a/n still own nothing.

Sorry it's been so long for an update, so I decided to make this one very long. And very intense.

Chapter Four

"Mulder, I need you."

Mulder could only breathe into the phone. She needed him. And she actually admitted it out loud. Stuck somewhere between worry and relief, he tried to finish out their conversation normally. Without stuttering or long pauses from fantasies of having her in his arms. The relief stemmed from the actualization that Scully was as reliant on him as he was on her; however, the worry was from why she had admitted this just now.

Had she gotten sick from all the smoke? Was she in a car accident?

"Mulder? You still there?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm here. But what's going on?"

"Mom had a heart attack."

Mulder let out a sign of relief but then instantly wished that he could suck it back in. Margaret Scully was a kind woman who acted more motherly than his own.

"Oh, Scully, I'll be right there."

And he was, right there. No more than fifteen minutes later he had Scully in his arms, hushing her thank yous for coming.

Finally, she pulled away, and straitened up, telling him everything that had happened to her mother with a clinical detachment so cold that one would never suspect that she was the daughter of that woman. Mulder knew however, that it was her way of coping with seeing her mother in a hospital bed, though he did fear that coping could turn into denial.

"I see they're doing everything they can for your mother."

Scully's eyes met his at the mention of her mother, and she just nodded. She new it was his way of reminding her that her mother was more than another case file. More than a system of ventricles and arteries.

"They are. But I just can't leave till I know that she's going to make it," she said, knowing that Mulder's next statement would be telling her to go home and get some rest.

And it was what he wanted to tell her; she looked like she belonged in a hospital bed right beside her mother's, and if it wasn't for Bill coming out of Margaret's room, he just might have told her as much.

"I'm going home," Bill said, darting a sour look at Mulder, "I'm going to get some overnight things for her. But I'll be back soon to relieve you."

Scully merely folded her arms across her chest and nodded. As Bill left, she sighed and watched Mulder stare into her mother's room. Soon he'd be watching her being strapped up to machines. Being poked, prodded, baked by radiation. Exhausted, weak.

He deserved to be warned. Warned so that he could run away, go home, leave her and all the pain she'd cause those around her.

"M-Mulder…"

But he turned to her with those big puffy dog eyes and a sad smile.

"It's okay, Scully. I'm here. Why don't you sit down and take a nap? I promise to wake you up if anything happens."

Gently he guided her to the bench and sat so her head could easily rest on his shoulder.

"Thank you, Mulder," she murmured thickly as her body numbed as sleep overtook her.

Tired. Weak. Too tired to tell him now, but she planned to in the near future.

Five hours later, Mulder collapsed onto his couch, too exhausted to change into anything. His tie and the top buttons on his shirt were already undone and mangled; his suit was stained with tears and black streaks of Scully's mascara. That didn't matter to him.

What did matter to him was that after a good solid nap, Scully had awoken to hear the good news that her mother was in stable condition. It was nice to see a smile finally spread across her face, even better to be hugged tightly by her.

As Mulder sank into a rare deep sleep, Scully lie awake. Her mother was improving. That was a plus. But there were too many negatives adding up in her life to allow her to fall asleep. Guilt from not confiding to Mulder. Or Bill. Or Charlie. Guilt from not telling Mulder that she loved him.

Rolling over on her side, she began to think of making a living will, or maybe starting writing a journal again, writing to the ones she'd leave behind.

It wasn't fair.

It just wasn't.

She wanted a family. A house in the suburbs. A dog. A cat. A white picket fence. A life. She wanted the type of days where her biggest worries were about what color to paint the dining room, or what to feed her guests.

She wanted to spend time with friends that she had been estranged from, detailing to them her adventures. What she had seen.

She wanted time. But more than that, she just wanted acceptance. A way to accept her cancer without leaving her clammy and cold.

A way to tell Mulder.

Scully didn't how to tell Mulder. Not a word in her vocabulary could explain to him what she was going through. Saying "I have cancer…again" didn't seem like enough. Every way, no matter how direct, seemed as though it was a euphemism. Sugar coating the truth.

Showing him was the only way.

Knocking on the door, tissue in hand, Scully breathed in a deep breath. Mulder came to the door with a smile despite the fact his teeth were blue from toothpaste.

"Hold on," he said, closing the door behind her. After spitting in the kitchen sink, he turned curiously to Scully who was sitting at the breakfast table.

"Hungry? Want something?"

"I'm good."

"How's your Mom?" he asked, sitting beside her so close that their knees were touching.

"Good. Charlie called earlier. She'll make a full recovery."

"That's great."

"It is."

"Is there…ah, another reason for you coming by so early? Other than to check on my dental hygiene?"

"Umm…Yes. Yes there is."

"What?"

Scully's face suddenly looked pained. How was she supposed to show him? Her nose didn't bleed on cue, it's not like she had tried to practice fainting on cue…but before she completely lost her senses, her hand gripped her tissue harder. Her bloody tissue. Gently she unfolded it and laid it out in front of her.

Mulder looked from the Kleenex to her, and back to the Kleenex. Why on earth was she showing him this? Was it part of a case? Did it need to be bagged for evidence?

"Mulder…It's happening again, all over. Like before. Just like before…" Her voice broke and she buried her face into her hands, letting her shoulders shake as she gave into sobbing. How she hated crying; it made her weaker.

Normally, it would have been proper to take her in his arms and offer her words of encouragement, but it was all he could do to stay seated and upright. Gingerly, he fingered the clean ends of the tissue, and slowly his gentle touches turned to rough, ripping motions turning the tissue into a fine, white powder. If he could have gotten his hands on the cancer, that's what he would have done, but he couldn't. In this, he was utterly useless.

"Oh, Scully…"

"Don't…Don't…Let's regroup," she dried the tears from her eyes, glowering at her tears, "I was fine for a while last time. I'm not dying right now. Not this second," she whispered, "I'm going home. Charlie's staying there. I need to tell him. Then Bill."

Truthfully, Mulder didn't want to be alone, but he let her go. Truthfully Scully couldn't face Mulder who now had tears in his eyes.

"Of course. But tell me if…if anything happens."

"I will Mulder, if you promise me that when I do call, that you don't pity me. Don't baby me. Just be Mulder. Be there for me, like you've always been. A good, strong, steady support. I'll need that."

"I promise."

Though as he said those words, a single tear spilled from his eye.

The phone call came too soon. Only a week later. It was day time. Mulder was flipping through channels on the TV. Saturday morning cartoons seemed to be his final viewing choice. Just as Bugs bunny dodged Sammity Sam's bullet the phone rang.

"Mulder."

"Mulder…Mulder it's me. It got worse, but I'm okay for now. Just under observation at the hospital."

"What happened?"

"I just lost a lot of blood last night. I came in just to make sure I didn't go into shock. But I am doing okay right now, so don't…"

Her reassurances were lost on him as he scrambled around throwing on his socks and shoes.

Walking through a hospital was never pleasant. First of all there were the smells-astringent, Lysol, plastics…Then came the sounds of monitors and life giving machines coupled with sobs from the "next of kin" huddled in the waiting room. Every hospital was the essentially same, down to the nurses in fading scrubs with their feet clad in white sneakers who's soles stuck to the newly mopped floor and peeled off making a "smmuck" sound every time they stepped. It was clean. White. Bare.

Yet, hospitals were always so full of one thing: emotion.

The hopeful, the relived, the sad, the dying…

Mulder stopped in front of Scully's door. The bureau had sprung for a private room. A rare occurrence, most likely resulting from respect for Scully.

"Mulder? What are you doing standing outside?"

"N-nothing. Just making sure you wanted visitors."

"I want them. Specially when they bring me flowers. Why don't you put them with the others by the closet?"

He was about to apologize for not bringing any with him, but then his hands suddenly felt the cool stickiness of cellophane wrap. Cellophane that ensconced a bouquet of red roses.

"They're beautiful. Thank you," Scully said as she watched him put them up, "I was worried you were going to be bring me a giant alien head balloon."

"I was, but they don't come in grey."

Smiling, something he didn't think he could ever do again; he made his way to her bedside.

His eyes reflected every feeling he ever had for her. Every wish he had for their future. Full of intensity, he leaned down, and studied her face. She was pale. Tired. Frightened. And it killed him that this time there was nothing he could do for her, there had only been one vial for her cure, and it had been used.

He had saved her from the alien virus. From Tooms, from psychos, but could not save her from herself. From what was in her.

Now time was something he didn't have. A luxury he couldn't afford. The days he could spend staring at Scully, arguing with her, teasing…they were fading away like a wilting flower.

This time, he would tell her. Swallowing the lump in his throat, running his fingers through his hair, biting his lip, teetering on the balls of his feet, he finally got the courage from her questioning face.

"Scully," he croaked, "I lo-"

"No Mulder."

After stumbling a step back, and after a moment of terrified silence, he spoke again, this time in a steady voice.

"Just let me tell you. Even if you don't feel the same. I wanted to tell you last time, so badly, and I chickened out. Scully, I lo-"

"No, no, no! Don't say it Mulder…Please don't go on…"

Her voiced trailed off as her heart broke into pieces. Scully had always known that he loved her, from the way his hand trailed to the small of back, the way he leaned down when talking to her, making her seem like the only person in his world, and finally to the way his hazel eyes caressed her every time he looked at her. His eyes were always tender and loving, even during a spat.

They were staring at her now, pleading, demanding an explanation. Demanding that she disprove his panicked theory that perhaps she didn't reciprocate those feelings. If only he knew just how deep her feelings for him ran. So deep that she couldn't fathom leaving him behind a broken man.

This was the way it had to be.

"Mulder," she whispered, "Don't say it. Don't say it to me. I'm dying, and this time there's not going to be some miracle cure. Say it to someone else, someone who's going to be able to live out the rest of your days with you. Don't waste it on me; don't waste it on a memory. And please Mulder…Don't make leaving you any harder than it already is."

"Scully," he said, her name gently rolling off his tongue, "There could never be anyone else."

"Come on, Mulder, I mean, you're looking for proof of extra terrestrials…I think finding someone else, someone else to love you, take care of you, won't be that hard. You're easy to care for, Mulder, like taking in a lost puppy dog. Don't let me die thinking that you're going to remain all alone."

The words were killing her, as much as the cancer was. Imagining him with another woman tore at her, ripping free the memories of Bambi, Diana, Phoebe. The wounds of jealousy were still fresh. Though her words were true, they didn't say everything she wanted to. She wanted to tell him how handsome he was, how she loved his tall, lanky stature…How she loved the way he chewed at his lip, his brooding intellect. But in telling him to move on, she had lost the right to those words. They belonged to someone else…Someone else probably named Candy, she thought with a bitter taste in her mouth.

"So that's it? You're giving up on yourself? Succumbing to your disease? You survived once, you can do it again."

"No, Mulder, I can't. You're cure bought me two more wonderful years, and I'm grateful. It gave me time to strengthen my faith…This time I think I'm ready," she said in a steady voice, till her last words that came as a whisper.

A pall of silence spread between them. A wall, separating the living from the dead.

Only after Mulder settled himself in a rickety, ill formed plastic chair did any noise come into the room. And that was only because he stubbed his toe and let out a stream of swears.

"But, Scully," he began again, "You are continuing treatment here, right?"

More silence.

And by Mulder's silence, she knew that he had learned the answer.

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