TITLE: World Without End:
Book Two (18/18)
AUTHOR: Rachel Anton
E-MAIL: RAnton1013@aol.com
Author's notes at the end
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.
*************************
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.
End Chapter Eighteen
End Book Two
Continued in Book Three
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.
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