Drip, drip.
The bright red blood trickled from her nose slowly, taking confidence and strength with it. Normally, she would have wiped the crimson warning away, taken a deep breath, and walked out the door as though it had never happened. She would have pushed the fear away in order to do what needed to be done, to keep up with the life that she loved so dearly.
Not this time.
She stared blankly at the blood, a jarring contrast to the white of the bathroom sink, and let the dread wash over her. It hadn't happened in the middle of an intense confrontation, or while chasing a suspect; it had happened when she was comfortable, when she felt safe. Safety was vulnerability, and vulnerability was something she feared above all else.
She felt vulnerable now, bent over a bathroom sink that belonged to the only person she trusted, staring her own death in the face. With the cold clarity of a doctor's vision, she imagined the growth pressing heavily against cerebral tissue, taunting her to try and destroy it. At one time, she believed she could, believed she would continue on regardless of how difficult it became.
Now, she wasn't so sure.
Salty tears began to mingle with the blood in the sink. Angrily, she wiped her eyes and nose with a tissue, and glanced up at the mirror momentarily to make sure her nose was no longer bleeding. Her reflection stared back resolutely, but her eyes appeared hollow and dark. It startled her to see her own loneliness and pain mirrored so clearly, and she wondered uneasily if she wasn't the only one who could see so much with a simple glance.
A soft knock on the bathroom door roused her from her thoughts. "You okay in there, Scully?"
"I'm fine," she answered, trying to sound convincing. She cursed herself when the words came out broken. She was fine, perfectly fine, and it was stupid to feel like this. She was going to beat this cancer, stamp on it like an annoying insect, and go on with her life. She was—
Mulder opened the door without hesitation, saw that she had been crying. "You're not fine," he observed, taking a step toward her. "Four years together, and you still think you can lie to me. What's wrong?"
"Nothing, Mulder. Really." She straightened, pushed a strand of hair from her face, and made for the door. "I think that I should-"
"Scully." The tone of his voice stopped her in the doorframe, though all her instincts told her to keep walking. She knew she didn't need to explain anything; he felt the same fear she did, the same terrible desperation. He needed her more than he knew how to express in words, but his eyes told her all she needed to know when she turned to face him.
Scully stood there for a long moment, first looking at him, then at the floor, and slowly back at him again. She could feel the walls around her heart and mind falling away, brick by brick, and crumbling into dust.
"I… don't want to die," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes were wide, far too wide. She felt her hands shaking. "I don't want to die. I don't-I don't, Mulder, I don't. I…"
She waited until he took her into his arms to let her world fall apart.