Night Ride Across the Caucasus by Politic X Part 7 See part 0 for header information. She shook her head. "I don't know what you mean. How?" Scully stared at her. She swept her eyes over to the controls of her respirator and back again. "Scully." Her heart sunk. "No. I can't." She shook her head slowly. "I can't do that." She pushed the joystick. 'Not a question. Fix it.' "I can't. I won't." 'Bring back mother for William. At least in one world he'll have me.' "Oh." She was too tired to cry. Her face was sensitive from all the wiping of her tears. Her nose was red and sore and her eyes were swollen and the skin around them tender. So she didn't cry, but she grieved just the same. They sat in silence for ten minutes, then Scully finished writing. 'Lost ability to breathe twice - will happen again. Not quadriplegic - paraplegic. Brain injury causing these problems. Torso limited movement will get worse. Motor function deteriorating. If you love me, help me. Get me out of here.' "Dana." She closed her hand around Scully's and pressed her face to it. The tears returned, spilling out of her eyes. She was tired of wiping them away, so she didn't. When she sat up, she couldn't seem to sit up straight. The pain in her stomach was worsening, and her back was aching. "I want you to come home with me." Her eyes ran over Scully's face. "I want to care for you." **** elEVen She couldn't believe what she was hearing. But again, she could. "I'll care for you and William," Monica said with certainty. "Your mother will help." 'No.' She didn't spell it, just blinked her eyes. It wasn't a viable choice even if she wanted it. "Yes," Monica said firmly. She ran a hand along the side of Scully's face. The sensation made Scully weak, made her close her eyes. And so she didn't see the kiss coming. Monica's lips were emotive. Her uncertainty, her fear, her gratitude and her love were all a part of the innocent kiss. This Monica was very much like the one she'd left in bed several days ago. It was their initial connection - sexual - that had kept them together long enough for Monica to fall in love with her. Their first few months together had been explosive, needy and greedy. They'd been friends whose sexual attraction and sexual chemistry were perfectly matched. Both were athletic and expressive lovers, praising and worshipping each other with lips, hands and tongues. But Monica's ability to let her emotion express itself through touch amazed Scully. She remembered one evening early in the relationship. Monica was straddling her, running her hands over Scully's breasts. She enjoyed Monica's caresses as always, and closed her eyes in pleasure. But that night something different was happening. Monica's fingers traced her nipples, danced across her ribs, her clavicles. She touched her with something more than passion, something gentle and sweet, caring and adoring. Scully had opened her eyes, and the look on Monica's face stole her breath away. It was then that she knew Monica was in love with her. Her face was soft with emotion, her gaze intense, as if she was staring right through Scully. She was focused on Scully's body, on her hands trying to make music by touch, on her mouth trying to sing her love in kisses. Their eyes had locked and they shared the same knowing stare. Then Monica's hands wrapped around her, and she pulled Scully up suddenly and passionately, and they'd kissed forever. Just kissed. After that night, Scully seldom closed her eyes during sex. Or ever thought of sex again merely as sex, kisses as mere kisses. Monica had the most loving kisses in the world. This world, that world; they were the same. Now, when she most wanted to, she couldn't kiss Monica back. She couldn't express the love she felt. Monica didn't seem bothered by this, didn't seem to notice it, in fact. She kissed Scully once chastely on the lips, and then again on her cheek. Scully wanted her to stop. Monica couldn't do this to herself. She couldn't become so emotionally involved in a dying person. But it seemed to be too late for that. Monica touched her face, her fingers trembling. "You can't leave me," she whispered. "No one's ever loved me like you." She closed her eyes until Monica pulled away. 'Moving me not an option, dr. will tell you same, I'll die in transit. On brink, give me push. Help me.' "I can't do that, Scully." She wiped her face with both hands, rubbing her eyes. 'If coma, you must. If you love me, do it. Do it for William.' She was silent, staring at the monitor. 'If put on respirator again, do it Monica. I need this from you.' "But you're putting all of your faith in my theory. What if I'm wrong? What happens then? I'll lose both of you." 'Not wrong. I believe you. Living will anyway. Don't want Mom put through decision.' Monica sat, staring, her eyes red. Tears seemed to be everywhere - on her chin, in her hair, on her jacket. Scully could kick herself. Why did she bring on all this sadness? Why did she tell Monica anything to begin with? Because she had to. Monica had to know how much she loved her. She had to know how valuable she was. It was something she should know in this world as much as the other. 'Your Scully needs you.' "What?" 'Save her like you saved me.' "What do you mean?" 'Love changed me, will change her.' She sighed. "Maybe the Monica in your world is different. Maybe she's tough enough to do something like this, but I can't." 'Not toughness, heart.' "Scully." She stroked her hand, looking drained. Her voice was hesitant. "If I did this, what would I tell your mother? What would I tell Doggett? Skinner? What would I tell Mulder?" 'Don't care what you say, care what you do.' Monica stared at her, holding her hand. "What do you imagine would happen," she said softly. "If you went back to your world? Do you think your lover would find you? Would you be in the hospital? Would I - would she - find you? Would you make it back, Scully?" She'd tell her anything to make it happen. She was going to die, anyway; she wanted it to be on her own terms. She blinked once, yes, she would make it back to her world. 'Promise you'll send me back.' Monica pressed her lips together and looked away before answering. "I'll try." That would have to do. **** twElve Monica was in a chair close to the bed, dozing, not sleeping. She kept having the sensation that she was falling; it always happened when she was too tired. It made her nauseated and dizzy, and she jerked awake each time she came close to falling asleep. The third time she jerked awake, the resident on duty was adjusting the respirator. He saw her sit up. "Her brain's swelling again. We'll keep her hyperventilated and continue to monitor the pressure." "Is she conscious?" "No, comatose. She keeps going under when the intracranial pressure increases." "What can you do about it? The pressure?" He shook his head. "Not much. Give her a cocktail of diuretics and hyperventilate her." She took a chance. "What's the possibility of moving her home?" He looked annoyed. "None. We're having to monitor her brain pressure around the clock. We're struggling to keep her stable." He instantly seemed to regret his tone of voice, and became gentle. "It's amazing that she's done this well. The severity of her injuries makes it impossible to predict a positive outcome. The only thing we can do that we haven't done yet is remove a portion of her skull, so that her brain doesn't push against it and cause further damage." She was aghast and sat quietly until he left. She continued sitting quietly for a long time. The memory of Calisto surfaced quite suddenly; he was the cat she'd put to sleep seven years ago. She used to read to him from Winnie the Pooh story books. She'd been there, stroked his head while the vet administered the shot, whispered to him something that must have sounded silly to those around- "If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day, so I never have to live without you." Her baby had been riddled with cancer; he was in pain and slowly dying. She remembered burying her face in Cal's fur afterward, grieving openly. She wasn't forced to put Calisto down, but she chose to. She'd put him to sleep, killed him. She continued sitting quietly, staring at Scully. Finally, she locked the door and moved to the side of the bed closest to the respirator. It had a safety alarm that she disengaged. She sighed loudly, trying to expel the tension and sadness that had been with her the past few days. She inhaled deeply and exhaled again. "Okay," she whispered. "I know this is what you want, but it's hard to do." Grief hit her full force and she choked on her tears. "I don't want to." She buried her face in her hands and cried. "What if I'm wrong?" She practiced more deep breaths. It was what Scully wanted, so it's what she had to do. The respirator was a simple machine, and easy to shut off. She didn't want this power. She wanted Scully here and well; she needed her. The intensity of her feelings overwhelmed her. "God, help me," she prayed. "Help me. I can't. I won't." She would. It was horrific that she would be honoring Scully by killing her. But she mustn't think of it like that. She wasn't killing her; she was helping her return to home. She kissed Scully's cheek. "Please promise you'll come back to me." And, with that, she stood straight, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. Tears continued to streak down her face, but she took deep, calming breaths. 'Do it for William,' she heard Scully's voice say. She rubbed her hands together, trying to warm them, and forced herself to look at each bag, tube and machine. The communication monitor was still on. She touched the joystick and the screen faded in. Scully had left her a message. 'What I've learned in this world. 1. You will always have a leather fetish. 2. Everywhere I go, I love you.' Monica looked at the respirator one last time. Just a machine. Just a simple machine. She turned it off. **** thiRTeen Scully dreamt she was a dolphin. The water held her, buoyed her up to the sunlit surface, and warmed her as she dove down. She sliced through it with her nose, so streamlined that she sped like a bullet. She smiled happily and turned to look at her mate, who was close behind. Her girlfriend was graceful and quick, even though she was pregnant with their first baby. They were on a journey to spread the good news to the many relatives and friends that lived nearby. Their joy couldn't be contained. They turned, circling each other in perfect arcs, and the water enveloped them like love. Her heart was full; she didn't remember ever feeling so peaceful. The pockets of water that were warm at first became colder as they descended; and the further they went, the darker it became. But darkness was nothing to fear. They swam on, happily humming. **** EPIloGUE "Monica!" The voice was sharp and loud, and pulled her from the dizzying world of sickness and death. She leaned against the counter for support, dropping the phone. The counter - her kitchen - Scully. "Hey!" Scully's voice. Her footsteps, loud and quick, resounded on the hardwood floor. Her palm rested on Monica's back. "Are you okay?" She breathed hard, her ears buzzing; she couldn't get enough air. Her legs were weak. "Monica?" Her voice was tentative and soft now. Her hand ran up her back, rested on her shoulder blade. "Talk to me," Scully gently commanded. "Hey. Look at me. Slow down. You're hyperventilating. Look at me." Hyperventilating. They hyperventilated Scully because she was in a coma. Monica breathed great, deep breaths. She gulped air, sweating and shaking. "What's happening here?" Scully's left hand was grasping her wrist, checking her pulse. Her right hand was touching her cheek, brushing her hair back. "You came back," she whispered, closing her eyes to the dizziness that was making her nauseous. The sensation became worse, and she opened them again. "What's going on, Monica?" She shook her head, became woozy and swayed a little. "You won't believe me." Scully held her firmly. "Try me." Her hands were cold against Monica's ribs. "I lost you. You were shot. You were paralyzed." Scully raised her eyebrows. "A vision? Just now?" She shook her head. "I've never had a vision like that." "Like what?" "It was real," she said lowly. "You died." She swallowed. "I killed you." "I'm here. I wasn't shot, I'm not paralyzed and you didn't kill me." Scully smiled gently. "It was real," she repeated. There was no use explaining - Scully would never understand, and she was too tired to clarify, anyway. "I can't bear for you to leave," she said. She was lightheaded again, and put her hands on Scully's shoulders for support. She wanted to fall on her, to pin her to the floor. She wanted to sleep with her head on Scully's chest, listening to her heartbeat. "I'm not going anywhere." "Yes you are," she said languidly. "You'll join Mulder in exile." Her gaze drifted. Maybe she'd lost time. She'd read Mulder's take on the phenomena, and she wondered if she'd experienced it. She remembered this morning. A few minutes ago, Scully had come here, to her loft, but it seemed long ago. She was taking her on a tour of the place, was showing her Stephanie's painting, and then... then the phone rang. Maybe she was dreaming. "Hey." Scully snapped her fingers once and drew her forefinger in the air. "Look at me. That's it." She held her eyes. Scully was gazing at her with such intensity that Monica felt scorched, and it was comforting against the cold, jagged fear. "Talk to me." Scully held her firmly. "Do you have a history of seizures?" "No," she said, but she'd begun trembling and she was incredibly tired. "Lost time." Scully checked her watch. "No. We didn't lose time." She looked up at her, studying her face. "You need to sit down." "I don't want you to leave." "Why are you so certain that I'm going somewhere?" Scully looked at her tenderly. "Why are you so worried by that?" "You're supposed to be in my life." "I'm in your life." "You're supposed to stay in it." "Am I?" "Yes. It's how it's meant to be." Scully touched Monica's cheek with the back of her hand. "I have to do what's best for my son. If that means staying in D.C. I will, but if it means leaving..." She trailed off. "I have to do what's best for William." All of her senses were alert to Scully's hand on her cheek. Her concentration was so great that she stopped trembling. "What about what's best for Dana?" Scully shook her head and smiled ruefully. "I've been through so much, Monica. I've seen so many things." She took her hand away, but Monica caught it and held it between them. Scully looked down at their intertwined fingers. "I can assure you that what I want isn't important." "You're wrong. It's the most important thing of all." Scully stared at her for a long, silent moment. "You feel things so deeply," she finally said. "No one else would care if I left." She frowned. "Yes, they would." Her expression softened with emotion. "Not like you." She looked down again and rubbed her thumb over Monica's ring. "I don't know that I've ever held the hand of someone so kind." She blushed and couldn't think of anything to say. She was so glad Scully was here with her, she was so relieved to see her, that most of her thoughts weren't thoughts at all, just emotions. "Are you feeling better?" Scully asked. Monica nodded. "Just tired." She wanted to tell her that she'd lived three days in thirty seconds and that she needed to rest, but she didn't. Scully was the one who should be tired. She'd traveled worlds. "So tell me what happened when the phone rang." Scully's eyes burned her. She shook her head slowly. "It wasn't a vision." "Don't tell me what it wasn't. Tell me what it was." "It's a long story." Scully squeezed her hand. "You seem to be good at telling stories." It was the only invitation Monica needed. She smiled softly and began weaving a tale so enchanting that it cast a spell on the room. "This is the story of a woman who traveled across worlds," she said, lifting a finger from their intertwined hands and pointing at Scully. "She was the most brilliant woman in her village and the most respected. She was beautiful and fierce, brave and strong; but what made her so special was her heart. Wherever she went, love traveled with her." Monica closed her eyes to the fire that smoldered in Scully's. Words fell from her lips like sorcery. "And this is the story of the woman that she saved." THE END 'Night Ride Across the Caucasus' by Politic X politicx@aol.com