World Without End Book Two: Chapter Twelve by Rachel Anton

TITLE: World Without End: Book Two (12/?)
AUTHOR: Rachel Anton
E-MAIL: RAnton1013@aol.com

Just a note: I wanted to give a special thank you to everyone who's been helping me along with this story so far. Everyone who's been reading and sending feedback and special mucho thanks to Laura, Cynthia, Alanna, and Barb. You guys are the best.

The snow is melting again. The thaw has come a little early this year, don't you think? It's so nice to be able to sit outside like this in the middle of March. I hope that whatever you're doing today, you're doing it outdoors.

How peculiar to be writing you a letter. How silly to be writing to you about something as mundane as the weather. I know that I'll be seeing you in a matter of hours. We'll eat dinner together, as always, and on a normal day I would be able to discuss simple things like the sun and the grass with you. But we haven't had a normal day in a very long time, have we Alex?

Do you know what the strangest part of it is? The thing that I miss most of all is the fighting. Do you remember when we used to fight? When it was possible for us to resolve every difference through a few hours of raised voices and thrown crockery? Even after Mulder's arrival, things were difficult, yes, but we still managed to work through it. The fighting was more painful, more deeply personal and wounding, but it got us through. The making up was well worth the struggle to get there.

But as the weather changes, so do we. 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've never known you to sulk, Alex. I'm not even sure if that's what you're doing. All I know is that you've barely spoken to me since that day. We sleep in the same bed, share the same space, and yet you've hardly touched me in weeks. And I miss you terribly.

I didn't mean to lie to you. When you asked about that stupid radio, I suppose those old, dormant instincts to protect Mulder kicked in. I told you I'd found it myself, and I could tell from your expression that you didn't believe me. Such a small, meaningless detail, but to you it seemed to make all the difference. You didn't ask me about anything else. Did you just assume I'd lie again?

Despite the fact that you'd been insistent about my attending that meeting, once I got there, you completely ignored me. I had a report to give, but you never asked for it.

Marita was there but she didn't say a word. Why was she there, Alex? You never told me. I know you've been spending a lot of time with her. Business, you say, and I believe you. I do. I wish you'd tell me what kind of business, though. I wish you'd share your life with me again.

I trust you, Alex. I know that I can. Do you know that you can trust me? Can you?

I wish you'd just blow up at me already, put me out of my misery. Or just let it go and talk to me again. Please. It's already been almost three weeks since that day. I don't know how much more time we've got.

No, you don't. Because I haven't told you. Because I'm afraid. Not afraid of dying. No, that's another lie. I am afraid of dying. I am so afraid, Alex. But what scares me more is how much I've disappointed you, my love. This illness is only my most recent failure. The final insult. The thought of leaving you behind is more terrifying than anything in the world.

You'll be all right though, won't you? You've survived so much. I know this won't-couldn't be- your undoing. I hope that you'll take care of Ret for me. He needs somebody to love.

I have to go now, Alex. My head is hurting terribly, and I am starting to see white spots on the paper. Please know that nothing, no one, could ever change what you are to me. I will die with you in my heart, even if I have left yours.

Roseanne is here. I have no idea how long she's been watching me but when I finish the letter, I look up and there she is, sitting across from me at the picnic table.

I fold the paper I'd been writing on into a tiny little square and put it in my shirt pocket. I wonder if anyone will ever read it. I wonder why I even wrote it. Not to give to Alex, certainly. Therapy? Perhaps, but I haven't found it to be particularly therapeutic. I wonder if I should burn it.

"What's that?" Roseanne asks after I've concealed the letter. She's brought her lunch out on a tray and half of it is gone. She must have been here almost the entire time.

"You seemed pretty engrossed. I said hi when I sat down but you didn't even hear me, did you?"

God, my head really is pounding. I can barely even focus on her. Every distant, minute sound is amplified in my brain. Rustling leaves sound like the beat of a snare drum. Those white dots are covering Roseanne's face.

She leans across the table and places her hand over mine. For some reason the gesture startles me, makes me jump.

She shrugs and starts eating her sandwich again, thankfully opting not to pry any further. As much as I like, and trust, Roseanne, next to Alex, she's probably the last person in the world I'd want to burden with my illness.

Is this conversation over? I hope so. I need to go…somewhere. Anywhere. I can't talk to anyone anymore.

"Wait wait wait, Dana! God, I feel like I haven't talked to you in ages. Stay for a minute."

I miss her, too. I really do. I've barely even thought of it until just now, but we've been drifting apart over the past few months. Since Mulder. Since I started drifting apart myself.

I sit back down and rub my temples, hoping to ease the pain enough to clear my head, to make me somewhat coherent.

"I'm sorry, Roseanne. I've just been…things have been…well, I haven't had a lot of time."

"Well, jeez Dana. This place isn't exactly overflowing with attractive, intelligent, eligible men. And the two best looking guys here are…well…"

Mine. Mine? They're not mine. Neither of them are mine anymore. Mulder never really was and Alex…oh, Alex.

"They both love you, Dana. Not that you don't deserve it, but it's just totally unfair to a single girl such as myself."

Maybe when I'm gone she'll be able to take care of Alex for me. Perhaps he could even grow to love her, to forget about me.

"Dana, are you insane? The man has no interest in anyone, anything, other than you. Believe me, I've tried to…expand his horizons."

I don't really know what to say about that. I just wish that things were different somehow. For all of us.

"Well, like I said, I've been sort of busy. I haven't really been talking much to anyone."

Especially not Alex. I can't respond to her beyond shaking my head and looking away. I hope she can see that this is the last thing I want to talk about right now.

"Dana, aren't you supposed to be his second in command? I mean, even if you guys are having problems…"

She pulls back from me, startled at my outburst. I didn't mean to sound so defensive.

"Okay, Dana. You're not having problems. So why didn't he tell you about this huge raid he's been planning with Marita and this mysterious contact of hers for the past couple weeks?"

"Jesus, Dana! They're going to one of the main facilities. This is a huge deal! I can't believe he hasn't talked it over with you. What the hell is wrong with him?"

I smile and lean across the table to kiss her on the cheek. I'm struck with an urge to collapse sobbing into her arms but thankfully restrain myself.

I've never been nervous knocking on the door to Alex's office before. In fact, I'm not sure I've ever knocked on this door, period.

He grumbles something incomprehensible on the other side of the door, and I take that as an invitation. I've got to admit that when I step inside, I'm shocked. I've never seen this place in such a state of utter chaos. Papers, books, and maps lie strewn across the desk and the chairs. File cabinets are open, their contents disheveled. Alex sits amidst the mess, scrawling madly on his notepad. Planning. Without me.

I clear my throat, and he looks up with a start. I feel as though I've captured him in some sort of infidelity. Silly but just the same…

His tone frightens me. It's not questioning, not surprised, not angry or irritated, not tender or concerned. It's blank. Empty. A dull statement of fact. Dana.

I lift a pile of papers off the chair in front of his desk and put them on the floor. He winces but doesn't reprimand me, so I take the seat. I feel alarmingly like an errant child sent to the principal's office all of a sudden.

God, that face. He's a rock. No expression whatsoever. His hands are folded together on the desk in front of him. Human and inhuman sides joined.

God, it's Alex. Alex for goodness sake. I shouldn't feel this way. How did things become so completely wrong?

I pause and take a deep breath, stopping myself from spitting out the tirade I feel bubbling under my surface.

"Bother me? Alex, this is part of my job. Not just my job. My life. Now I want you to tell me what's going on. Where is this raid?"

In lieu of an answer I receive a stack of papers shoved in my general direction across the desk. There's a rough map of the Southern territory, which increases in vagueness the further South it goes. Somewhere near the bottom is a red circle around what I believe used to be the city of Boston.

"I don't understand. Alex, this is where all of their warehouses are. This is where we get our supplies from. What's going on here?"

"They've been lying to us, Dana. Getting us to do their dirty work and giving us trinkets in return."

He shakes his head and looks at me with…pity? Is that pity? As if I'm a fool for not knowing what he knows, not understanding why he wants to throw away our one helpful alliance and make yet another set of enemies.

"They've been holding out on us, Dana. They have the things we need, the things we've been working our asses off trying to find. They've had them all along. All we're doing is taking what we deserve. Payment in full."

Would it be the end of the world if I reached across that desk and strangled him? Somehow I have a feeling it would be, but it's a temptation nonetheless.

"They have the technology we need. To make a weapon. To get rid of them. All of them."

"Because it would kill them too if they released it. They haven't figured out a way to immunize themselves."

"So you're going to take this from them and set it loose? You're going to completely betray the only ones who've helped us at all, Alex?"

He gives me that pitiful look again, and for the first time all day, my headache abates and is replaced by nausea. Who is this man? Where is the Alex I know? Did I kill him by simply dancing with another man?

Dammit. This is completely ridiculous. I can't believe he's playing this idiotic guessing game with me.

I barely manage to whisper the word. How could that possibly be? It couldn't. Could it?

"Someone told you. That's great, Alex. You're going to throw our one alliance down the toilet and risk everyone's lives for something 'someone' told you?"

And all for the sake of finding a cure. That's what it is, more than the weapons. I know him well enough to understand that. He's willing to risk everything, including his own life, to find that cure. For me. For what he views as a potential threat to my well being. That is what frightens me most of all about this. And it enforces my decision not to tell him that I am already sick. God only knows what he would do.

"There's a man. A man I used to work for. We've been in contact. He's offered to help us."

His eyebrows raise in surprise, which is answer enough for me. I know this man Alex seems to have deemed worthy of trust. And I'm nearly speechless with shock at the thought of risking so much on his word.

I can see that there's no point in arguing the issue with him. He seems to have made up his mind.

I nod my assent, and we lock eyes for the first time. It might be my imagination, but I think that I see something soften in him. I suppose he expected an argument. I wish I had the strength to argue. I wish I felt well enough to believe I'd be an asset instead of dead weight.

We stare at each other in silence for what seems like a very long time but might only be a moment or two. Yes, he is behaving like an insufferable bastard, but there is someone I care about in there somewhere. Someone I want to touch.

I run the fingers of my right hand over the ring sitting on my left hand and feel my heart begin to race remembering the night he gave me this gift. How would he react if I reached across the barrier between us and grabbed his face, brought his lips to mine where they belong? Would it melt this cold, dead facade away? Would it convince him to believe in me again? For a moment I think maybe it would.

But it passes. He looks down at his papers again, dismissing me. I get up and start for the door. Is he watching my back with sad, lonely eyes?

I turn around quickly, hoping to catch him, but his head is still hanging over his desk and he's started writing again. I feel a pang of desperation and need so strong that I can't ignore it and walk away.

He didn't. He looks up and suddenly his face is new. Soft and kind and terribly unhappy.

So different than when I first walked in here. So full of pain and love and just plain old raw emotion.

"I dunno, Dana. I just…whatever you think of me now, whatever kind of man you think I am, there's one thing that's always guided me through every situation."

I walk back to the desk and tentatively place my hand over his. He doesn't pull away, thank God.

He takes a deep shuddering breath and looks up at me with the eyes of a frightened rabbit.

Hearing that feels like a white hot poker piercing through my chest, puncturing a heart I thought had already been broken a thousand times over.

He nods, but I suppose we both know that that's a lie. I already have hurt him. Not willingly or purposefully, but I have.

I squeeze his hand. He lifts mine to his lips and plants a soft kiss on my knuckles.

Just keep going. I suppose that's a start. He drops my hand and replaces it with a pencil, looking back at his work.

"I'll see you tonight," he says, and this time I do leave because I don't know what else to say. I don't know how in the world to make it better. But at least I have a little bit of hope.