Title: Ending a Parallel
Author: Diandra Hollman
E-Mail: diandrahollman@y...
Website: http://thexfilesoutlet.tripod.com/main/index.html
         http://dta_fic.tripod.com/main/index.html
Rating: PG? Maybe PG-13 for depressing situations. :)
Classification: V A
Keywords: Reyes POV, Character Death (sort of), strong DRF
Spoilers: 4-D (:::gasp::: Yes! I actually have a spoiler!) :)
Disclaimer: If I owned them I'd have a lot more money than I do 
          now...
Archive: Yup! Anywhere, just let me know please!
Summary: "I'm trying desperately not to cry. I'm trying to be 
         strong...for both of our sakes."
Dedication: To my fellow Doggett Torturers for your support. 
          You guys rock! :) Ahem...thank you.
Author's Notes: If you are looking for a happy little piece of 
         fluff, then turn your butt around and find something 
         else to read 'cause this ain't it! This has nothing to 
         do with either of my works in progress. Sorry... This 
         just came to me last night and I had to stay up until 
         nearly one o'clock in the morning to finish it! 
         Well...all that said, I hope you like it! :)


Ending a Parallel
By Diandra Hollman

My body feels heavy as I walk down the hospital corridor. It 
feels numb. My mind screams at me to turn around and run in the 
other direction until I can't run any more. And yet my body 
keeps moving forward...I am powerless to stop it.

I open the door to your room, almost expecting you not to be 
there. For a moment I wondered if - when Lukesh died - 
everything had returned to normal...to the way it had been when 
you walked into my apartment that morning. 

My heart breaks a little more each time I see you lying there 
in that hospital bed...helpless...hopeless...mute...until I 
think I might die from the pain. 

I know what I have to do now...God, I wish I didn't! This has 
to be the most difficult thing I have ever done in my life. I 
know it's the only way we can reverse the mess Lukesh created. 
I just wish I didn't have to be the one to do it. But I'm the 
one you asked. Who am I to deny you your last wish? 

My mind rallies against that thought. I refuse to believe this 
is the last time I will ever see you. I'll pull the plug and 
the next thing I know you'll walk through the door and ask me 
what the hell I'm doing standing over an empty bed. You won't 
remember any of this. Maybe I won't either, but right now, I 
find it impossible to believe that I will ever forget.

I close the door softly behind me and lock it. I can't afford 
to let anyone interrupt me. I may never get the courage to do 
this again. 

Your eyes follow me as I walk to your side, my traitorous legs 
starting to go weak, threatening to spill me to the floor in an 
effort to prevent me from doing what I am about to do. 

It feels like hours later when I finally reach your side. I'm 
trying desperately not to cry. I'm trying to be strong...for 
both of our sakes. I take your hand in mine, stroking the back 
of it gently. Words seem unecessary and inadequate at this 
moment. I can feel the tears pooling in my eyes, but I 
stubbornly hold them back. I look into your eyes and see 
everything. Your pain...your desperation...your trust...I close 
my heart to the rest. Anything else I see would only serve to 
weaken my resolve.

Before I can change my mind, I reach over to the monitors, 
loathe to break eye contact with you in what may be our final 
moments together... NO! I won't believe that! I can't...

I turn off the alarm. No one will come running to save your 
life now. You wouldn't want them to... I pause before I flip 
the cover over the power switch. It suddenly seems so 
daunting... The voice in the back of my head reminds me that 
it's not too late to change my mind. But I know I would be 
betraying you if I did. If my theory is right, then you don't 
need a medical miracle to be able to walk again. You'll simply 
go back to being the man you were before this nightmare 
started. But what if I'm wrong? What if your visit to my 
apartment had been some sort of dream of mine? What if this is 
the only reality? 

I realize with a sudden clarity that it wouldn't matter. I've 
been your friend long enough to know that you would not want to 
live your life as a quadriplegic. If I'm going to grant your 
wish, I have to pull the plug regardless of what the outcome 
may be. 

Dear God...please forgive me.

With my heart lodged firmly in my throat, I push the button. I 
turn back to look into your eyes and I see gratitude, sympathy 
and peace. You have accepted your death. If you could have 
pulled the plug yourself, I'm sure you would have. You know how 
painful it was for me to do it for you, and you appreciate that 
I have faced that personal hell for you.

I feel your finger stroke the back of my hand - the only part 
of your body that remains under your control. It is a gesture 
meant to comfort me, to assure me that I have done the right 
thing. I feel a sob rise in my throat. I can't be strong for 
much longer.

I can feel the moment when your life leaves your body. A strong 
sense of emptiness threatens to overwhelm me. I want to start 
screaming and never stop. I can no longer hold back my tears; 
they pour freely down my face. 

What do I do now? What have I done? Oh, God, I hope I haven't 
made a mistake.

I gently place your hand back on the hospital bed. I close my 
eyes, hoping - more than I have ever hoped for anything in my 
life - that when I open them you will be gone.

A strong wave of relief washes over me when I open my eyes and 
see that my wish has come true. Confusion follows closely in 
its wake as I realize that I'm no longer in the hospital. How 
did I get back in my apartment? What happened to the clothes I 
was wearing?

"Monica, forget the plates, will ya?"

I turn around, startled. I stare for a moment in disbelief. 
Even though this is what I had wanted, I'm afraid I'll find out 
it's just a cruel trick...of God, of fate...of my own mind. You 
stop when you see my tears. As far as you're concerned, I've 
only been gone for a few seconds and you don't understand how 
my mood could have changed so dramatically and why. You will 
never know what, exactly, happened to me. Hopefully you will 
never have to.

You are asking me what is wrong. How do I explain it to you? I 
don't even try. I just walk across the kitchen into your arms. 
I hold on like I never want to let go. Perhaps I really don't. 
You return my hug awkwardly, knowing that I need comfort, but 
unsure of how to comfort me. You don't have any words to 
reassure me, but I don't need them. I just need to feel you, to 
know that you are healthy, strong and *alive*. 

That is more than enough.


THE END