I care is how can you be so sure that
you are safe? I'm afraid. You told me that he has bleeding problems? There's
blood and you keep close to him..."

"He cannot infect me, Mom. I keep telling you that. He cannot infect
anybody."

"Well, I don't understand how that can be. People get AIDS from other
people, don't they? You have been with him since..."

"AIDS isn't as easily infectious as you think it is, Mom. Anyway this virus
is not the same as the HIV. I will not get sick."

"And you were never supposed to fall sick after taking a piece of metal out
of your neck either."

Scully could not respond to that. She looked away from her mother's worried
face, only to find herself staring at a couple trying to force-feed orange
juice to their fussy little golden-haired daughter. She turned away from
that sight and stared at her own discarded napkin on her plate.

"You keep breaking my heart, Dana," her mother said softly. "I go to bed so
scared every night. I keep praying and praying.... You're my only daughter
now, Dana. My only one."

"I will not get sick because of this," Scully insisted lamely. "Please, Mom.
You don't have to worry." Her mother sighed. Scully managed to catch the
waiter's eye and signaled for the check. She watched him make his way over
to the cashier's register.

Her mother opened her mouth to speak again and Scully mentally braced
herself.

"How is Fox?"

It was her mother's way of calling a truce. Scully answered quickly, "He'll
need to have a transplant as soon as possible. It's his best hope."

"Is it what he really wants?"

Scully was stunned by her mother's unnecessary question. "It's the only
medical option we have," she replied.

"Doesn't mean you can't try anything else," her mother said. Scully assumed
she was talking about faith and prayer until her mother added, "Something
like that metal thing he found for you?"

"No. Mulder's case is different. Such a thing won't help him." Though Scully
certainly wished such a thing could.

"Where did Fox get it? Neither of you ever told where that thing really came
from."

Scully's family would never have understood the complicated tangle of
conspiracies and counter conspiracies that so warped her life now, and she'd
certainly never made the effort to explain these things to them. They knew
only the superficial details - that both she and Mulder were often up
against aliens of the third kind variety, with a good dose of the regular
mean 'bad guy' types thrown in to spice things up. Even then sometimes
Scully felt that they already knew too much of the wrong details.

"It was given to him by someone," she answered.

But her mother refused to let the matter drop. "Well then, can't the same
someone give you something to help Fox?"

"No. He can't." Then the honest reply tripped off her tongue before she even
had time to think about it. "Help is being offered, but I don't think it's
acceptable."

"Fox doesn't want it?"

The waiter swooped by to give them their check. Scully placed her credit
card on the tray without checking the amount. She was quite distracted.

"I don't know," she said. "I haven't asked him."

"Why not?" her mother questioned innocently.

"He's a bit confused now, Mom. The drugs make him that way. We don't think
it's advisable to seek his opinion on anything at this point."

"He should still decide. Your brother and I allowed you to decide, didn't
we?"

"That was different. I was perfectly aware of the odds. I knew what I was
doing."

"Well, your brother and I couldn't be absolutely certain of that. Your
decision regarding that bit of metal wasn't exactly what one would call a
sane, educated decision."

Scully wanted to protest: to curse her brother's ignorance and selfish
authoritative attitude which no doubt must have colored some of her mother's
opinions, to deny that she'd been even close to being mentally incapable of
decision-making while she had been so close to death, to state that in the
end she and her partner had been the ones who were right and it was that bit
of metal that was keeping her alive and in remission; but she held her
tongue. To say anything would just spark off another painful argument. Her
mother certainly didn't seem to think that she'd said anything wrong.

Scully's credit card was returned to her, she signed the receipt, and she
stepped out with her mother. All through this neither woman said anything to
the other. They stood awkwardly on the curb right outside the restaurant.
Scully would go back to the hospital of course; her mother would probably
return home. Still silent, Scully gave her mother a kiss on the cheek. Her
mother hugged her in return.

"We'll keep praying, Dana," her mother said simply.

Scully returned alone to the hospital.

~
END PART 10
~~~~~~~~~~~

REGARDING A CURE
PART 11
~
12th day, late evening
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder hated the light. It was just so damned bright. So when he heard the
door open to admit his visitor, he kept his eyes closed until he heard his
visitor sit down in the chair beside his bed. Only then did he open his eyes
to squint at her.

He knew the visitor had to be either his partner or his mother. A doctor
would straight away shine a sharp light in his eyes or grab hold of his
wrist to feel the pulse. A nurse would just prod and poke him. But a visitor
- a visitor would sit down in the chair and refrain from jabbing him or
hurting him. It was nice that some things remained predictable.

This visitor was his partner. She wasn't wearing her regulatory plastic cap
over her hair this time, and the redness of her hair was startling against
the plain, dull colors that he'd gotten used to in his isolation room. She
still had her mask on though.

"Hey Mulder," she murmured softly as she reached out to brush his hair back
from his forehead.

"How's work?" he asked in greeting. His throat hurt a lot now, and he hated
the dry raspy croak his voice was reduced to. He wondered if he'd ever sound
normal again. But then, he'd conveniently forgotten what normal sounded
like, so maybe he wasn't missing much.

"I'm not working," Scully said. She patted his head gently. "Gunmen say
hey."

Mulder couldn't remember who Gunmen was but he felt bad about admitting
that. Scully would think that he had never been paying attention to her
stories. So he closed his eyes and changed the subject.

"Did you cut your hair?"

"My hair? No, I didn't. Oh, but you haven't seen my hair for a while have
you? We don't have to wear that cap anymore. Hair is just hair, after all."
There was a pause, during which time Mulder wondered if Scully was going to
continue to elaborate about hair and all things magnificent about it. Then
he heard her make a small sound of approval. "They've just bathed you.
Washed your hair too."

This was a revelation to Mulder. No wonder his head felt wet. He must have
been asleep while they did their washing. He opened his eyes to mere slits -
the light really hurt his eyes - and stole a quick look at Scully. She
wasn't wearing the plastic cap over her hair anymore, but she still had her
gloves on, as well as the plastic gown over her clothes and the mask over
her face.

"Are you going to work?" he asked, wondering which suit Scully had on
underneath that plastic gown. He liked her light blue suit best. Her red
suit was nice too, especially if she wore it with a white blouse.

Scully sighed. "No, Mulder. I haven't been going to work. I formally
requested leave from the bureau." She chuckled, but not out of amusement. "I
never use my leave days anyway, so I'm using them all up now."

"You're leaving?" Mulder asked with some dismay. He really wanted her
company.

"I'm not going anywhere, Mulder," Scully answered. There was something about
the way she said that. Was she sad? Should he be worried if she were sad?
After a long pause, she said, "Look Mulder, we have something to talk about.
Do you think you can concentrate? This is very important. I need to know you
can concentrate."

Mulder blinked a few times before nodding. She took a long deep breath and
gave his hand an extra hard squeeze. He didn't like that. It hurt.

"We're planning the marrow transplant for you. Did your mom tell you this?"

Mulder nodded and watched her eyes as she spoke. Her eyes were shining,
weren't they? No, that wasn't the right word. Glistening - that was the
word. Tears? Light was reflecting off the tears that were pooling in her
eyes, and she looked so sad but pretty. Her hair was nice. He'd always liked
her hair. He wished he could see her lips move as she talked.

"Your mom said you agreed to have the transplant. Did you?"

He nodded again.

"You understood what she told you?"

"Yeah."

"What did she tell you?"

"Same stuff Shaughnessy told me." He slurred a bit while saying
Shaughnessy's name. Man, what a tongue twister. "Same stuff you told me. All
about bone marrow."

She seemed satisfied. "You're going to have the transplant ten days from
now. Starting today, you'll be given drugs that will destroy your own
marrow. By destroying all your marrow cells the viruses will be killed off
too, indirectly. You'll have to have total lymphoid irradiation as well.
That is scheduled for three consecutive days beginning four days from now.
The drugs and the radiation are referred to as conditioning. Can you keep up
with me? Do you understand all this?"

Mulder could still remember a time when he'd woken up from a long sleep - he
found out later that it was a long sleep all right; he'd been comatose for
weeks - and found himself staring at an unfamiliar wall in some place that
he knew had to be a hospital. Then his eyes had tracked up to the unfamiliar
ceiling and he'd started to fully come awake, just started to take stock of
which limbs still existed. Then she called out, a happy 'hey', and when he
turned his head, he saw her sitting there with such radiant joy on her face.

Not like now. There was no joy in her at all right now.

She was expecting him to say or do something. He shrugged. It seemed like
the best response. Didn't make her particularly happy though.

"There is concern you won't be able to survive the effects of the
conditioning and the complications of transplant. That maybe proceeding with
the transplant isn't the best idea."

This line of talk was beginning to sound familiar. Scully had spoken of
transplantation prior to this, hadn't she? Something about it being the best
treatment for his terminally anemic condition. He could remember that. But
this was a different kind of talk. Sounded like ominous terminal talk, if
one could refer to it as that. No wonder she wasn't happy.

"And you've a new complication. You've become refractory towards platelets.
That means no matter how many platelet transfusions we give you, your
platelet counts will continue to drop instead of improve. Your body has
developed antibodies against platelets. Considering how low your platelet
counts are now it's only a matter of time before you start to
hemorrhage...." She stopped suddenly. "Mulder, I'm sorry. I'm talking too
fast, aren't I. Do you... can you understand me?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"No, Mulder. Can you understand what I've just told you? Are you paying
attention? Do you want me to repeat what I've said?"

"I said I'm fine," Mulder replied. Some degree of annoyance was creeping in.
What, did she think he was stupid?

"Mulder, I have to know that you understand. We have to talk."

What did they have to talk about? His mother should be able to handle
everything. Although this was going to be hard on his mother. Real hard.
This was worse than that time when he stayed out all night without telling
her, causing her to panic. He must have been about 14 then. But no, that was
pretty mild actually. So, this was worse than that time when the FBI told
her that he'd died in the desert. Yes, that had been hard. Had there ever
been anything harder than that? Did it matter? This present mess had to be
the worse mess of all time.

"Mulder?" Scully's voice was starting to sound strained. "Mulder..."

"I know I'm going to die," he stated calmly.

Scully made a strangled sound. "No, not... I didn't mean it that way..."

"No?"

"No! Look, we're keeping you on AZT. We think it halts further replication
of the retrovirus, at least. We're buying time."

He remembered feeling so frantic about running out of time, back when Scully
had cancer. He couldn't eat, he couldn't sleep, he was so worried about the
sand that was just dropping so steadily in the hourglass of her life. He
mused over that last thought for a while. That was one stupid metaphor.
Surely he could come up with something better to describe how he felt during
those gray hours when he was so sure that she was going to die.

"Mulder, you have faith. You believe don't you?"

Was Scully was talking about aliens again? Damn it, he was not going to
believe in that crap anymore. He'd had enough of lies upon lies upon lies.
But her earnestness made the alien context seem wrong. What faith was she
talking about? Unlike his neighbors' moms, his mother hadn't been too fussy
about whether or not he went to Sunday school. Heck, his mother hadn't even
mentioned the bible as compulsory reading while they were growing up.

"Well, I've been thinking about this." Scully was talking and he liked the
sound of her voice. "And now that you've developed this new complication I
keep thinking about it more and more. About whether or not there is one easy
alternative path for us to choose."

Scully's voice was so nice and soothing. He loved the way she said his name.
No one ever said his name the way she did. He closed his eyes against the
harsh light and wondered what basketball games he may have missed since he'd
been admitted. Was it basketball season yet when he got sick? The damn TV in
this room was never turned on. Well, he was asleep most of the time anyway,
so maybe they didn't want to waste electricity. Did he turn out all the
lights in his apartment? He'd hate to find out that he had to pay for
something he never used. Utility bills were such a burden.

"Mulder? Mulder, please. Try to pay attention."

He opened his eyes and stared up at the white ceiling. Too bright. He hated
it. What was Scully saying? She wanted his attention.

"I need to ask if you remember. Mulder, do you remember Jeremiah Smith?"

He frowned at her. Smith? That was a very common name wasn't it?

"Jeremiah Smith - the man who allegedly healed people with the palm of his
hand. Do you remember? There was a case we were called to, people had been
shot in a packed restaurant, but when we got there no one was injured. The
injured claimed that a man had placed the palm of his hand on their wounds
and healed them. You spoke to the shooter, who was himself shot square in
the chest by an FBI sharpshooter, but was spontaneously healed of the wound.
Remember? He was the one who told you about Smith, the alleged healer. This
was about the time your mother had her stroke."

Mulder was alarmed. "My mother had a stroke?"

"She's fine, Mulder. I'm talking about something that happened two years
ago. Your mother is fine now, she's all right, she's safe. It's OK, Mulder,
your mother is fine. I was talking about her stroke two years ago. Do you
hear me, Mulder? It happened two years ago. Your mother is all right. Don't
try to get up, Mulder. Mulder, lie down."

He allowed Scully to rearrange the pillows beneath his head as he tried to
get himself comfortable again. Not an easy thing to do when almost
everything hurt. When Scully gripped his arm a bit harder than necessary he
had to bite back the wince.

"I'm sorry, Mulder. I didn't mean to shock you," Scully said softly.

Mulder wasn't paying too much attention to her apology. Right now his back
was killing him.

"I thought you'd remember the stroke. You wanted to look for Jeremiah Smith
- you wanted him to save your mother's life. You did find him and he showed
you something, remember? A field, and something that had to do with bees?
But you weren't able to bring him back to do what you wanted him to do. You
wanted him to heal your mother but you couldn't bring him back. This was two
years ago. Your mother is fine now. Mulder? She's fine."

His back was really killing him.

"Jeremiah Smith was someone you believed to be the real thing; that he could
heal people with the touch of his hand. Mulder, do you remember?"

It was strange really, how the sudden clarity hit him. After who knew how
many days of foggy disjointed thoughts, he suddenly understood what she was
talking about and remembered.

"Tall guy with gray hair," Mulder said, seeking confirmation that this was
indeed the man Scully was going on and on about. "He could morph, I think. I
think he was one of them."

Scully heaved a sigh of relief. "Yes! That's him. He was a..." her voice
trailed off a bit before she corrected herself and continued, "You believed
that he could heal."

"He's dead," Mulder said.

"The Jeremiah Smith we encountered may be dead but do you recall there were
other Jeremiah Smiths scattered all around the country? Men with identical
faces and possibly similar 'talents'? We tried to trace them all after Smith
went missing again, but we never found the other Smiths."

He couldn't remember all that, but the clarity he was enjoying now was
helping him realize what Scully must have done and what she now wanted to
do.

"You found one."

"He came to me. A Smith look-alike who calls himself Jeremy Walker. He
claims that he too has the power to heal. He wants to help you."

Mulder stared at Scully, incredulous. The pain in his back was reaching a
lovely crescendo but he tried to ignore it.

"You believe him?" A real sense of wonder was successfully infused into the
croaky gasp that came out of his lips.

Scully's eyes flickered away. "I didn't."

That was a past tense Scully was using. Curious, he repeated, "You believe
him?"

"I suppose I have to give him the benefit of the doubt. The priority now is
to cure you, Mulder. There is no time to question the how's or what's. I
will have faith that this is something that might work. Medical science can
only do so much."

She sighed sadly, ran her fingers through his hair. She said, "The doctors
have no absolute cure. The transplant isn't the cure because no one is sure
you will survive the transplant, or what life will be like after the
transplant. Walker promises a cure. The worst that can come out of that is
that my faith has been misplaced and that he is a fraud... I am afraid of
that. But I'm also afraid of depriving you of a real cure. Do you understand
what I'm saying? He says he can cure you, but we can't know whether or not
he's genuine until he tries. Nor can we be absolutely certain that he does
not ultimately mean to cause more harm than good."

"You trust him?"

He was pretty sure that there was a grim smile on her lips as she answered,
"I have to trust him to help you, Mulder, once he earns that trust. But
otherwise no, I don't trust him."

"How did he know?"

"About you? He was sent. The men of the Consortium, of which our late
Cancerman was a part of, sent him."

Mulder was momentarily confused by the mention of the Consortium. He was
pretty sure he himself worked for the FBI. He was an FBI agent. He had a
badge and a card - he had to be an FBI agent. He remembered shooting
practice at the FBI Academy firing range. He did remember Cancerman. That
was the foul son of a bitch who... he couldn't remember what exactly
Cancerman had to do with his mother, but whatever it was, it couldn't be
good.

So he asked the next obvious question, "Why?"

"I don't know. They want to save you."

Mulder had a bad feeling that he did know the men Scully was referring to.
They were the 'Them' that he and Scully had always fought so hard against.

"I met one of 'Them' yesterday. He said that even they have no scientific
cure for you; your illness is something they never expected. Instead they
could offer only this miracle cure by what they refer to as a 'healer'.
That's what they're calling this Jeremy Walker. A healer."

He vaguely remembered Cancerman making an offer to him once, as if joining
Cancerman and helping with the dirty work would put right all things that
had gone wrong. He had refused to do so. He still didn't want to do so.

"I don't want it."

Scully looked startled. "What?"

"I don't want to join them."

"This isn't about 'Them', Mulder! This is about you. If this healer is for
real then I think we can - we should take the risk."

"No. I'll have nothing to do with them. Not for me."

To say that Scully was upset was an understatement. "What do you mean, 'not
for you'? We have to do something, Mulder. I can't believe that you aren't
at least considering this?"

Mulder closed his eyes, shook his head. She was getting loud, she was giving
him a headache. And the pain... if someone didn't give him a shot of
morphine soon....

"Or are you thinking about me? That I'm taking a risk? Well, in a way I am.
I'm placing my faith in something impossible, but I've learned enough over
the years to know that I should stop thinking things are impossible. I
shouldn't believe in Walker, but after a lot of thinking and reconsidering,
I think I will let him heal you, if he can. I know he shouldn't be able to,
but I hope he can. Mulder? Do you understand? There isn't much optimism in
the transplant really saving your life. It's just that medically, there's
nothing else to do. If the Consortium healer is real and he does heal you,
the Consortium will not be able to use it against us, Mulder. I know this.
We'll make sure they won't."

Mulder had this strange feeling that he was starting to choke. He hoped this
didn't mean that he was going to start coughing up blood again. That'd
happened several times of late. Real painful, and since the pain in his back
was already overwhelming, he didn't want any more additions to the pain
plethora. So he tried to swallow hard and hoped his next breath would come
easier. Was Scully still talking? What was she talking about? He'd forgotten
again. Maybe she was just reading a book. He hoped so. It'd be bad if she
asked him something that he couldn't answer.

"Mulder, I think we should do it, but what do you want? Mulder? Do you want
to?"

Mulder could breathe again. Good. But what in the world was Scully talking
about? What would he want to do? Eat? He didn't think so; his throat was too
sore to swallow solid foods. Even drinking hurt him. Better to say no, avoid
all the trouble, then maybe hope that the nurse would come soon and give him
something for the pain....

"Mulder?"

He shook his head. His eyes remained closed. He didn't see Scully's
crestfallen eyes.

~
END PART 11
~~~~~~~~~~~