TITLE: When Love Is Done

AUTHOR: Sandra Winarta <sandra@winarta.net>

DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere, as long as the story is intact along with my
name, address and disclaimer.

CLASSIFICATION: V, A. 

RATING: G.

SPOILERS: None.

SUMMARY: Scully is suspended between life and death, and is asked to
make the ultimate choice.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the characters here, nor do I claim to.
CC and 1013 Productions do (and Rupert Murdoch too when I think about
it)!  Also, I quoted the lovely poem below by Bourdillon without
permission.


WHEN LOVE IS DONE
by Sandra Winarta

The night has a thousand eyes,
	And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
	With the dying sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,
	And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
	When love is done.

		- Francis William Bourdillon.


	*-*-*-*-*-*

Cold.  It's deathly cold in this place.  The kind of cold that eats
away your skin, leaving behind nothing except bone.  I have been here
for a long time.  An eternity.  Earthly time has no place in this
world, where time stretches and shrinks like a rubber band, not
knowing the meaning of consistency.

I float in this darkness, no solid surface to remind me which way is
up or down.  There are no physical boundaries.  Only souls mingling
with energy, soaring somewhere between the world I have just left and
the next.

Sometimes, I hear snatches of voices.  They sound foreign to my ears,
although I recognise some of them.  My mother, speaking in calm tones.
The doctor, sounding reassured in my demise.  Skinner's gruff and
commanding voice.  And you.  Mostly you.

I notice that it is not so cold when you speak.  It is as if the
warmth of your voice has seeped into my darkness.  I like to think
that this warmth comes from your hand holding mine while I sleep.
Ever gentle.

Ever sorrowful.

The sorrow in your voice showers over me like a waterfall.  I like to
think that they are your tears showering my naked soul.  Tears from my
absence.  Your sorrow has the power to break you like nothing else in
your life.  I know.  The loss of your sister merely moulded you, your
quest, your life, but my absence shattered you, paralysed your heart
until there was nothing left but the numbness of sorrow.

How do I know this?

I know through the signs you have given me, albeit unconsciously,
through the years we have worked together.  I did not think of them as
signs then, but death gives one the clarity of insight denied in life.
I know when you look at me with a half grin that that you restrain
from exploding into a full smile.

I know when you put your hand on my back to guide me through a doorway
or tap my knee to grab my attention.  Innocent touches full of
awareness.

I know when you put my life before yours, time again.  

I feel your pain now as you wait for me, wondering if I would ever
open my eyes again.  Your sorrow compels me to return, so that I could
comfort you.

So that I can teach you how to smile again.

Yet, another world also entices me.  I hear Ahab's voice, clear and
strong, calling me into his embrace.  I hear Missy's gentle voice,
asking me to play in the tree house like we often did as children.
They are my family, but can family ever mean more than my own soul?  I
ask this of myself as I float, hearing the echo of voices wash over 
me.

Then you slip away.

Never has it been so dark, so cold.

I scream out your name.  Of course, no reply came.  I am trapped in a
void, on a one way street to the other world.

I struggle, my soul tugging against the pull towards the warmth.

I break free from the hold, plummeting towards the darkness from which
I came from, towards the source of your voice.

The darkness is relentless, pushing me back as I struggle forwards.  I
call out your name again.

And then I felt it.

Your warmth returns to greet me, surround me.  Soon, a tiny point of
light appeared, beckoning me to follow.  The light grows brighter,
expanding every moment.

White light is everywhere, and so are you, your face radiant with the
smile that I had always dreamed of seeing.

The hold of your hand now real.

My name on your lips not just tricks of the mind as you whisper it
with hope.

"Scully."


THE END.