Believer 8:And the Soul Felt Its Worth From: "J Ferreira" Believer, VIII: And the Soul Felt Its Worth By Chana Rating: R Summary: A test of allegiance proves the strength of belief. Archive: List archive okay; anywhere else, ask me. Disclaimer: Elisabeth Shaugnessy is my intellectual property. Scully, Mulder and the Scully family are not. All are used without permission or profit. This story contains angst, and romance between two women. If that bothers you or you are under state or national law prohibited to read such material, please do what you consider right. Thanks: Maire McDermod, Dedric Byrne for providing daily insight, criticism and structure for the character of Elisabeth. To Tess for her rendition of "O Holy Night". And to Adrian, Rad, Athos and all the others who never failed to encourage, by feedback and by example. Feedback: Fire away: janegrey18@hotmail.com December 25, 1996 11 AM **** Everything she thought sounded clumsy on her tongue. She dug her elbows into her knees, hunched her back against the concrete wall and fanned her fingers through her hair. *Think, Lissie. Just think something to say. Are you going to leave her on her own in this?* "What did I say when I came out to my parents? Oh, right, I didn't." She let her breath out in a rush and wished to be Maire. To have Maire's unapologizing sexuality, clear and unflinching as typescript for all who wanted to read. To feel utterly certain when she moved through a room full of hostility. To have a stunning retort for the look Dana's brother had cast her. *Or maybe,* she thought bitterly, *you just wish to be safe under six feet of earth.* It shocked her, and she stood up quickly. "Doctor Shaugnessy?" "Agent Mulder!" *Today just gets better and better.* But she saw the look in his eyes and softened. He was pale. One corner of his lip was clotted with blood from his biting - he bit down on it again as she watched - and he was unshaven. The coat he wore was no match for the weather outside, and she suspected he'd thrown it on merely to hide the condition of his clothing: torn and wrinkled and bloody. "Agent Mulder, what happ-" "I have something that will save Scully. I need your help." *You're no longer Dana's oncologist. You have no authority here. Think of your license, Lissie, think of the lines before you cross them. Think…* "What can I do?" *** She turned the vial over and over in her hand, the little chip sparkling like a fish's shed scale in the cold light. "I can tell you nothing about this, at least as it might have to do with treating cancer." "But you could get it into her. In place of the original implant." Elisabeth rubbed the back of her own neck, considering. "You're asking if I have the skill for it? You're better off to get one of the house surgeons -" Mulder shook his head. "That's not an option here. " "It's up to Dana, not me. And I'm no longer so much as a consulting physician to her treatment; it's out of my hands now to even suggest procedures." "But it can be done." Elisabeth took in a deep breath, and held the chip at eye level once again. "It would be fairly straightforward. A little subcutaneous thing, done under local. It might take ten minutes, quarter of an hour the most." "And - the procedure itself - would it harm her?" "At this point, Agent Mulder, nothing can harm her." She swallowed. "But tell me, Agent, if I were to do this, how would it help her?" "It would cure her." Mulder looked at her earnestly. "This is it? Your entire cure? I've exhausted the known chemotherapeutic arsenal and irradiated her all to hell, and God above knows how she's suffered, and now you show me a cure than can fit the tip of my little finger?!" She moved in a sudden flurry. "We nick it in the back of her neck and the neoplasm just disappears?" He nodded. "Men made this disease. And they made the means to take it away." "No." Mulder stared, and choked, and nearly dropped the vial. "I will do anything in the world to help Dana," Elisabeth said, her voice gravelly and her eyes darkened. "But I can't ask her to put her faith in this. Not now." "Why, because you can't put your faith in it?" Her teeth were clenched so hard her jaw creaked; she wanted a fight, she wanted to strike him, she wanted anything to lift the weight of worry from her even for a moment. "Because I don't seek miracles where there are none." "When did you stop, Elisabeth?" *Oh fuck.* Tears flooded her eyes. She couldn't see. Her eyes burned with the strength of the saline. And she managed at last to ignore him. "If you're wrong, Agent Mulder, and if I ask her to place her last hope on this chip, what happens then? It goes against everything I believe to betray -" *a lover* " - a patient like that. Even if I can't save her, I will be careful of her heart!" "And what difference will all that make if she dies?" Mulder fumed. "I don't care what you believe. I care about Scully." "So do I." She looked up at him, unflinching, until she thought he began to understand. And then, as the fight drained out of her, she took his hand. "It's up to Dana. If it's what she wants, then I'll do what she needs me to do." **** 5 PM **** "I look like death warmed over." "No, your vanilla pudding looks like death warmed over. _You_ are lovely." Elisabeth kissed Scully's hand. "Liar." "Nope." "Flatterer." "Nope." "Flirt." "That be me." Elisabeth probed the dinner tray with a plastic spork. "You don't have to actually eat this, you know. If there's anything you really want - if you thought you could eat - I'll go anywhere in the city." "On Christmas day? We'll send Mulder." Scully's voice broke as the mask of levity slipped. "I don't want you to leave." *We have to talk. Even if I never laugh with you again, this has to be now.* "My mother -" "Dana, I'm sorry -" Somehow it was easier when both faltered at once. Scully gathered her thoughts again, and drew Elisabeth closer. "My mother's all right. Not where I'd like her to be, but all right. We talked for a long time." She sighed, weary with memory. "I know she understands how important you are in my life, even if she doesn't understand the rest. And she'll - try." "And your brother?" Scully sat up. "Did he hurt you?!" "Dana, he didn't touch me." Elisabeth took Scully's hand almost before she reached out. "I only wanted to know what he thinks." "I could give a fuck what Bill thinks." "Dana…" "I'm fine," she said flatly. "He's just - he pisses me the hell off." Elisabeth nodded. *Mutual.* "And then Mulder." Scully had lost count of her sighs. But Elisabeth understood them as well as any words, and exhaustion was creeping along her bones. "Mulder knows?" "No. And I doubt he would care, but that's not --." She frowned and picked a strand of red-gold hair from her hospital gown. "Shit." "That's mine, love," Elisabeth said gently, plucking the offending hair from Scully's grasp and stretching it for length. It was easily as long as Scully's arm. "Yours're still intact." "All eight of them." "I've told you, if you want to shave your head, I'll shave mine too." "Don't," Scully said firmly. She maneuvered to gaze up at Elisabeth's long hair. It was smooth and gleaming as polished wood, even so late in the day, and the winter damp had managed to inflict only a few unruly tendrils along the length. Scully ran her hand over the burnished-copper mass, delighting in Elisabeth's smile. "It's beautiful." "Mmm. So you were saying - Mulder?" "Right. Mulder. He…" Scully paused. Considered. Stroked. There were more important things than talking about Mulder. This was life, and life was quick… "I don't want to think about it tonight." "Right, so we won't then." Elisabeth knew what she would have said anyway: *Mulder has this crazy idea, and let's give it a try, for we've nothing to lose.* She didn't want to think about it tonight, either. It was still, somewhere, Christmas. *Please, let us keep hope, for tonight.* "Elisabeth?" "Hmm." "Can I play with your hair?" ***** December 26, 1996 10:45 AM ***** Mulder stared at the young oncologist. She looked as if she had slept. Her gray eyes were clear, without the deep, red-rimmed circles of yesterday, and her long hair swept into an elaborate French braid. A strange pendant, half caduceus, half Crucifix, sparkled at her throat; as she stood before the MRI monitor, too rapt to notice him, she reached up and clutched the pendant in one hand. The house oncologist was speaking to her, but she seemed not to hear him, either; he could have been standing across the room and not at her side. The images on the monitor shuffled, a blur of vaguely rounded colored splashes like a cross section of an apple, and her lips moved over and over again, silently, as if she mouthed a prayer. But the prayer had only one word… Dana. For a split second he thought he had killed her, that they were all lost in another dark tangle of lies. But Dr. Shaugnessy, silent as she was, did not speak to him of death. From her well-plaited hair to the gold at her throat to the grommets of her beaten-up hikers, she sparkled with hope. And no one could mistake what was in her eyes for grief. He was unsure how he'd ever mistaken it for less than what it was. End Believer VIII To Be Continued!