Every few days a cleaning lady would come into Mulder's hospital room and wipe clean smooth surfaces, the window, and the windowsill. She used a mild disinfectant to wipe surfaces after she was done cleaning them. He didn't much like the smell of the disinfectant but he had to live with it, the smell would linger for days - and just as the smell was no longer noticeable the cleaning lady would return. There was one thing he secretly enjoyed about the cleaning lady coming. Whenever she wiped the window the dampness on the windowpane would reflect the sunlight in a certain way, reminding him of soap bubbles floating in the wind on a summer day. The dancing colors in the window never lasted more than half a minute, for the windowpane dried quickly. He had to be alert when the cleaning lady moved over to the window. He also loved the sunbeam that streamed through his window in the mornings. The sunbeam would light up his room, then track slowly across his bed, but stopped short of shining full on his face if he were lying down in bed. The sunbeam was warm, a pleasant visitor to welcome for about an hour each morning. And when the windowpane was wet as the sunbeam passed through, he would see soap bubbles floating in the wind. That was a sweet memory, the memory of when he was a ten-year old blowing soap bubbles in a wide open field as his six year old sister shrieked with glee. Samantha had chased the bubbles, and kept asking him to blow more - "Bigger ones Fox! Make them flyyyy!!!!" He was a ten-year-old big brother babysitting his little sister during summer. And as he blew soap bubbles on that warm summer day he had loved her. He had loved the way her big shining eyes watched him blow bubbles that followed the wind to far off places, he had loved her unabashed adoration, he had loved the way she skipped about him, her pigtails bouncing up and down, and he had loved her love for him. On that day she was his little sister and he would have done anything for her. She wasn't just a whining little girl who distracted his mother's attention. She was his sister. And he loved her. The memory was bittersweet, for they never ever played in that field together again. They had spent the whole day there, waiting till the sun set and the sky turned a beautiful orange purple yellow hue before returning home for dinner. He had always wanted to take her there again, but for him school started, then she grew up and he grew bored of her clinging to him. They had been to the field before that day, but he had introduced her to soap bubbles only on that special day, and so that made all previous trips to the field obsolete. There were soap bubbles dancing in the window now. He could hear Samantha giggling as he told her he was going to make color lights fly into the wind. She'd called him a big fat liar. He told her to wait and see. Then he blew the bubbles into a soft breeze and she had gasped in wonder and astonishment. "Fox!" she exclaimed. "They're so beautiful!" He treasured the memory jealously. His memories of Samantha now were no longer of her screaming his name as a bright light whisked her out of his life. Instead he remembered Samantha as a toddler trying to catch up with his bicycle. He vaguely remembered his mom and dad announcing that the little baby in his mother's arms was a baby girl, not a baby boy and that all babies looked like that when they were just born. He remembered his father cradling his sister in one arm and hugging him tight with the other as they watched shooting stars from the front porch of their house. And he remembered Samantha's first day at pre-school when she'd rushed home to tell him that Fox wasn't a name, it was a furry doggy animal with this really nice bushy tail. The last memory always made him chuckle. How was it that his little sister had learned to read before the age of four and yet never ever came across any references to foxes? And then he'd remember one spring day when the two of them had wandered together, looking at birds on branches and tagging after little furry animals. Only now was he appreciating the wealth of happy memories he had of his sister during their short time together. There was no need to brood over the screams of a frightened eight-year-old girl. He had enough tiny pieces of happy memories to cherish. He had enough laughter to fill his mind. Was he letting go of his obsession of finding her? He still wished to see her again, alive. He wanted to see Samantha Mulder, his little sister - not another bunch of pseudo-Samantha clones. But realistically speaking, that was merely a wish that wasn't going to come true any time soon. Lately though he'd caught himself praying to God to keep Samantha's soul, to keep her safe and warm. He didn't believe in miracles or God, preferring instead to believe in Truth and whatever paranormal phenomena fascinating enough to give him hope that if these strange things really did happen, then whatever he thought happened to Samantha must have happened and she must be out there, alive, somewhere. He didn't know why he should turn to God now, although psychologically he was aware that revival in faith was a natural process for terminally ill people. But he wasn't contemplating death was he? He wasn't praying for his own soul after all. He wasn't thinking of death. He planned to live. He planned to find his truths and answers. He wasn't looking for salvation just yet. The sunbeam had moved on and the dancing color lights in the window were gone. The cleaning lady left his room without shutting the door properly. He frowned at her back as she left but was too lazy to call out to her to shut the door. The workmen were staring their work. He wondered how long he'd hold out against them this time. Mulder had started identifying his stages of pain as what work of torture the 'workmen' residing in his lower back and in his bones were doing. It was important for him to identify his stages of pain so his painkiller doses could be adjusted accordingly. And of course he wasn't just going to grade his pain on a scale of 1 to 10 without any creative interpretation. If painkillers did their work, Mulder was relatively free of pain, but somewhat groggy and disoriented. Then, as the protective effects of the drugs ebbed away, and he became more alert, the workmen would start to chip away at his spine with little picks and hammers. He was used to that pain by now, really. In fact he was so used to having some degree of constant pain he could no longer remember what it must have been like to live a life totally free and blessed from pain. Eventually the workmen would chuck aside their little picks and hammers in favor of big sledgehammers that they would slam into his back in unison. He imagined there were between ten and thirty workmen assigned to give him this misery, depending on just how badly the pain throbbed. Then another group of workmen would join the team. These new workmen loved to drag their steel rakes up and down his back and along his bones. That was terrible. When he'd first experienced that level of pain he had wanted to just die straight away. But now, that level of pain was a 6 on his scale. The workmen had more methods of torture to implement. Power drills, joining the steel rakes and sledgehammers. Huge power drills, not the little ones for drilling picture-frame holes in thin-plaster walls. These were the big power drills used at construction sites, to drill through metal. When he got to that stage of pain, he wouldn't have given a second thought about signing a form for euthanasia. If somebody were to shove a gun against his head he would beg the person to just pull that fucking trigger and be quick about it. If someone gave him a knife, he'd try to stab himself in the back. He never tried to imagine what the workmen were doing for stage 10 pain. By then he'd be too crazed by the pain and or already passed out. Or he'd be begging in all earnestness for death to come take him out of his misery. Right now the workmen in his back were using their little picks. Slowly, he raised one hand and tucked it beside his cheek, then tried to shift his body a little to get comfortable. The workmen in his back didn't quite approve his move. The sudden spontaneous hammering of twenty picks in his back made him wince. He tried to concentrate on the TV. Goofy, Mickey and Donald were trying to make their own ship out of a DIY kit. Amusing enough. He was finally going to leave the hospital tomorrow, one week after his seizure. No use keeping him in hospital anyway. He hadn't had any more seizures. Scully could take care of him at her place, she'd just bring him in every two days for his medication and blood transfusions. Scully wouldn't be coming till late afternoon. She was still doing forensics work, procrastinating the start of her first solo X-Files investigation by explaining that she wanted to have him home and out of hospital before she started. Her excuse made absolutely no sense to Mulder but he didn't bug her about it. At least she already had a case in mind to investigate. Still no good news in the search for Samantha O'Connor. It would take weeks for the FBI and the police in California to comb through all pre-schools in the state to find her. Minnie Mouse was joining Mickey and his pals as they prepared to cast off in their brand new DIY ship. Pretty impressive ship too, Mulder thought. Then he noticed the faint smell of cigarette smoke. He turned his face towards the open door. "You shouldn't smoke in a hospital," he said to the man standing on the doorway. Cancerman. Fascinating name to call him by, based simply on the fact that he was a long-term cigarette smoker. But who was the one with cancer now, ladies and gentlemen? The man shrugged absently. "I am not." Indeed he wasn't. The smell of cigarette smoke came from the man's clothes. Mulder purposely ignored the man, paying attention instead to the difficulties Mickey and his crew were facing as their DIY ship started coming apart in the water. The man shuffled his feet a few times. When that failed to get Mulder's attention he moved closer to Mulder's bed. "How are you?" "That has got to be a rhetorical question, right?" Cancerman actually had the decency to look embarrassed. "I'd like to talk to you." "So?" "If you feel all right about it." Mulder simply stared up at the man, wondering why the man even bothered. Like Cancerman was going to care if Mulder were half-mad with pain, he'd probably do whatever gloating he wanted to do anyway. "What do you want?" Mulder asked finally, tiredly. Personally he wanted to watch the Disney cartoons. "I believe this is what you want," the man said, almost slipping back into his usual slimy haughtiness. "We need to talk about Agent Scully." "What about her?" "As I recall you wanted to know. I am telling you now that there is reason to believe she will not be in her best of health for long." Mulder closed his eyes. He wasn't really surprised. He had taken the trouble to investigate the alleged abducted women of Allentown and knew enough about them and their deaths to know what could happen to Scully. "Are you telling me this because you can help her?" "There may be a method ... which is actually experimental at best. There is a doctor here who might be able to explain things better." As if on cue, a red-haired man wearing a lab coat walked into the room. There was something familiar about the man that Mulder couldn't quite place. The man closed the door before coming up beside the bed. "Agent Mulder, I am Kurt Crawford," he said as he extended his hand. Mulder ignored it. Kurt was unperturbed by Mulder's lack of civility and went straight to the point. "You have a friend who was abducted two years ago?" Mulder nodded warily. "Okay, now, most abductees who return develop tumors. It's actually a side-effect." Mulder thought of asking 'side-effect to what?' but Kurt continued, "You have heard of cancer-suppressor genes? These are switches in the human DNA - turn off the switch and that person develops cancer. Of course that is just a simple way of describing it. "The main point is, your friend's switch has been turned off. Her cancer-suppressor genes are inactivated. We don't want that to happen, but we can't seem to stop it from happening. Fortunately, we may have found a way to reverse it, to turn the switch back on." Mulder wondered if he was being strung along, or if he should take the chap seriously. "How?" "Well, I can't describe everything to you right here, not enough time and certainly not enough physical evidence or material for a more comprehensive lecture," Kurt said. Mulder's sense of deja vu was increasing, as Kurt spoke. Where had he seen or heard this guy before? "What I can tell you, is that with our intervention, her chances of not developing cancer at all will be eighty percent." "Only eighty?" "That will actually place her in a position better than most of the general population. Of course we do aim for a hundred percent protection but we haven't had enough subjects. Your friend will be the perfect subject. The protection I speak of is total. We eliminate all oncogenes and repair all mutations that may be present in the genome of her somatic cells. I can see that I have lost you. Oncogenes are genes whose protein products are associated with neoplastic transformation. That is, the development of cancer. And genomes, well that's what genes are. These oncogenes and genomic mutations are also inevitable and regrettably unfortunate side-effects of our experimentation." Cancerman stood by the side of the bed, listening but not interrupting. Kurt Crawford looked at Mulder expectantly, waiting for Mulder to agree to hand Scully over to him for more experimentation. Crawford saw Scully as a new subject for him to test and prove his theories. He didn't actually care. But Mulder cared. He cared deeply. "You sons of bitches think this is some on-going study? You took three months out of her life, you are suggesting that you used her like she was some lab rat, and now you are pitching me this idea as though..." "Please, Mr. Mulder, there is no need to get upset. I agree our methods seem somewhat devoid of ethics..." Mulder made a choking sound. "But I suggest you take this matter into serious consideration. Admirably enough your friend remains healthy. We suspect she has not yet manifested any signs of cancer and that makes her the suitable candidate for our trial. Rest assured that I use the word trial here very loosely. We are confident in our methods - she will be receiving the benefits of years of our research." Mulder was speechless. The impunity of this man to talk and to think of Scully as no more than a test subject, another series of data on a lab sheet! "If she will come and see us," Kurt added, ignoring the pained horror and barely controlled anger on Mulder's face. "We shall be able to tell her more. My friend here," Kurt gestured at Cancerman. "Can assist her in arranging an appointment with us. She needn't even need to know who we really are if you don't want her to." "I don't know who you are," Mulder retorted, teeth clenched. "I don't know if you can be trusted." Kurt raised an eyebrow. "I have no evil intentions. There are no ulterior motives. I only wish to meet her, and proceed with a plan for prevention of neoplasia. Therein lies the purpose of my meeting you here. We are her best, and I dare say, only hope for long-term survival. We wish to accomplish that goal, and I was made to understand that is also your wish." There was no chance for Mulder to respond. Kurt was already moving out towards the door, being shepherded along by Cancerman. Kurt gave Mulder one last nod before stepping out into the hallway. Cancerman hesitated for a just a moment longer. "This is not a trick, Agent Mulder." "I suppose I should take your word for that?" Mulder snapped. The man met his gaze, but lowered his eyes a moment later. "It will be up to you. I have done what I can. You have met the doctor and he has told you, in the simplest way he knows, what you asked me to find out for you. If you wish to pursue this, then we can arrange another, more proper meeting." The man turned to go, but he hesitated again. "Is there anything else I can do?" "No. But I thank you. For Agent Scully's life. If that is what we are talking about here. I sincerely do thank you, though thanking you is not something I ever thought I'd do." "I mean, for yourself. I can help?" Mulder shook his head. "I am already in your debt." "I am doing this for a child I knew once," Cancerman said, almost tenderly. "This child was the son of a friend of mine. This child was an adorable child, a lovely child. He knew me once too, this little child, and I think he quite liked me. At the time." Mulder stared at the man standing in the doorway. He didn't know what to say. "There will be no debt," Cancerman said. "I consider this a favor for that little boy I used to know." "I can help." He repeated it as a statement this time, not a question. Mulder shook his head again, slowly. The Cancerman sighed sadly but said no more. He stepped out of Mulder's room, pulling the door shut behind him. ********** The television droned on, it was a documentary about wild life in tropical forests. Scully tried to pick the remote control out of Mulder's hand but he seemed to sense what she wanted to do and grasped it tighter. Scully gave up. She changed out of her office clothes before going into the kitchen to prepare a cup of coffee for herself, and brew medicinal herbal tea for Mulder. Then she scooped some ice cream into a bowl and took it out to the living room where Mulder was sleeping on her couch. He was lying on his side, huddled under a blanket. The cap remained on his head, which rested on a pillow that her mom must have taken out of the bedroom. She shook his shoulder gently. "Have something to eat," she whispered. Mulder sighed and opened his eyes. "Back already? What time is it?" "Just after three." She placed the bowl of ice cream on the small table beside the couch, within his reach. The table was cluttered with bottles of medication and tissue paper, along with a can of ice cream soda that her mom must have left open for him. She picked up the can. It sloshed, half-full. Well, at least he drank some. Mulder wasn't quite able to care for himself now. Though he was reluctant to burden Scully and her mom with nursing duties, he didn't have any other place to go. He didn't want to remain in hospital and he didn't want to burden his own mother, who had suffered a stroke a few months ago and was still recuperating. Besides, Scully had a feeling that Mulder didn't want his mother to realize how sick he was now. She'd overheard quite a few of his phone conversations with his mother and he always maintained fake cheeriness and optimism while speaking to her. "How is the case?" She was finally working on her first solo X-Files case, investigating an alleged alien abduction. Mulder had been amused that she would pick an alien abduction case to investigate on her own. "So far, I'll have to insist that our alleged abductee was either totally stoned and somehow was picked up by someone and then dumped twelve miles away from her home, or she is a delusional schizophrenic." "But she has been assessed by psychiatrists who validate her sanity, and you have not found any traces of drugs or alcohol in her blood or urine." "Well, I am not about ready to claim that this girl was abducted by aliens," Scully said sourly. Mulder just smiled at her. If they were working together on this they would have started arguing already. How she missed those days. Now she was the one who had to think of both the paranormal and scientific possibilities for a case. And she wouldn't have anyone but herself to debate the issues with. Mulder was too tired to pursue the line of argument further despite his obvious interest in the case. He merely listened as she recounted her day's events, sometimes making a comment or two but never actually embarking on a long discussion of the case with her. He just wasn't able to anymore. The pain had reached a point where he was permanently drugged. So he was also permanently groggy, barely able to concentrate for more than five minutes at a time. He spent most of the time at her apartment huddled on her couch fast asleep with the TV on. He only ate ice cream or mashed potatoes, or her mom's soups. He drank cola drinks because he preferred the hyper-sweet taste to the tastelessness of plain water. Caring for him wasn't too hard. There was no need to get a live-in nurse. He could still do things for himself in the bathroom but he did need help getting to the bathroom. The only times he left her apartment were for his trips to the hospital and when she took him back to his own apartment for a short visit and for him to retrieve a few more of his things. He was going back to the hospital tomorrow. A bone marrow donor had at long last been found. The donor was of course, anonymous, and while not exactly a perfect marrow match for Mulder, it was the closest they could find. A bone marrow transplant can still take place even if the donor and the recipient are not a hundred percent compatible, but of course post-transplant complications are more likely to occur the more incompatible the two are. Scully patted Mulder's arm, prompting him to roll over onto his back. She helped him balance the ice cream bowl on his chest, then she went to the kitchen to take her mug of coffee and his mug of herbal tea. A friend who had successfully battled breast cancer and survived had recommended the medicinal herbal tea to her. The tea was supposed to balance the body's yin and yang, and purify the healing spirit, and lessen pain as the body healed itself. Whatever. It was helpful in a way, which was why she insisted that he keep drinking it. Before Mulder always had difficulty sleeping through a whole night. Pain always woke him up. Since he started drinking the tea, his night sleep was no longer interrupted, and he slept quite peacefully during the day as well. Of course it may not necessarily be the tea that was helping him sleep. His worsening anemia probably contributed to him being dead tired enough to sleep through even the worst pain. Mulder hated the tea because it was bitter but took it anyway just to humor her. The tea did provide him some relief from pain when he was awake. But again, that may be due to the fact that Mulder was just too tired to complain about his pain anymore, rather than the tea being effective. She tried to talk him into going to see an acupuncturist to relieve the pain, but after more than four months of needles, tests and infusions of this and that, Mulder was absolutely adamant about not having anything to do with little tiny acupuncture pins. There was one other thing for her to do - hang her late sister's charms and crystals in the room he was sleeping in. Mulder had given her strange looks while she was doing that, and in fact, Scully felt ridiculous about it too. But well, her sister had been really into charms and healing crystals, and yin and yang, and had always gone on and on about how effective these things were spiritually so Scully figured there wasn't going to be any harm in trying. Regardless of how stupid the idea sounded. Mulder patiently put up with her alternative methods of therapy. His reluctance about non-medicinal cures surprised her in a way, she would have expected Mulder to be the one who would actively search for his own cure. Instead he seemed strangely uninterested. On the other hand, Scully was the one who had suddenly become fascinated by alternative methods of treatments, reading up on folk cures and herbs and mushrooms. During the first two months she had put Mulder's disinterest down to the fact that he was in denial and thus wasn't willing to acknowledge that he needed a cure. She supposed that presently he was too sick to be bothered with actually expending his energy to search for his cure when he knew Scully was doing that on his behalf. Besides her sudden change in opinion about the effectiveness of alternative methods of treatment provided some form of amusement for Mulder. He was frequently chiding her for being gullible enough to fall for the various alternative treatments she recommended for him. Mulder was licking his spoon when Scully sat down in the chair beside him. She placed his mug of tea on the table. Mulder pretended not to notice. One of her alternative methods of treatment did work. She brought back some black powder, apparently watermelon frost, for his mouth and throat ulcers. He hadn't been happy about that either at first - the powder had to be dabbed directly on the ulcers and that hurt like hell. The powder really did heal the ulcers though, there were none now. "Why are you watching this?" Scully asked, indicating the nature documentary on her television. "I never thought you had much interest in orangutan mating habits." "Hey, just because I am forced to be totally celibate now doesn't mean I can't watch other guys having fun." "I told you to behave while you're at my house," Scully reminded him with a smile. "I am behaving myself," Mulder said. "This is nature, mind you. I am trying to commune with nature." "Fine, commune all you want, but be careful with that bowl of ice cream." Mulder hadn't eaten much of the ice cream, and what was left was pretty much melted mush sloshing in the bowl. He shrugged and handed the bowl to her. She took the bowl and put it back on the table in case he changed his mind and wanted some more. "Is your mom coming again later? When did she leave?" "She left when I got back just now. And yes, she's coming back later. She'll be bringing that chicken soup you like." "Okay," Mulder said. He turned back onto his side and shifted down on the couch, careful not to jostle the cap off his head, and closed his eyes. His blanket was wet from where the ice cream bowl had been but he pulled the blanket up around him anyway. Scully sipped her coffee. She should make him drink his tea first before it got cold, but she didn't want to force him into a sitting position once he was so obviously comfortable. Besides he had already fallen asleep. Just like that. After all those years of insomnia he sure was catching up on sleep with a vengeance. At least he had relinquished control of the remote control so she was able to switch channels and find something to watch to keep her company. There was a documentary on another channel about recent advances in the detection of breast cancer in women. The commentator was speaking of the genetics of cancer - the likelihood of a woman having breast cancer increased substantially if other female members of her family had had the cancer as well. "Do you take care of yourself?" Scully was surprised to hear Mulder speak. So he hadn't fallen asleep yet. His question was also a surprise, although she instantly knew exactly what he was talking about. He was asking about her health, her possible risk of developing cancer following whatever it was that had happened to her during her three month disappearance after she was kidnapped by Duanne Barry. She knew Mulder worried about her as much as she worried about him, but they had never spoken about this matter before. Never ever. "I make sure I'm okay," she answered. Mulder was still lying on his side, watching her intently. "Do you go to a doctor?" "Mulder, I am a doctor." Scully's little joke only earned her a slight twist of Mulder's lips. She turned her attention to her mug of coffee, trying to ignore Mulder's scrutiny. She wasn't about to tell him how much time she spent in front of the mirror every night, checking her body for the slightest discoloration, or the smallest lump. She wasn't going to admit that she now watched her weight fanatically to ensure there wasn't any unexplained weight loss - Mulder had lost almost twenty pounds in under two months without anyone noticing anything wrong. She worried if she felt unnecessarily tired at work - Mulder had been incredibly tired and anemic for weeks before his diagnosis. She almost always panicked if her period came late, or too early. Much as she tried to deny the likelihood of any cancer risks, she still worried. She worried that if she discovered a tumor it might be inoperable. She worried that if she did develop cancer, it would be incurable. Then she would end up as bad as some of the patients she'd seen in Mulder's cancer ward. Cancer was a painful, sad thing to have. "Scully," Mulder's voice jolted her out of her reverie. He was still watching her carefully. "I didn't tell you this, but Cancerman visited me at the hospital." Her blood ran cold. "What did he want?" "He had this man with him," Mulder said, ignoring her interruption. "Some doctor of some sort, well, he had a white lab coat on. Said his name is Kurt Crawford. He claims to know about you, and your risks of neoplastic transformation." Neoplastic transformation - an elaborate way to describe cancer development. Scully nervously waited for Mulder to continue. "He said that he can help. He spoke of cancer suppressor genes, and mutated genomes, and oncogenes. He says he can reverse these mutations. Turn genetic switches back on so as to avoid neoplastic transformation. He said he could fix the side effects of whatever it was that happened to you before. He suggested that a meeting can be arranged to discuss things further." Mulder's news was as cruel a blow as telling her she had only one month left to live. An indirect confirmation that she was indeed going to develop cancer, that it was not a 'risk' of developing cancer, it was more of a guarantee. Her clinical mind argued this could be either a trap or an incredibly sick joke. "Who was that man?" Her voice was no more than a hiss. "I don't know him. He claimed to be sincere and to be in a position to help. He insisted he had no ulterior motives." "You trust him?" Scully barely spat out the words. "I do not know. But I have been giving this matter much thought, and I would never have told you about this if I didn't feel there was reason enough for you to consider meeting him." "He says I have cancer?" Scully asked in a whisper. She dreaded to hear the answer but she needed the confirmation. 'Developing cancer' meant something totally different from 'having cancer'. Developing cancer was a distressing thought, but it still afforded some faint hope of prevention. "No, he says you probably do not yet have neoplasia. But you will develop neoplasia if there is no intervention on his part." Her silence spoke volumes of her confusion, of her reeling shock, of flashes of mortality slipping near. She had been close to death once, and had emerged victorious and convinced that life was such that when the end finally came, she would be ready to take leave of life and go in peace. But in truth, life was not something so easy to let go of. "I am sorry Scully," Mulder said softly. "I would never have mentioned this, but I felt that in the end it isn't my decision or my right to decide if he was telling the truth or a lie. I have to tell you. It is your life, your health. He may be able to help. He may be sincere. It will have to be your decision." "He has to be lying." "Yes, but only you can decide that." "He's claiming what? That he can reverse the mutation that will be the cause of my cancer? That is science fiction! Genetic mutations are not reversible!" "Science fiction now becomes science fact later. A hundred years ago landing on the moon was a fiction. Now we know it and take it for granted." "This is not the same!" Scully yelled. "Medical advancements of that magnitude are not within our grasp yet. Nobody can claim to reverse a mutation or turn on a genetic switch that for whatever reason has been turned off!" "When you returned to us you had branched DNA in your system," Mulder reminded her quietly. "That is also a scientific impossibility." "Branched DNA was the side effect of what they did to me," Scully said flatly. She glared at Mulder. "Did he say what they did to me?" "No he did not," Mulder answered. "But Scully, work is being done by many scientists to track down mutated genes that lead to disease. Scientists have isolated so many genes already which are known to be responsible for disease. Might not Crawford have discovered a way to identify the specific cancer gene and alter it?" "Nobody can change a structure of a functioning gene in a living human body!" Scully was nearing the point of hysteria. She didn't want to know this now. She didn't want to think about this now. "Perhaps they can," Mulder said soothingly. She realized suddenly that Mulder had not spoken this much in one go since the day he came home with her. He would usually lose his strength mid-way through a conversation. But now, he was actually maintaining a sort of argument with her. The effort must be taxing. She tried to calm down, for his sake. "I honestly do not know what is truth and what is not. Meet this Kurt fellow, Scully. If he's full of crap, then tell him off. You'll know if he's lying. Or if he is telling the truth. The truth hurts, Scully, I know. But better this painful truth than the pain of being sick later." "He is connected to the Cancerman? Why should I have anything to do with a man who is in cahoots with that bastard?" Scully demanded. "Because I want to make sure you are okay, Scully. I have to make to sure. I don't want this for you... being this sick. It hurts, it sucks, and there's a death sentence on your head that is real hard to ignore. I don't want this for you." Scully stared at him. "Did you make a deal?" "Not a deal," he replied. "An agreement which I am sure he will honor. Protect yourself Scully, take care of yourself, that is all I'm asking you to do." "You are asking me to believe that a man has told you that I will get cancer and that I will die! And this man seems to be the be the only thing between me and a short life. You are asking me to meet and then decide if I should trust a man who might be working with the man who had my sister killed!" She was screaming at him again. Mulder looked at her and calmly said, "Yes, Scully. That is exactly what I am asking you to do." ********** Scully walked quickly towards the lone figure sitting on the bench in the hospital's small recreational park, feeling the first drops of rain striking her eyelashes and cheeks. The figure was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, and the cap was on his head as usual. He didn't seem particularly concerned about the raindrops falling down on him. She stopped just beside him and waited for him to notice her. "Is this seat taken?" He grinned. "Well, I was waiting for this terrific brunette I picked up in the bar the other day, but I guess since you got here first I'll have to settle for you." She sat down, gently patting his leg as she admonished him, "I had to search all over for you, Mulder. You are not supposed to be here." He shrugged. "I figured you might miss those days when you never knew where I was and never knew how you were going to cover up for me." "So you decide to wander off and let me worry again?" He chuckled in response to her statement. She smiled back. He was right in a way. She desperately missed all things Mulder, even the annoying habits that got on her nerves. "Who helped you out here?" she asked. "One of the other patients' visitors," Mulder answered. She saw his walker by the side of the bench. She guessed that he must have been brought here in a wheelchair by a friendly, helpful, but naive fellow, then Mulder had convinced that person to leave him to sit on the bench for a while. The walker was left near him so that he could go in by himself if he had to, although the truth was that Mulder was in no shape to walk far unaided. Mulder tilted his head up to look at the cloudy sky above, blinking as the drops of water splashed about his eyes. "Let's get out of this rain Mulder," Scully said. "You shouldn't have left your room." Mulder was being prepped for the bone marrow transplant. The slightest hint of infection would set all plans off. "Wait a while longer, Scully." He glanced at her. "I want to get drenched. I have been sitting here for a long time, just waiting for the rain." The light drizzle was rapidly turning into real rain. She saw that he had disconnected his own IV tube. She wondered how he had managed to sneak out of his room without being noticed at all. She had arrived at Mulder's room just after lunch with a couple of cans of root beer to celebrate the return of Samantha O'Connor to her family. Samantha had been rescued the day before yesterday, when the police of Orange County tracked down the kidnapper - a kind-looking man in his mid-thirties who had kidnapped Samantha and then proceeded to care for her as though she were his own daughter. He would have continued to love her until Christmas Eve, then he would have killed her and picked another little girl to pretend as his daughter. The kidnapper was exactly who Mulder said he would be, working the sort of job Mulder had suggested he would have (he was a freelance nature photojournalist who moved from state to state at the end of every single year), and who seemed in a warped way, to genuinely love and care for Samantha, just as Mulder had claimed he would. Samantha was safe, unharmed, and was in fact, a happy little girl. Police and the Los Angeles FBI were still trying to determine his motives, but there was no doubt that his motives would turn out to be what Mulder had already predicted. Mulder had been overjoyed that his comprehensive profile had proved instrumental in the rescue of Samantha O'Connor. His sad regret was that he hadn't been there personally for the search and subsequent rescue and that he wouldn't be there to interrogate the kidnapper. She was surprised not to find him in his room. He'd only been back at the hospital for less than a week after his 'holiday' at her apartment. Nobody knew where he was, in fact the nurses in the ward were probably still frantically searching for him. She had tried looking for him in the garden because he had mentioned to her yesterday how much he would love to just sit outdoors and breathe real air again, instead of the filtered disinfected air in his hospital isolation room. Still she hadn't quite believed that Mulder would have been able to get out of the cancer ward, and then all the way down to the garden. She should have known better. "I was thinking of our first case together," Mulder said. "Now that was wet! Real drenched to the skin wet." Scully had to smile at that memory. "And everything we owned for that trip was burned to crisp." Mulder laughed. "Oh yeah. I thought you would dump me after that. I figured you'd run back to your superiors and beg them to please, take you back." "Staying with you was definitely a better option than begging. I never beg." "Well, stay with me now. Please?" Her hair was getting wet. She was glad she hadn't put too much make-up on, just a dash of lipstick. Drops of water slid down her face and into her mouth when she talked. "You cannot be out here Mulder," she said. "We have to get you out of the rain. Rain is going to make you sick. We don't want you to get pneumonia now." "Scully, you know better than that," Mulder quipped. "Rain isn't going to make me sick. You can't catch pneumonia from raindrops." Scully sighed, mildly exasperated. Of course he would be stubborn. She tugged at his arm and then stood up, trying to pull him up with her. He managed to resist her and pull her back down beside him. "Stay with me," he pleaded again. Very unpredictably, he slung an arm over her shoulder and pulled her closer to him. "Cold?" She allowed him to hug her. "I just want to hold you for a while," Mulder said. Scully didn't mind that. She wrapped her arm around his waist and leaned into him. Mulder rested his cheek against her hair. The rain pattered in an absurdly rhythmic way off his cap, Scully found she quite liked the sound. "Mulder, we really cannot risk you getting sick. There will be other times to sit together," Scully said, hoping to reason with him. The only other alternative would be to get help from hospital orderlies and drag him in. "I want this time, Scully," he murmured into her wet hair. She barely heard him above the pitter-patter sound of raindrops falling. "You should not be out of isolation. What if you get sick." She tried to disentangle herself from his embrace, but he hugged her tighter. "Never mind. It's simple fate, Scully." "What?" she asked incredulously. "Simple fate," he answered happily. "Whatever will be will be." "What are you talking about?" "Things happen Scully, for no reason. And if they happen, then they happen. But you can't waste time worrying about something that might happen. So you live, Scully. You take every opportunity that comes along and live it. Sometimes it's better not to think about the consequences." "You have to, Mulder. The consequences of you becoming sick again..." "I miss the rain, Scully. There's something beautiful about the rain that I've always taken for granted. But I'm here now, and I want to stay and appreciate the rain again. And you're here with me too. I have both the things I have been missing most. Never mind the consequences, what that comes after this. I'll accept my life's simple fate." Mulder's philosophy was not something Scully thought of as particularly appealing under the circumstances. She pulled away from him a bit and tried to look up at him, a very hard thing to do while raindrops were splattering her face. She had to keep blinking water out of her eyes. Mulder was so happy. She hadn't seen him so happy in a long time. This was an adventure to him, a little forbidden adventure outside the sterile confines of his hospital room. Despite the terrible death pallor of his face, and the blueness of his lips and the shivering from cold, his joy was radiant. Against her better judgement she allowed him to keep his arms around her, and moved closer to him, ignoring the squishy feeling of wet pantyhose. "This is ridiculous Mulder. And very dangerous to your health," she said, a last ditch appeal to get some sense into him. "Scully, I'm not bleeding anywhere. My lungs are working, my kidneys are working, and my heart is working. I am not having seizures. I know I am at risk for infections but I'm getting a lot of antibiotics to ward off infection. Most importantly - right now the pain isn't so bad. I haven't had a day as good as this in so long. I want to breathe the rain. I want to feel the rain. And I want to be with you. Give me this time, Scully. Share it with me." The rain was falling steadily, heavier than a drizzle but not an outright downpour. The drops of rainwater splattered gently off the both of them. Their clothes were getting drenched. "Why do I let you talk me into this?" Scully wondered aloud. "Because I'm sick and you indulge me," Mulder answered cheekily. She would have loved to smack him for giving her that answer but instead she just cuddled closer to him. They sat that way, together, as the rain pattered down on them from the heavens above. ******* She stayed with him in his room until late at night. It was an inevitable option really, considering how wet she was. Her wet clothes were still hanging in Mulder's bathroom, she was wearing one of Mulder's T-shirts and a nurse's skirt. She would have to wear the borrowed clothes home, and hope that nobody she knew was going to spot her. The nurses and doctors had been so amused by the idea that the both of them had sat out in the rain for half an hour that they decided to forgive Mulder for removing his IV and 'escaping' from his room. He was no worse off from his little adventure anyway. A bit cold when he came in again, but he was so overwhelmingly happy that he didn't even whine when he was reconnected to his IV line and then given a thorough, antiseptic cleanup. She desperately hoped that he wasn't going to become ill after all that time spent wet and cold. His condition really was that fragile. He was scheduled for his bone marrow transplant in fourteen days. In retrospect, she would always be glad that she had stayed with him in the rain. Mulder's joy had been giddying, infectious. She had enjoyed herself as immensely as he had. They stayed in the rain until it tampered off to drizzle again, then they tried splashing through puddles as he leaned on her for support. They lingered as long as they could in the park, breathing in the fresh scent of wet earth and toying with the tiny droplets of water at the edges of leaves. For dinner she fed him her mom's chicken soup, while she ate a sandwich her mom had also brought. They watched the CNN news bulletin of Samantha O'Connor being hugged and kissed by her grateful parents. Mulder smiled as he watched it. "She is such a lovely child, Scully." "And she is going to grow up to be a lovely woman, thanks to you." Scully told him. There was mention of Fox Mulder's name on the same bulletin. Special Agent Fox Mulder was the federal agent who had successfully tracked down Samantha O'Connor, and the O'Connors were quoted as they profusely thanked the wonderful agent who gave their daughter back to them. Mulder watched that part of the news silently, and when it was over he simply changed the channel without further comment. But Scully noticed the way his eyes brimmed bright for a while and knew that he was feeling a mixture of joyous pride and sadness. Pride, that he was right and that his profile had helped save Samantha's life. Sad, that the Samantha he had saved was not the Samantha he had devoted his whole life to searching. Her hair was still damp, but it was time to go home. She wasn't making much headway with the alien abduction X-File she was working on. Her heart wasn't really in it, she supposed. She had Mulder to worry about, and she also had Kurt Crawford to contend with. After careful consideration of what Mulder had told her, she had agreed to a meeting with Kurt. To arrange the meeting she had to contact a UN representative in New York, apparently this was what Mulder had done when he arranged his own meeting with Cancerman in the park. By dropping some subtle clues and hints during a brief telephone conversation with this representative, a woman who Mulder claimed offered him sympathy and assistance while his mother was still comatose, she was hopefully sending a message for a meeting across to the secret government man. She waited for that man to contact her with a time and place, then she went to the place at the pre-arranged time for the meeting. Kurt Crawford came alone. The meeting had started off badly. Kurt was arrogant and insensitive, she was reeling from the emotional blow that she had been a guinea pig, and that they had experimented on her body. They'd done terrible things that even Kurt wasn't keen on mentioning. "So was he full of crap?" Mulder had asked yesterday when she gave him a full account of the meeting. "Much as I would like to believe that, I am more inclined to believe that he was telling the truth. However I insisted that when we meet again he is to bring me solid evidence, proof that he does know me, and my history." "What about the things he said? The genomic mutations, the cancer suppressor genes..." "His theories are sound. His methods are actually feasible, providing he has the equipment to back them up. As a scientist I have to confess that his medical breakthroughs are fascinating. Unfortunately, those medical breakthroughs need to be tested on me. Understandably, that is where he and I fail to see eye to eye." "But?" "I need to have some tests done. He claims that in the majority of abductees the first tumor appears within the nasopharyngeal cavity - the cavity in the skull here, above the nose. Inoperable. It is not a brain tumor, but it can push against the brain as it grows larger, and this tumor will, without fail, metastasize to all other organs. A very lethal neoplasm." She was not going to do anything else until she determined for herself whether or not she might have a tumor. Kurt wouldn't be of much help if she were already sick. She was scheduled for a thorough examination in a couple of days. There was no turning back now. The time had come for her to accept her fate. Mulder had respected her decisions and given her support, listening patiently as she recited what Kurt had told her, and as she discussed her doubts over what was science fact and what should be science fiction. Kurt had been an impressive lecturer. It was only later that the realization struck her that Mulder had struggled not to fall asleep last night as she rambled on. Right now though, Mulder was sleeping, one hand holding her hand loosely in its grasp. She called to him softly. "I have to go home now, Mulder." He didn't wake up. After the CNN news broadcast his pain had flared up badly and he'd asked for, and got, a lot of morphine. She sighed, then pulled her hand away slowly. She stroked his head. One month without any chemotherapy and his hair was growing nicely. Pity he was going to lose it all again. She kissed him good night, and somewhat reluctantly, left him to sleep alone. ********** "That's good, that how you do it." "No, no, don't. OK, OK, that's it, breathe, right, you have it, now breathe." Mulder did as he was told. He heard other voices, felt hands on his body. He heard the beep beep of a heart monitor. He also heard a familiar soft pumping sound, a sort of whoosh. There was a tube down his throat, he couldn't swallow. He suddenly understood. He was on a respirator. Someone was trying to teach him to breathe with the machine instead of fighting it. He opened his eyes and for a brief while he thought the world had gone incredibly bright while he slept. Then slowly his eyes focussed. He was lying in bed, the ceiling was above him, and a voice was telling him when he should breathe. And his chest hurt so bad, how long had he been on the respirator? There was a hand against his cheek. "Are you awake Mulder?" That was such a stupid question. If Mulder didn't have the tube down his throat he would have come up with some snide reply to that. "Can you squeeze my hand?" Mulder squeezed somebody's hand. He suddenly felt the excitement from everyone around him. But he was too tired and confused to be scared. He remembered going to sleep. Scully had been with him. Everything had been fine. Earlier in the day he had sat with Scully in the rain. Then they had dinner together. And he remembered CNN showing Samantha O'Connor's safe return to her family. Why was he on a respirator now? He wanted to sit up, but his body hurt too much, plus the blasted tube was down his throat. And he was so terribly weak, he had never ever felt this weak before. Someone was still there beside him, telling him when he should breathe in. He could see the doctors and nurses around his bed, watching him, monitoring him, testing his reflexes. He was still in his own hospital room. "When did he wake up?" Scully's voice. His throat was raw and painful, he was tired of breathing with the machine. Then he heard a different voice, "Take him off the respirator, he'll be OK." Other voices were replying to Scully's voice but one loud voice was telling Mulder not to gag, that they were going to pull the tube out. Then suddenly the tube was out but Mulder couldn't breathe. "No, no, don't," someone said. Mulder wasn't sure what that meant, he was too busy gasping, trying to get air into his lungs. Hands grabbed his head and an oxygen mask was slipped into place over his mouth and nose. Now his chest muscles hurt even more, and the simple act of breathing seemed to require more energy than he felt he had. He felt a hand grab his hand and he squeezed. The soft hand squeezed back. Scully. He felt fingers caressing his cheek and head, but he'd closed his eyes and was too tired to open them again. ******* Two nights ago he'd had a seizure. It was the night Scully sat with him to watch the CNN broadcast of Samantha O'Connor's safe return to her family, it happened after Scully had gone home. The first seizure was followed by a second in less than five minutes. By the time Scully arrived at about five in the morning, Mulder had had four grand mal seizures and was in severe pain. DIC had resulted in hemorrhages in his brain. He hemorrhaged elsewhere too and tiny clots lodged in his kidneys' circulation. He was at risk of kidney failure. There wasn't anything more the doctors could do - even though Scully was literally screaming that they should save him, that it wasn't too late. They had done what they could, loaded him up with anticoagulants, connected him to a dialysis machine, made him as comfortable as possible. He was still with them when the sun came up, but by then he had slipped into a coma. They called his mother and told her to come as quickly as possible. "There was no need to call my mother," Mulder said. He was still very weak, and to Scully he looked awfully frail. He sounded frail - his voice was terribly hoarse and soft and he had to take long pauses to catch his breath. He'd woken up from his coma just five hours ago. Scully gently caressed his cheek, carefully avoiding the oxygen tube. They had taken the oxygen mask off and were giving him oxygen through a nasal prong, and they had removed most of the equipment that he had been connected to while in coma. Only the dialysis machine remained. "She'll be upset of she sees me this sick." To Scully Mulder remained one of the most unique individuals on Earth. He'd just been told how close he'd been to dying and his first voiced concern was that his mother would get upset upon seeing how sick her son truly was. She decided that Mulder should be spared the truth about how upset his mother really had been. "Mulder, we thought we were going to lose you. I called your mother. She... she waited with me," Scully said. No need to explain what they had been waiting for. Mulder's eyes softened. "Thank you for waiting." Scully smiled, and for some unknown reason, blushed. He watched as her cheeks turned bright red and felt delight. If he had even a bit of strength in his arms then he'd have reached out and caressed her cheek, or played with a lock of her hair, just so she'd blush some more. She was lovely. Perfect thing to live for. "But I knew you were going to be all right, Mulder," Scully stammered. She grabbed his limp hand, than said more earnestly, "I was waiting for you to wake up. Somehow I knew you weren't going to leave me. Not yet." Mulder just nodded. Scully gently stroked his arm. She knew that the stroking comforted him. Mulder closed his eyes. He had been fascinated rather than scared or upset when Scully told him how close he'd been to dying. Thing was, he hadn't even been aware of it. No clue whatsoever that his life could have simply just slipped away. When he'd woken up from the coma he'd felt like he'd just woken up from a long nap. No near death revelations. No dreams. Nothing. Just him falling asleep one minute, and then him waking up with a tube down his throat the next. Never mind that he hadn't died. The point was that he had almost died. And for some reason he felt that he should have been aware of that. He felt he deserved some bit of enlightenment before leaving life, that if his life should somehow end now then larger mysteries should be revealed. He felt that this was owed him after all that he had had to go through. Death, he realized, could be amazingly easy. Just slip away... and sleep forever. ******* Mulder's chest heaved with each breath he took. Breathing was very hard work. She patted the soft new hair on his head. She remembered growing up on navy bases, watching handsome young men in uniform with their crew cut hair. She and Missy would gawk at the dashing officers in uniform - she must have had about a crush or two every year of her teenage life. She and Missy would sit together in their room and giggle about which enlisted man was the handsomest man alive. She smiled sadly to herself. If Mulder weren't so haggard, he would definitely cut a dashing figure in uniform - he'd certainly look the part with his current hairstyle. She continued to stroke him, to caress him. She wanted him to know that she was with him. She wasn't going to leave him. When she arrived at the hospital two days ago after Mulder's seizures, she had been so afraid. Mulder was in agony, he was gasping for air, his body was shivering, and he was weeping from the pain. When she reached out to hold his hand he had grasped her hand so hard she was surprised that he still had the strength. He whispered, "Will you wait with me?" She had stroked his forehead, and answered that of course she would. "Will it hurt?" His voice was so soft she had to lean down close to his face to hear him. He wasn't looking at her. He was staring at some point behind her, staring hard, as though there really was something to see. "It's OK, Mulder, I'm here, everything's fine. No, it won't hurt." The nurses had already given him his morphine. "It won't hurt anymore." Mulder murmured, his relief evident. And Scully suddenly realized that he was talking about death. Death was here to take him away from her, and he was ready to go. He was dying, and he knew it and he welcomed it. "No!" she cried. "You will not leave me Mulder. Stay with me! I am not going to leave you. Don't you dare leave me!" Mulder sighed again. "It won't hurt." "No, Mulder, you will fight. You have to fight. You are going to live. You are staying with me, damn it, for at least another thirty years! You hear me? Stay with me! Fight!" And Mulder had done that. He fought for life and defied Death. He had lingered on, stayed with her, probably listened to her cries, probably tasted a few of her tears as she sat beside him through the two whole days of deathwatch. Her own mom sat with her through most of those hours. And Mrs. Mulder never left the hospital from the moment she arrived. Mulder's mother had taken a flight out to DC, and then taken a cab from the airport. She walked into Mulder's room while Scully was there with her mom. Mrs. Mulder came up beside the bed, stared down into her son's pale and gaunt face, traced the tube from his mouth to the respirator, stared at the beeping lines of the heart monitor. Then she had broken down in tears, and had tried to hug her son where he lay motionless in bed. Mrs. Scully had politely excused herself from the scene, but Scully had stayed, stubbornly holding on to Mulder's hand. After Mrs. Mulder was done crying, they sat quietly together on either side of Mulder, and waited. They rarely spoke except in hushed whispers to Mulder. After two days with Mrs. Mulder Scully still knew absolutely nothing about her, save the fact that Mrs. Mulder did love her son very much... and that she was ready to let him die, if that were his fate. Occasionally her mom would come in and order her to go get food, or to go take a bath, or to go sleep on the couch available in the waiting area. Her mom didn't agree with her unwavering belief that Mulder was not dying. "Dana honey, let him go," she'd said to Scully. Only the two of them were there at the time beside Mulder's bed. His mother had finally been talked into taking a quick bath. "It's not his time, Mom. You'll see. If he can just fight this, he'll be OK." "I don't know medicine, but I understand what people tell me," her mom said. "His kidneys are failing. His lungs are failing. His heart is weak. Even if he does recover from this, what hope will he have? This is his time, honey." "No! There is so much more he has to do!" Scully hoped that Mulder could hear them talking about him, hoped that somehow he would join her fight and prove everyone wrong. Hoped that he would hear her and remember just how much more he had to live for. "His sister... the search isn't over. He shall not want to not know what has happened to Samantha. And me..." ...He has to stay with me, he will help me if it the nightmares turn out true and I do have cancer - he is so concerned about that, surely he won't just abandon me now? But she couldn't speak those final words out loud. She could not let her mother know that she was a ripe candidate for malignant tumors. "Honey, God put him here, for whatever reason his life has been the way it is. And now Fox's life is complete. It's his time to go. He was so lucky not to suffer any ill effects after that first seizure. Who knows what damage has happened after these seizures? He doesn't have to be in pain anymore. We can mourn him, Dana. But we cannot keep him." Scully bit her lip, choking back tears. She remembered her mother speaking this way to her when she was a child and her grandfather died. Sudden bitterness engulfed her. Would these be her mother's words to her brothers if she were the one dying from cancer? Mulder would never give up on her. He would do everything in his power to save her. She knew that. She knew he would trade his life for hers if that would save her from having cancer. He would probably sell his soul to the Devil if he thought he really had no other alternative to save her life. She thought of Kurt Crawford and Cancerman. She didn't know what sort of agreement Mulder had with Cancerman, but he had done it, just to make sure she would be all right. Skinner had visited too, each and every time he was free. Yesterday afternoon he sat with her for a half hour before literally dragging her off to the cafeteria for lunch. She had taken emergency leave from work again to be with Mulder, and Skinner suggested that maybe she should just take a whole month off or so. He felt Scully would need the time to grieve after Mulder... departed. "I would prefer to save my vacation days for later, when he has his bone marrow transplant," Scully had responded to his suggestion. Skinner shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to deal with her denial of Mulder's condition. "Is he, um, will he still have the transplant? Once he, well, recovers?" "Of course," Scully said. "A bone marrow transplant is his best hope for a cure." She looked directly at Skinner as she added, "He will recover from this... trauma. He looks worse off than he really is actually. I know he's so thin, he's cachexic. You know. But he will be fine. I think he's been given enough anticoagulants to remove all blood clots from his circulation. His kidneys will recover too eventually." Skinner nodded but she could see the concern and doubt in his eyes. She didn't give a damn though, what others thought. She knew Mulder was going to live. "You mentioned before that chemotherapy should cure him, and that a bone marrow transplant would be a last resort." "Well, with Mulder there are other problems to think of, namely anemia and DIC," Scully said. She was glad to be able to explain medical facts rather than to follow Skinner as he treaded carefully around the issue of Mulder's mortality. Medical facts she could cling on to, medical facts were her salvation for Mulder and also for herself, if Kurt Crawford was for real. She'd be happy to talk clinical talk till the sun went down. Or until her Mulder awoke, whichever came first. "You see, his marrow is producing leukemic white blood cells. At the same time, his marrow is simply unable to produce enough red blood cells, which results in severe anemia. We can counter that for the time being by giving him frequent transfusions to replenish his red cells. A bone marrow transplant is the best solution for a case like Mulder's. New marrow from a healthy donor will be transfused into him and will engraft - that means his body will accept this new marrow and he can produce sufficient red blood cells as well as platelets, and most importantly, normal, functioning white cells. Intensive chemotherapy prior to transplant eradicates all the leukemic white cells, once those cells are out of the way, his complications relating to DIC are gone too, because DIC is triggered by chemicals released by the leukemic cells." Skinner was silent for a while. Scully wondered if he understood. Then he asked, "But what about the chemotherapy Mulder had before?" "For some reason or other, Mulder never responded to chemo." "No remission." Skinner said. "No remission is one thing. For Mulder absolutely nothing happened. Chemotherapy had no effect whatsoever. Even if he hadn't achieved complete remission, we should have been able to knock out quite a number of leukemic cells." "But that didn't happen?" "No," Scully twisted and untwisted the cling wrap of the sandwich that she'd eaten. "We're not sure why chemo didn't work. But I do have my own theories." She considered whether or not to trust Skinner with her thoughts, then decided she wanted somebody to talk to. She hadn't discussed this with anyone else and she simply had to get it off her chest now. "Do you remember when Mulder was infected by that alien retrovirus?" Of course he remembered. Just one of the various other times that Mulder was one mere step away from death. He nodded. "He recovered, and I never noticed anything abnormal about him, I mean, there were no problems with blood clotting, his immune system seemed fine - no increased susceptibility to illness, but really, we knew nothing about the virus, and we still know nothing about it now. There is no way to know; what if the virus damaged his marrow? What if this leukemia, this hyperproliferation of promyelocytic cells is a result of the virus infection? After all, there is no history of anyone in Mulder's family ever developing cancer, and genetic testing has shown that Mulder does not have that certain genomic mutation that would cause him to be susceptible to acute myelocytic leukemia. Perhaps the virus damaged his marrow in some way that affects the production and proliferation of blood cells. Some viruses are proven to be associated with the development of cancer." Scully paused before voicing her next concern. It was a more personal one, one that she felt terribly responsible about. "The other possibility is that all the antiviral drugs I gave him to fight the retrovirus severely undermined his systems, probably creating tolerance for cytotoxic drugs, which could explain why chemo didn't work. But then for all you know it's the antiviral agents that damaged his marrow. Too much antiviral medication given in too short a period of time... true I saved his life, but the doses I gave him... probably carcinogenic amounts... I knew they were toxic amounts, he could have died of toxicity." Scully stopped. Her voice had been calm and steady when she began, now she was rambling. "If the drugs had resulted in marrow damage, then I'm the one who caused his leukemia," she finished, her voice a low, small whisper of anguish. She had thought about these facts often but she had never voiced them before. The guilt had settled around her heart like a vise, a secret burden she'd been carrying around for months. "Agent Scully," Skinner said gently. He had never seen her so distraught. "This isn't necessarily related to that retrovirus incident." "I'm trying to think of the best explanation for why he has AML, and why he didn't respond to chemotherapy." "There are other explanations, Scully, surely there are others who get sick for no known reason? You cannot hope to find an answer for everything." "For everything that happens there is always a reason, always a cause." "But is that important to know now? It's not like anything will change. Mulder is already..." Scully abruptly pushed her half-empty glass of juice away and stood up. "I'm going back to Mulder's room." If she stayed any longer she was going to break into tears again. Her confession had only succeeded in distressing her. Skinner didn't understand. She would rather cry by Mulder's side, then he might hear her sorrow and come back. Skinner called after her. "Agent Scully!" She paused in mid-step but didn't turn around. "I am praying for Agent Mulder," he told her honestly. Scully hung her head, then slowly whispered her thanks. She walked back alone to Mulder's room. Mulder's mother was in the other chair, asleep. Scully sat down in her chair, rested her head on the railing of Mulder's bed, and wept quietly. She was definitely reaching the end of her emotional tether. Her energy was spent. She had given her everything for Mulder. She no longer had the strength to deal with the likely risk that she may have cancer. She didn't even have the courage to face up to Kurt Crawford again to discover the truth of what had happened to her during the three months she had gone missing. She couldn't live without Mulder. She needed him to be her strength, her pillar, her comfort. She would need to depend on him, to lean on him, just as he had depended on her for the past four months. He was the only one who truly knew her strengths and weaknesses. He was the only one who had absolute faith in her life. Finally she had placed her palms together, and after such a long lapse, she prayed again to God, beseeching Him to keep Mulder with her. Mulder woke up from his coma this morning. He was now breathing on his own, albeit with great effort but what mattered was that he was back with her, and he was going to remain with her. She patted the hair on his head again. The hair was so soft. She stroked his arm, ignoring the skin and bones, concentrating instead on the warmth of his living body beneath her hand. Then she clasped her hands together and prayed again to God, to thank Him for sparing her Mulder's life. And to thank Him for keeping her meaning of life alive. ********** Mulder was much stronger the next day. He ate the ice cream she fed him, and she helped him sip root beer whenever he was thirsty. He remained awake and alert straight through the day, never even complained of pain. He cracked jokes with Scully's mom when she visited in the morning. His own mother came to sit with them for a few hours in the afternoon, then she went back to the motel. She would come back later to accompany him through the night. Since Mulder was wide awake and perfectly lucid they spent the hours reminiscing about their past cases together: successful cases, unsolved cases, silly cases. "You had long hair the first time we met," Mulder remembered. "How come you never keep your hair long now?" "I wanted to save on shampoo," Scully quipped. He smiled, then feebly tried to reach for a lock of her hair. Mulder's bed was raised to a thirty-degree angle so she leaned forward, closer to him. He was then able to touch her hair. "You have nice hair," he told her as he twirled the lock of hair between his fingers. Scully recalled another man liking her hair too, once, and he had tried to kill her for her nice hair. But the memory of that nightmare didn't cause her to shudder this time. Instead she remembered that it was Mulder who was the first through the door to save her and it was Mulder who had untied her bonds and then supported her as she cried. She could still recall the feel of the warmth of his body through his coat as he had held her. "Did you ever keep your hair real long?" "Well, when I was in grade school I had shoulder length hair," Scully said. "My sister Melissa always had nicer hair though. Her hair was soft curls, not straight like mine. I always wanted to have curls in my hair." "No, you wouldn't look nice with curls," Mulder mused, appraising her. "You wouldn't look like the Scully I know." "How would you know I wouldn't look nice? I might be absolutely lovely." "No, I know you wouldn't look nice," Mulder insisted. "It's because you wouldn't be you anymore if you curled your hair." Scully raised an eyebrow, confused by what point Mulder was trying to make. She let it pass. "You don't look too bad bald, Mulder," she said, playfully tapping the cap on his head. "You can pass yourself off as a military man. All you need is a uniform, and lots of medals on your chest." "I hate uniforms. Never even joined the Boy Scouts." Scully laughed. "I mean it, Mulder. There is no need to hide under the cap. Some women happen to find bald men very attractive." "Do you?" "Hmm," Scully considered the thought for a moment. "Maybe some men..." "Admit it Scully, you preferred me when I had hair," Mulder said. Scully pouted a little. She was caught between a rock and a hard place here. She gave a slight shrug and Mulder burst out laughing. Or at least he tried to. He ended up gasping and choking instead. She waited for him to finally catch his breath. She didn't like the way he sounded, the way he was literally panting. He caught her eye and gave her a reassuring smile. "It's okay," he rasped. She shook her head. She was debating whether to call the doctor and have him check if Mulder was getting enough oxygen. Mulder didn't want that though. "I'm just... it's hard to I breathe... hurts a bit," again that sad smile. "Don't tell!" He added conspiratorially in a loud whisper. "Mulder, a respirator can help you breath easier," Scully coaxed gently. "But I won't be able to talk." "Mulder..." "Shh, don't tell them!" Scully was forced to smile and play along. She figured she should be able to detect any sign of respiratory distress anyway, and at the moment Mulder was not in clinical distress. He was still twirling her hair with his fingers. She took the hand in hers and played with his fingers. "You know, if we had met under other circumstances, I would have wanted to marry you." "Oh really?" Mulder raised his eyebrow. "And why not marry me now?" "I already have you for a partner, why go through the trouble of birth control and preparing breakfast?" "Want everything but not the responsibility?" "Something like that," Scully said, grinning. "So what you are saying is that we are now partners together minus the holy matrimony?" Scully squealed with laughter. "I never would have thought holy matrimony mattered so much to you, Mulder." "Well partner, my one and only light of my life, to live together in holy matrimony is much more ideal than a life of cohabitation, wouldn't you agree?" "We don't live together, Mulder." "Ouch, the things I am so obviously missing in life," Mulder sighed melodramatically. He cocked his side to one side. "You do know that I have always been faithful to you?" His eyes twinkled. Scully laughed. "I have always known that, partner. And do you know that I have always been faithful to you?" "I have always known... yet it gladdens my heart to hear it uttered from your lips," Mulder teased. The effect would have been better if he didn't sound so frail. "Truly I shall be yours till death do us part." In response to his words, Scully kissed him gently on the back of his hand and smiled beautifully at him. She still had the other hand by his cheek, and he turned his face a bit so that her hand was trapped between his cheek and his pillow. She had to be careful not to nudge the oxygen prong beneath his nostrils. "What were you like when you were a little girl?" he wondered aloud. "Why should it be your business?" Scully retorted with humor. "A partner should know everything about his lady. It's his manly right." Scully giggled. "Manly right? Now that is a new one!" She did end up telling him about her childhood anyway, telling him about the navy bases she grew up on, about the tricks her brothers used to pull, about the dolls she used to operate on. "You dissected Barbie?" Mulder exclaimed in horror. "I wanted to observe the brain. I was quite crushed when I discovered Barbie did not possess one. After that I just stuck to dissecting teddy bears. At least I could do stuff with the cotton." She told him about her first awkward date, and about the time she and Missy sneaked into her mom's room to try on her make-up. They weren't caught in the act, but her bothers had been curious to know why the two sisters had such bright red cheeks. She told him about her dad and how he taught her to aim and shoot. "That is not fair," Mulder grumbled. "I had to learn all my shooting by myself when I joined the bureau." "Tough luck yuppie kid," Scully sneered good-naturedly. She even told him about her childhood dreams and fantasies, to find a prince and marry him, or to join a circus and ride the horses. "But never to become an astronaut?" "Nope, never." "I taught Samantha how to ride a bike. Then next thing you know, she wanted to grow up and join the Olympics cycling team." "Ambitious." "Yeah, she was always trying to reach for the largest apple on the biggest tree. I taught her how to throw a fastball and she started daydreaming about joining the Major League. Taught her how to climb a tree, and she's hopping around and swinging about like a monkey. She broke her collarbone once, you know, fell off our rope swing. She was trying to prove how high she could go. Always had guts that girl," Mulder said. He sounded weary because of the effort required to speak so much, but he wasn't particularly sad as he talked about his sister in the past tense. "We will find her you know," Scully said after a brief silence. "We will discover the truth." "I know we will, Scully. But... well, it's funny... just that lately I've come to realize that maybe Samantha does not have to be my goal in life anymore," Mulder said. Scully looked at him curiously. "I still wish to see her again, if she's alive... but I'm also quite happy not knowing. I don't know if you understand me. I've always hoped that she's alive somewhere, and that she is safe. But I also felt I had to see her, and touch her so I can be sure that she is my sister. I realize now that it's not so necessary for me to find her, whether she's alive or dead, she'll always be my sister." "She's safe, you know, wherever she is. You have to believe that." "It's the nicest thing to believe, Scully," Mulder said quietly. "That's why it's better not to know, sometimes." He squeezed her hand. "But I do need to know that you will be okay." "I will be fine," she said. "I will make sure that I'm fine." "You promise me that?" "Of course," she managed a reassuring smile. "Did you go for the medical checkup?" The appointment was two days ago, but of course she hadn't wanted to leave Mulder's side at the time. "It's been rescheduled, next week." "Fine. Make sure you go Scully. No excuses." "Don't worry Mulder. I'll go," she promised. "But I can't help but think about this Mulder. If Kurt Crawford can and does help me, what price will we have to pay later?" "There is no price." "We have dealt with these men before. We don't know what they really have up their sleeves." "There will be no price," Mulder repeated. "This is an arrangement made between me and the cigarette-smoking man. He will honor it." "You trust him?" Scully asked doubtfully. "I trust he will honor me with this deal, in spite of everything else. He will not interfere with you." Mulder assured her. "So you don't have to worry about that. Just take care of yourself, and make sure you live forever." "No, not forever," Scully said. "Live long enough and I just might run into the risk of seeing a revival in disco and bell-bottom pants." Her mild little joke seemed to give Mulder a lot of mirth. Once again he was forced to gasp for breath. Scully watched him shrewdly, wondering if she was missing some big joke somewhere. She was also wondering why Mulder seemed to place so much faith in Cancerman honoring a promise to protect her. She doubted that the man could be bothered. But if Mulder had faith in the deal, then she supposed she should keep up her end of the bargain and hope that Kurt was indeed her savior and her protector from the ravages of cancer. "You know what will be good if you live forever?" Mulder wondered aloud. Scully raised an eyebrow. "You will be the ultimate X-File." "That's taking dedication to my work a bit too far, Mulder," Scully replied. Mulder smiled. "Well, you are the best pair of hands I could ever hope to hand the X-Files over to." Scully tried to squish her guilt about not finishing her investigations into her first solo X-File. "Oh, I'll do my best." "I know you will," Mulder said. He knew she hadn't finished the case yet. "I trust you'll handle things just fine." She caressed Mulder's forehead with the tips of her fingers. Her face was close to his, she could just lean forward a bit more and kiss him. She always marveled how fast Mulder could recover from illness. She wished he weren't so pale though. She wanted to have him healthy again as soon as possible, and to see him with a touch of color to his cheeks and a full head of soft brown hair. She wanted to see his eyes - bright and eager, and curious, and see him all fidgety and excited, ready to set off on a case. But tonight his hazel eyes were bright and alert, not at all glazed over by the morphine or pain. Those eyes were gazing up at her right now. "Hey," she whispered teasingly. "Are you scared, Scully?" The question caught her by surprise. "Of what?" "Of being sick? As sick as me, maybe?" She thought about it for a while, then nodded. "Nobody wants to die that way Mulder," she said honestly. "No, no, of course not," he sighed a little, kept his eyes on her. "So if you know Kurt is right, and that he can help you don't hesitate. I don't want you to ever become sick." "I know," she said. "And you have to get over this as quickly as you can, so we can have the marrow transplant. Then we can have you healthy again. Then we can be together again." "I know," Mulder said softly, smiling. He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. "I miss you, you know." "So do I, Mulder. So do I." The door opened and Mrs. Mulder popped her head in. Scully straightened up and checked her watch. It was already ten o'clock. Time to go back. Mrs. Mulder smiled and nodded at them, then backed out into the corridor, leaving them alone for another moment. "Time to go, partner. It's late." She patted his head one last time. "I know. Time to go home." He squeezed her hand. "Take care of yourself Scully." She smiled and remarked, "I have a gun, Mulder. I will always be safe. Good night, Mulder." "Good night Scully. Good bye." On impulse, she leaned forward and gave him a gentle kiss on his forehead, and another tender kiss on the lips. "Bye-bye Mulder." He didn't release her hand until she backed far away enough from the bed. As she stood aside to let Mrs. Mulder in she heard Mulder's clear voice greet his mother, "Hi Mom! How are you?" She felt better than she had ever felt in a long time as she went home that night. It was a feeling of bright optimism. Past the gloom of the possibility that she could develop cancer was the little golden promise of a breakthrough medical intervention to prevent the cancer. And if Mulder was going to beat his odds, defy fate, and recover from his leukemia, there was certainly no reason why she should accept her fate without a hell of a good fight. ******* Scully woke up the next morning without the aid of her alarm clock. She rolled over onto her back and just lay in bed for a while, staring up at the ceiling, marveling the lightness in her chest. She was probably going to have a rough patch ahead of her, what with caring for Mulder through his treatment and bone marrow transplant, and then the worry of determining her own health status. But the thoughts didn't cloud her bright spirits. She bounded enthusiastically out of bed. Wonderful, beautiful new day. She hummed a tune as she showered, and boy, did she shower. She came out feeling fresh and clear-headed. She now had everything planned. Today she was going to apply for long-term vacation leave. She would have to put the X-Files on hold for the time being. She wouldn't have time to work and care for Mulder and take care of herself at the same time, although now that Mulder's mother was here perhaps her burden would be lighter. She would have to explain this decision to Mulder - he wouldn't approve of her temporary 'neglect' of the X-Files or be happy about her just leaving a case dangling with no solution. First things first. She was going to visit Mulder at the hospital, feed him ice cream and discuss things with him, then she was going to the bureau to talk to Skinner. She should clear up the basement office a bit too if neither of them would be going to work for some time. She wondered if she should reschedule her appointment for an earlier date with a different doctor, but decided to stick to her original plan. This doctor she was going to see was one of the finest oncologists in the country and she had had to pull a few strings to set an appointment with him. He had assured her he would give her an absolutely thorough checkup. He would detect any abnormality that might be there to detect. Her next meeting with Kurt Crawford was in a fortnight's time. She hoped that by then Mulder would be strong enough to undergo the preparative procedures prior to the bone marrow transplant. She dressed in her finest office clothes: her softest blouse, her nicest suit and skirt. She brushed her hair as she had never brushed it before. She positively glimmered. She applied just the right dash of make-up and smiled at herself in the mirror. Mulder was going to be impressed. She picked up her car keys and the as-yet unsolved case file and was ready to go. She had her hand on the doorknob when her phone rang. She dashed back into the apartment to answer the phone. Probably Mulder with a special ice cream request. He did that sometimes. In response to her "Hello," she heard a low, strangled sob. "Dana Scully?" Familiar voice. She had spoken to this voice a few nights ago - to inform her that her son was gravely ill. It was Mrs. Mulder. Now Mrs. Mulder was calling her, and she was crying? Scully's answer was automatic. "This is she." "I'm calling you... to...My son... he... my ... Fox, he passed away... about ten minutes ago." Scully's brain was suddenly so sluggish. Her thought processes were jamming up. Her knowledge of English idioms was lost... 'Passed away' - what did that mean? "He... he died in his sleep. He was in... he didn't... There was none... No pain." Died? Mulder? He was fine last night. Must be some mistake? "He'll be... we'll wait... I'll wait for you. To come. He'll be here for you to come. When you come. To see." "Thank you. I will," Scully said softly. She heard more sobs, then the soft clunk of the phone's handset being placed in its cradle. She was holding her own phone tightly against her ear, and listening to the shrill tone of a disconnected call. Her fingers were numb. She set her phone down on the table. Her whole being was numb. She stared blankly out the window. Dull morning light outside. Should be brighter by this time. She saw the silver streaks flashing down from the sky and realized it was drizzling. Drops of water pattering gently onto leaves, leaves bowing down from the weight of water splashing down all the way from the heavens. Pitter-patter of raindrops against the surface of the leaves. Pitter-patter of raindrops against a cap worn by a lovely man who had held her in his arms as rain fell. Warmth of his embrace despite the cold of rain, tenderness of his touch on her cheek as water slicked her face. Mutely she picked up her car keys again and headed for the door. The End Life's Simple Fate Ainon (mulangst@hotmail.com, tsuzi@hotmail.com) AUTHOR'S NOTES: I owe the succesful completion of this story to Susan Proto who encouraged me to stick with it and to keep on writing, and then helped make sure the story was okay. This is my first story ever. I would greatly appreciate feedback and any form of criticism whatsoever, but please be kind. Thanks.