Relapse
Title: Relapse
Fandom: X-Files/BtVS
Pairing: Scully/Giles
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: #3. Ends
Notes: My first fic in a very, very long time, so feedback is loved and cherished.
She’s a doctor, she should know better. She’s dealt with this before, she should know better. She should know that you go to the hospital right away. You don’t wait, praying it’ll go away on its own. You go to the hospital.
Unfortunately, she’s also human. And as much as she should know better, she can’t help but not want to know. She’ll subscribe to “Ignorance is Bliss” if it means she doesn’t have to go find out what she knows is true.
Willow almost saw it, that’s why she went. Two weeks after the nosebleeds started and they weren’t going away. Next time she might not be so lucky. Next time she might not be able to feign a sneeze and get out of the room.
She needs to know whether or not there’s gonna be a “next time.”
So she calls. She goes in for tests. And the nurse is reassuring as she tries to reassure herself. Plenty of people get nosebleeds, plenty of people get dizzy. This happens every day to normal people everywhere. Not everybody has cancer. Plenty of people just have nosebleeds.
But the doctor isn’t reassuring. He just reads her history and tells her they’ll get in touch.
It’s not good when they get in touch right away. You don’t want that. You want to wait a while. The good news, the stuff that’s not urgent, they put that at the bottom of the pile. You don’t want to be at the top of the pile. No, it’s not good when they get in touch right away.
She’s thinking this as she listens to her messages. She has to call them back. She doesn’t want to call them back. Maybe she won’t call them back. She’ll hang up the phone and she’ll forget about the tests and she’ll carry a handkerchief and she’ll pray it goes away all on its own.
“Yes, I’m calling for Dr. Aberton, he has some test results for me. Dana Scully.”
They put her through.
It’s not good when you’re not on hold for long.
“Miss Scully, hello.” And it begins again. The words she never wanted to hear in that tone of voice she always hated. Her attention drifts in and out.
“Tumor” she can’t go through this again.
“Metastasized” she can’t put him through this again.
“Untreatable” she won’t let him watch her die this time.
“Maybe three months” she’s always wanted to die near the ocean.
She finishes up the conversation and hangs up the phone. She needs…time, no, a course of action. No time to mope, gotta come up with a plan.
He’ll want her to stick it out. No. He is not watching her die again. He went through it last time, and they were just friends then. No. Not. Again. No one can go through it again. Not Rupert, not Willow, not her mother, not anyone in Sunnydale or in DC. She can’t deal with that. The sympathy on their faces as they try to hide their own pain from her. She can’t imagine the pain of watching someone you love die. But she can remember all too clearly what it’s like to watch someone you love watch you die. And she won’t go through that again.
She’s been pacing for who knows how long when the phone rings again. Oh, shit, they have plans to have dinner tonight. She lies, which she hates, but she’ll have to get used to it. Tells him Charlie called, his divorce is really hitting him hard. She thinks she might stay in, talk to Charlie, maybe get some laundry done. He believes her. Tomorrow, then. He’ll cook.
It’s the first night in weeks they’ve spent apart and she spends it packing.
She spends the drive over trying to convince herself that tonight is just like any other night. Trying to ignore the possessions in her trunk, trying to ignore the cancer in her body. She will enjoy tonight. She will revel in this part of her life that has been so good and so short and so good.
He really can cook. She smiles and laughs and lives in the moment. Only now, Dana, only now, she thinks because she can’t think of what’s to come. All she wants is one last perfect memory, one more night. In the morning she’ll go, but for now she’s here and he’s here and, good lord, he made the ravioli from scratch, didn’t he?
She’s been able to convince herself so far, but she slips a little now. She can’t help but try to memorize everything. His touch, his scent, his taste, his feel, his breath. She’s fucking him like she means it and she’s praying he can’t tell it’s goodbye.
She lies in his arms for hours after his breath becomes steady on her shoulder. She’s putting off the inevitable, she knows, but she can’t help but grant herself this last luxury. It’s after five when she slips out of his arms and begins pulling on her clothes. She’s moving towards the stairs to find her shoes when he stirs in the bed.
“Where’re you going?”
She smiles, “Bathroom. Keep the bed warm for me.” And she kisses him goodnight before he falls back asleep. She doesn’t cry.
She knows she’s a coward, that cowards run away, that cowards leave notes that don’t explain a damn thing, that cowards disappear into the night. And yet she’s leaving, leaving like a coward, leaving with one last look around at the life she’s had for such a brief time.
It’s chilly outside this early in the morning. The sun’s just beginning to come up. She doesn’t look back, but whispers an apology with every step. She’s not being fair to anyone else, and she knows that. But she won’t let him go through it all again. It may be selfish, but she’s earned the right to be selfish.
Now leaving Sunnydale. Come back soon!
She’s always wanted to die near the ocean.
Fandom: X-Files/BtVS
Pairing: Scully/Giles
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: #3. Ends
Notes: My first fic in a very, very long time, so feedback is loved and cherished.
She’s a doctor, she should know better. She’s dealt with this before, she should know better. She should know that you go to the hospital right away. You don’t wait, praying it’ll go away on its own. You go to the hospital.
Unfortunately, she’s also human. And as much as she should know better, she can’t help but not want to know. She’ll subscribe to “Ignorance is Bliss” if it means she doesn’t have to go find out what she knows is true.
Willow almost saw it, that’s why she went. Two weeks after the nosebleeds started and they weren’t going away. Next time she might not be so lucky. Next time she might not be able to feign a sneeze and get out of the room.
She needs to know whether or not there’s gonna be a “next time.”
So she calls. She goes in for tests. And the nurse is reassuring as she tries to reassure herself. Plenty of people get nosebleeds, plenty of people get dizzy. This happens every day to normal people everywhere. Not everybody has cancer. Plenty of people just have nosebleeds.
But the doctor isn’t reassuring. He just reads her history and tells her they’ll get in touch.
It’s not good when they get in touch right away. You don’t want that. You want to wait a while. The good news, the stuff that’s not urgent, they put that at the bottom of the pile. You don’t want to be at the top of the pile. No, it’s not good when they get in touch right away.
She’s thinking this as she listens to her messages. She has to call them back. She doesn’t want to call them back. Maybe she won’t call them back. She’ll hang up the phone and she’ll forget about the tests and she’ll carry a handkerchief and she’ll pray it goes away all on its own.
“Yes, I’m calling for Dr. Aberton, he has some test results for me. Dana Scully.”
They put her through.
It’s not good when you’re not on hold for long.
“Miss Scully, hello.” And it begins again. The words she never wanted to hear in that tone of voice she always hated. Her attention drifts in and out.
“Tumor” she can’t go through this again.
“Metastasized” she can’t put him through this again.
“Untreatable” she won’t let him watch her die this time.
“Maybe three months” she’s always wanted to die near the ocean.
She finishes up the conversation and hangs up the phone. She needs…time, no, a course of action. No time to mope, gotta come up with a plan.
He’ll want her to stick it out. No. He is not watching her die again. He went through it last time, and they were just friends then. No. Not. Again. No one can go through it again. Not Rupert, not Willow, not her mother, not anyone in Sunnydale or in DC. She can’t deal with that. The sympathy on their faces as they try to hide their own pain from her. She can’t imagine the pain of watching someone you love die. But she can remember all too clearly what it’s like to watch someone you love watch you die. And she won’t go through that again.
She’s been pacing for who knows how long when the phone rings again. Oh, shit, they have plans to have dinner tonight. She lies, which she hates, but she’ll have to get used to it. Tells him Charlie called, his divorce is really hitting him hard. She thinks she might stay in, talk to Charlie, maybe get some laundry done. He believes her. Tomorrow, then. He’ll cook.
It’s the first night in weeks they’ve spent apart and she spends it packing.
She spends the drive over trying to convince herself that tonight is just like any other night. Trying to ignore the possessions in her trunk, trying to ignore the cancer in her body. She will enjoy tonight. She will revel in this part of her life that has been so good and so short and so good.
He really can cook. She smiles and laughs and lives in the moment. Only now, Dana, only now, she thinks because she can’t think of what’s to come. All she wants is one last perfect memory, one more night. In the morning she’ll go, but for now she’s here and he’s here and, good lord, he made the ravioli from scratch, didn’t he?
She’s been able to convince herself so far, but she slips a little now. She can’t help but try to memorize everything. His touch, his scent, his taste, his feel, his breath. She’s fucking him like she means it and she’s praying he can’t tell it’s goodbye.
She lies in his arms for hours after his breath becomes steady on her shoulder. She’s putting off the inevitable, she knows, but she can’t help but grant herself this last luxury. It’s after five when she slips out of his arms and begins pulling on her clothes. She’s moving towards the stairs to find her shoes when he stirs in the bed.
“Where’re you going?”
She smiles, “Bathroom. Keep the bed warm for me.” And she kisses him goodnight before he falls back asleep. She doesn’t cry.
She knows she’s a coward, that cowards run away, that cowards leave notes that don’t explain a damn thing, that cowards disappear into the night. And yet she’s leaving, leaving like a coward, leaving with one last look around at the life she’s had for such a brief time.
It’s chilly outside this early in the morning. The sun’s just beginning to come up. She doesn’t look back, but whispers an apology with every step. She’s not being fair to anyone else, and she knows that. But she won’t let him go through it all again. It may be selfish, but she’s earned the right to be selfish.
Now leaving Sunnydale. Come back soon!
She’s always wanted to die near the ocean.