Title: The End of Pain
Author: tansy
Archive: Not yet please.
Rating: PG for Mention of male relationship, no sex at all. Angst warning for not a happy story, but it ends well...And, no, of course I don’t own Matthew McCormick…D/P do…sort of. But definitely not mine. Sylvia, unfortunately is way too mine. Sniffles is happily mine and is requesting larger parts and more Fruit Loops. Duncan is annoyed…
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Sylvia sat staring out the window at the spring flowers bravely blooming despite the frigid March breezes. Daffodils, crocus and a few lingering snowdrops were visible in the fading light. She idly wondered if this was the last spring she would ever see. She spent a few minutes trying to convince herself that she should care...but it took too much energy, and she gave it up as a lost cause. It had been months now since she had really cared whether she lived or died. She wasn't suicidal exactly; more ambivalent. It was just so damn hard to want to live when you woke up every morning in relentless pain, exhausted before the day began. The grim reaper held no terror for her anymore, but she wasn't jumping into his arms either.

Her days started with pain meds- the hour until they really took hold was always one of the worst. These new pain medications didn't make you high or sleepy or goofy the way the old ones used to.... it was just that all of a sudden you realized you could get out of bed, walk to the kitchen, say hi to the animals without being in agony. In other words, she could almost function. At least within the world of her apartment, where she could spend another fun filled day cruising the net for answers. She had learned that answers could be relative rather than absolute. There were many, many answers...everyone seemed to have their own set. Some of them had to do with treatments; some of them had to do with causes. Some were written by Ph.D.'s after months of research in genetic labs. Some were ages old wives tales dredged up in the hope of some efficacy. Unfortunately, there seemed to be a separate set of answers for each individuals' questions, each set having little or no applicability to anyone else's questions.

Sylvia didn't much care anymore about the origin or lifecycle of the organism that was causing her such a hellish existence. It was a bit late for that. She didn't even care anymore about other people's answers. She was sick of trying new treatments that didn't work, and in fact often made her worse. She was willing to concede defeat. Hell, she wasn't even really surprised. Let's face it, bacteria had been around much longer than Homo Sapiens- or even the first tiny mammals clinging to a tree. The difficulty was that she just didn't know who to concede TO... So she persisted for the present.

She had moved to D.C. to be closer to N.I.H. in the days when she was still optimistic that there might be a cure for her in some experimental protocol. When she still held hope that the researchers could somehow transcend the lure of money, the pressure of the insurance industry and the promise of fame to actually try and solve the mystery of her disease. She had long ago given up on that hope, but didn't really regret her move to Washington. Before, when she still had some energy, she had enjoyed visiting the Smithsonian. And Georgetown had some fun restaurants and shops. But those days were past. And unfortunately, her illness precluded her from going out and meeting people. In some kind of twisted irony, her most precious fantasy these days was to be able to rejoin the workforce... She snorted at that, realizing that there were...what...thousands?...of people who thought they would like to be in her shoes. Not having to go through the daily grind of work. Somehow, though, those fantasies they cherished never included the pain, or the exhaustion that were the real touchstones of her existence.

Her favorite aerobic exercise these days was looking out the window. The flat she had rented was on the ground floor of an old Victorian mansion, one that had been chopped up into apartment units. She had lucked out, and gotten one of the units that included part of a whimsical Victorian tower with floor to ceiling windows on three sides. She had created a little nook in her piece of whimsy with a chaise lounge, a cozy bed for the ferrets in the shape of a sea otter, and some hanging plants. An outlet for her laptop and an unobstructed view of the boob tube when nothing interesting was going on outside made it her favorite spot. The ferrets liked it too, and one could usually be found snoozing in the otter, a real foot hanging out over a cloth flipper, or wrapped up in the throw at her feet.

She had always been solitary, but had been forced to become even more so since her illness. She was on nodding, "Good Morning" terms with most of the other tenants in her building, but none were really friends...well except for maybe one of them. And he actually lived across the street, not in her building.

She still couldn't really understand why the handsome and young Agent Matthew McCormick of the Federal Bureau of Intelligence had decided to be her friend. They had met when she was still able to walk around the block to get some exercise. On one of her last trips she hadn't quite made it back. She was still a couple doors from her house when she had an irresistible urge to assist a lamppost stay pointing towards the sky. Agent McCormick had come upon her holding on to said post for dear life, and inquired politely if he could be of assistance, in what she could only describe as a Southern Drawl. Sometimes she forgot she now lived south of the Mason-Dixon Line. She tried to focus clearly on the handsome, but currently fuzzy Agent, and tried very hard to think of some witty repartee, but it was proving difficult because the planet, including Agent McCormick, kept swirling around her. He later confided to her that her coloring at the time matched the sidewalk. She finally decided that since she really didn't want to spend the night holding up the lamp post...it was getting very tiring...she would graciously accept Agent McCormick's offer of assistance. She had recognized Mr. McCormick from her lookout, and given her limited options, accepting the agent's offer seemed a fairly safe choice. Anyway, really, what was the worst that could happen...?

Matthew (we're neighbors, please call me Matthew, not Agent McCormick) had assisted her to her apartment. He had admired the ferrets. He laughed at her lookout. And the next week over take out Chinese had pried her story out of her. Since then he had popped in regularly, and taped his various phone numbers up on her fridge in case of emergency. He was extremely reticent concerning his own private life, but Sylvia was pretty sure there was no current significant other...although he had mentioned a certain Duncan MacLeod with a sparkle in his eye. Which was fine with Sylvia, she wanted Matthew to be happy, and she was anything but homophobic, but she was rather hoping that if this thing with the unknown Duncan was serious he would come here... She would miss Matthew sorely if he left.

But then maybe it really didn't matter who went where. She felt herself tiring more and more everyday of this existence of pain. She was pretty sure Matthew also understood she was reaching this point, since he seemed to be watching her more closely. In fact, he had made her promise not to do anything...foolish...without talking to him first. He had even gone so far as to promise to help her to take her own life if it came down to it.

That had really shocked her. He didn't seem the type to play Dr. Kavorkian. She wasn't knocking it though. The idea of dying alone lacked appeal. She didn't fear the reaper, she just didn't particularly want to meet him by herself. It would be nice to hold someone's hand when she went.

Sighing gustily as the spring flowers slowly disappeared from her view in the dusk, she spied Matthew heading down the street, a bunch of iris in his hand. She smiled since she suspected who the iris where for, and opened the door to Matthew's ring of the doorbell. She was putting the iris in a vase, chatting with her friend, when a strange look crossed his face, and he backed quickly towards the door telling Sylvia sharply to go back into the bedroom. Before she had a chance to move though, a black leather clad man burst through the door. Sylvia stood frozen as she watched in shock as Matthew pulled a sword out of his coat. Her brain kept saying "sword," and she wondered if the illness had made her delusional...she knew some people had auditory hallucinations, and heard music all the time; maybe this was something similar.

She heard Matthew shout at the leather clad man about taking this outside, about her being uninvolved, when the man in the black leather also pulled out a sword. The black clad man laughed, said, "You know she is not uninvolved, but will be a...dessert, after I take you," and before she or Matthew could react the man had pulled a gun with the hand not holding the sword, and shot her square in the chest.

Huh. Not at ALL how she had expected to go out, but, probably not so bad...too bad she would never know why the man was fighting Matthew with a sword (if it wasn't an hallucination)...

Deep breath. Christ her chest hurt, but the pain was fading surprisingly quickly. She looked up and Matthew was surrounded by lightning as wind swirled around him. The decapitated body of the black coated stranger lay on the floor, his broken sword at his side. Sniffles the ferret was peering curiously into the open eyes of the severed head. Sylvia sat down, really hoping they could help with the hallucinations at the hospital. Then the stickiness of her blood soaked shirt finally hit her.... Tactile hallucinations too? Along with the visual, auditory and olfactory ones...the apartment smelled like ozone and the coppery smell of blood. Not good.

"Matthew?" she whined.

Staggering over to her after kicking the door shut, a bloody and sword-carrying Matthew slumped at her feet. Sniffles started sympathetically licking his face. He looked up at her and asked, "How do you feel?'

Given that she had been shot (though there didn't seem to be any entrance or exit wounds) she felt...good. Actually she felt better than good. Truthfully, better than she had in years...no pain ANYWHERE, no exhaustion, no vertigo. Huh. "I feel great actually."

Matthew nodded his head, gently picking up her hand "Sylvia, darlin' I know this is going to be difficult to accept, but you are an immortal. So am I."

She really hoped the hospital could help with these hallucinations...or at least recommend a way to get blood out of floorboards...

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Thanks to Jason Vay for the lyrics. I am sure this is not what he envisioned- sorry Jason.

"Don't Fear the Reaper" by Blue Öyster Cult

All our times have come,
Here but now they're gone.
Seasons don't fear the reaper,
Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain...
We can be like they are.
Come on, baby... don't fear the reaper.
Baby, take my hand... don't fear the reaper.
We'll be able to fly... don't fear the reaper.
Baby, I'm your man...

Valentine is done,
Here but now they're gone.
Romeo and Juliet
Are together in eternity...Romeo and Juliet.
40,000 men and women everyday... Like Romeo and Juliet.
40,000 men and women everyday... Redefine happiness.

Another 40,000 coming everyday... We can be like they are.
Come on, baby... don't fear the reaper.
Baby, take my hand... don't fear the reaper.
We'll be able to fly... don't fear the reaper.
Baby, I'm your man...

Love of two is one,
Here but now they're gone.
Came the last night of sadness,
And it was clear she couldn't go on.
Then the door was open and the wind appeared,
The candles blew then disappeared,
The curtains flew then he appeared...saying don't be afraid,
Come on, baby... and she had no fear,
And she ran to him...then they started to fly.
They looked backward and said goodbye...
she had become like they are.
She had taken his hand... she had become like they are.
Come on, baby... don't fear the reaper.
tansy
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