Title: Something to Talk About Author: Eileen S. Whipple Email: whipples@connect.ab.ca Rating: G Classification: V, a little A, and implied MSR Summary: People around the Hoover Building have found out Scully's secret and they're talking. Timeline: A month after the end of "Memento Mori" DISCLAIMER: CC owns X-Files. I just borrowed them for a minute, and he can have them back. Notes: This is just a vignette that's all over, because it's Scully in the first person, and who of us can think in perfect order? This is also a response to the Cancerfic challenge. The title came from Bonnie Raitt's song "Something to Talk About" but this isn't a songfic! The idea actually came from the title that was an answer on Rock and Roll Jeopardy. Also... my first solo attempt at anything with a hint of MSR! (Love you, Sara!) I never thought it would get out. Skinner said he'd keep it to himself, but it's now floating around the FBI rumour mill. However, I know it's not a rumour. I wish it were only that. I've only known about this cancer for a month and already the biggest mouth of the Hoover Building knows about it. Miss Francine Jerome--someone that could usually be called the National Enquirer of the Bureau but this time, she's got most of her facts straight. That's a first. I don't look sick anymore. I have some colour to my skin and I'm not overly thin. How could anyone have found out? Other than Mulder, I've only told Skinner and he would never betray an agent. It was yesterday when I heard Francine babbling about my health to some agents, and I'm now getting whispers and stares from almost everyone I walk by. Do they still see me as Special Agent Dana Scully, forensic pathologist extraordinaire? Or do they simply see me as my disease? Am I just a walking time bomb to them, and they're afraid I'm going to drop dead in the middle of the hall? I have not burdened Mulder with these questions yet because I know what he'd say. "You're just as paranoid as I am." I wonder if he's heard anything. I'll find out when he gets back with lunch. I am so furious right now. My cancer is not supposed to be the popular discussion topic of the week. This is my *life* and they're taking it so lightly. It isn't right. But what can I do? I can't deny something that's true, and I'm not going to go after Francine. This isn't high school and everyone should know that. If it had been about whether or not I dyed my hair, I probably wouldn't have taken it as personally as this. I'm not going to fight back. I'm already busy enough battling this disease that has attacked me so suddenly, and I cannot give in to the whispers and pointing. I have a job to do. Working has been different since I was diagnosed with this nasopharyngeal tumour. Mulder's doing most of our legwork, running for lunch or files and letting me stay off my feet. I've been using his desk for that, but I don't see why he doesn't just get my own. He's a good man but he blames himself for my illness. I don't. I've tried to tell him that over and over but he still feels guilty. He's always been there in my time of need and I'm starting to seem him in a different light. I see the way he gazes at me, even when I'd been skinny and pale after being in the hospital. My mother has said it before. "He cares for you, Dana. He loves you." And if he can love me when I'm sick or healthy... I think I love him too. I hear the door creak open and I look up. Mulder's standing in the doorway with chicken sandwiches in hand. "I'm so sorry, Scully. I'm sure you've heard others talking." "Yes." I stand and walk towards him. I touch his shoulders and he drops the wrapped sandwiches. I feel his hands on my back as I rise onto my toes, my face moving closer to his, my lips an inch away from his lips. "Let's give them something else to talk about." END Feedback to whipples@connect.ab.ca It'll make you feel better!