This is a rewrite of the cancer arc for my pleasure. Scully loses her composure a little, but I believe my version is more true to what ACTUALLY happens when you have cancer, being a cancer survivor myself. And I'm sure there's some stuff in here that you guys would like to read. It can't be just me…

disclaimer: i don't own the x-files, christ carter and all his people do... no infringement intended

Fight Within

"Scully?" I hear Mulder call for me. He seems so far away, but I can see him standing at the door, waiting for permission to come in. As if I have x-ray vision, or some psychic insight. I cannot see through the door to my apartment, nor can I see into the minds of others, but I can definitely see him standing out in the hallway, looking nervous, holding a bouquet of flowers. Daisies, most likely. He knows I love daisies. He knows something is wrong. He knows I am on the couch, in my pajamas, in my most vulnerable. However, Mulder does not have x-ray vision or a psychic ability either. We just know each other that well. We are partners, we are best friends. If we weren't able to see things in each other, we'd both be dead right now. He has saved me more times than I can count. But he cannot save me this time.

"It's open!" I call from the couch. It's not open but he will use his key to let himself in. I can't remember giving him my key, it seems as if he's always had it. I have his key too, but oddly, I can't remember receiving that from him either.

Fox Mulder, who hates being called Fox, steps through the door with a bouquet of daisies and a big smile. His smile usually makes me smile and vice versa, but not tonight. Nothing can make me smile tonight. I don't even know why I called him. Aside from a small incident of mine a few weeks ago involving a desk and a tattoo, we've been fairly happy lately. After his mother woke up from her coma, it seems as if some kind of weight has been lifted off our shoulders. We've been having fun, taking more time off, just living our lives as normal people. I shouldn't upset him, not now. Not when he's been so content. Lord knows it is a rare day where Fox Mulder is content. And now I'm just going to ruin all of that… telling him what the doctor told me a few hours ago. Better to do it now than later, but I wish I didn't have to tell him at all. He will undoubtedly blame himself, and I don't want to do that to him.

"Hey, I got your call--" and suddenly, seeing his face makes me cry. His happy face with his sparkling green eyes and day-old stubble. I don't want to hurt him. I don't want him to hurt himself.

"Dana," he says, dropping the flowers on the table and rushing to my side. He hasn't called me by my first name since my sister died, something else he blames himself for. We have a strict last name to last name relationship, and not just because he hates his first name. We are not just partners, not just friends, but best kind of friends that bring each other coffee in the morning and stop by without calling first because they know the others' schedule and also know they won't be mad. He only calls me Dana when something's wrong. Well, something is wrong, and it won't be right again for a long time, so I guess I'd better get used to Dana.

Now he is kneeling by my couch. He takes my hand, but I cannot stop crying. I want so badly not to tell him what I learned this morning, but it is important that he knows. It's important that he knows why I'm going to be different… scared, even. He knows me. He knows that I do not get scared. He knows that if I do get scared, that I usually never show it. But now I will be scared 24/7, at some point my resolve is going to fade and I'm going to need my best friend there beside me. So it might help if he understands everything and I am the one explaining it.

"Dana, when you called… I was worried. I didn't want to think anything was wrong. But something is wrong, and I need you to tell me what it is. Tell me what is making you cry," he pleads with me. It is still a few minutes before I am able to gain enough composure to form full sentences. He waits patiently, never letting go of my hand.

"I went to the doctor this morning," I start, trying to brush my tears away. "I went because I have been feeling sick and not myself lately. They ran some tests, then they did some imaging on me… and they found something, Mulder. They found something not good," I try to explain. I still can't tell him what it is they found, even though he is silently begging me to tell him everything. He would run to the moon and back for me, but I can't even give him that much. If I were Mulder I would leave. Get out of our relationship, whatever it was, as soon as possible. My partner is obviously not willing to trust me with her greatest fears, why should I stick around? I would say to myself, then leave. But Mulder would never ever leave me.

"What did they find, Dana?" he asks. I can feel him trembling. He knows that it is not good news.

"A tumor," I whisper. He still hears me, though, and puts his head in my lap. We both want to be strong for each other, but this scares us both so much. He is already blaming himself, I can tell. He is asking himself why I chose to stay with him, why can he not keep me safe? He is cursing himself for involving me in a quest that should be his own. He is cursing a god he is not even sure exists. He is cursing me… I am cursing me.

"Is it what we saw in Allentown?" he asks as he brings his head off of my thighs, trying to remain calm. But I can see the wet marks he left on my pants. I can see the tear streaks that glaze his beautiful face. I can only nod.

"Is it operable?" is his next question.

"No," I say simply.

"But it's treatable," he assumes. There must be some hope. And it is my job to tell him that there is none.

"The type and placement of the tumor make it difficult… to the extreme," I say. He ponders my explanation for a minute, deciding that it is not enough.

"I refuse to accept that," he says with purpose. He is still kneeling, and I run my fingers down his jawbone.

"I'm sorry," I quietly apologize, putting my head down. It is my way of admitting defeat. He knows this. He sits down on the couch and pulls me into his lap.

"This is not going to kill you," he whispers into my hair. I grip his hands for dear life, tears falling down my cheeks but I am not crying. Not for myself, at least. This man is my world, and I am his. He means so much to me and it pains me to leave him. But I come to the conclusion that soon I must. He knows it too. That is my Mulder, though, being indifferent. I laugh at myself. My Mulder. When he became my possession, I cannot say. Maybe it was when we became partners, best friends… whenever he gave me his heart in exchange for mine. It was not right away. I didn't want to give a piece of myself to him at first. But Mulder was the only person I had ever met that worked, truly worked, to earn my trust and my friendship. I would say we have come pretty far, from that day when I walked into his office and he accused me of being a spy. Now we are holding each other on my couch, crying because that time we once thought so infinite has now been given a limit. We are not ready to accept that. Here he was, on my couch, upset because of the fact that I was in pain… that I was slipping away. He was crying for me. How could I not give him my heart?

"We're going to have to be strong," he told me, tears lacing his voice. I nodded, knowing that I will fight, quite literally, to the death to stay with him. And I know that he will fight just as hard to keep me here. We are just beginning to realize how entangled our lives are. Mulder is speaking in terms of we even. I nod against his chest, and that is when I know that I will not give up, no matter what my chances may be or what the statistics are. Mulder and I have been able to pull off the impossible before, we will certainly be able to do it again. Alone, I will not be able to do it. But with Mulder… I once said that anything was possible with him. And I still believe that.