I had vowed not to do another story with the cancer line in it, it's just too painful to me, but here I am, going along with the challenge. It was the operative word in the challenge that enticed me: *Cure* Scully's cancer. Summary: Mulder determines how to cure Scully's cancer in a way the brings them both some new realizations. Disclaimer: Yeah, right, I don't own any of this. I couldn't afford the paper to respond to a copyright challenge, so you win by default. I'm not infringing. Play nice. XSR (if that means X-file, story, romance) MSR (yep, run for the hills, all you non-shippers). Calling any and all archivists--just keep my name attached, please. This is a stand alone--not connected to any of my others series. It is meant to counter every one of the depressing 'let them have a little happiness before she fades away and dies' stories that I've read the first three lines of lately. Comments, flames, general entreaties to never do this again can be addressed to me: vmoseley@fgi.net. Blessings Along the Way By Vickie Moseley "Scully. Stop." He was breathing heavy and it was the most he could get out of his mouth. Fox Mulder had been chasing his partner all the way back to the rental car. She stopped but didn't turn around. "Did you get the pictures?" she asked, knowing that the only way to stop him from his intended course of inquiry was to get him to talk about the case. "Yeah, tons. Enough to fill a FotoMat. Here," he said, reaching over her shoulder and handing her his handkerchief. She took it without turning, without looking at his face. She started to bring it up to her face when she noticed the fabric. "Mulder--this is real linen. You aren't supposed to use this, it's for decoration." "It's my goddamned snot rag, Scully, USE IT!" he stormed and brushed past her to unlock the car door. After a second he regretted his anger. It wasn't her that he was angry at. It was the damned disease. "Scully . . . I'm sorry." The words were just barely a whisper. "Mulder, if you fucking use that fucking word again in my presence, I am going to fucking blow you fucking head off," she seethed and pushed him against the car as she moved around to the passenger side. Even as she said the words, she was wiping the trail of blood from her lip and holding the linen up to her nose. He was fast running out of handkerchiefs, she'd been keeping count. She knew she'd been responsible for at least ten good cotton hankies ending up in the garbage of various gas stations around St. Joseph's, Missouri. That was probably all he had brought with him this trip. Now he was reduced to pulling them out of his suit pocket. She wondered how long it would be before he'd start offering her his ties. They drove in silence, Scully lost in thought, until she looked up and realized they were at the door to her motel room. "What are you doing?" she demanded. "I'm dropping you off," he replied, trying very hard to keep his voice neutral. He knew a storm was brewing by the look in her eyes and he didn't have the strength to keep calm through another one. It seemed that storms were the only weather they'd had of late. "Mulder, we have witnesses we have to interview," she growled. "I'm fine," she added, through clenched teeth. "Well, it's 3 o'clock and you seem to get tired around then. Go in and rest a bit and I'll talk to the first witness at the nursing home. I'll come back and pick you up and you can go with me to interview the other two later," he said, hoping he sounded as reasonable as he was attempting to sound. "Fuck you!" she said, not moving. "You know, Scully, those chemo treatments are affecting your speech. You're talking like one of your father's old Navy buddies," he growled back. "Fuck you, SIR!" she said, still not moving. The look in her eyes was starting to make him nervous. It was way beyond the usual 'back off, Mulder--I'm fine' look. It was bordering on 'I hate your guts and you are not going to stop me' looks that she reserved for the likes of Smoking Man, as he now thought of the bastard. It was time to try another tack. "Look, Scully. I was there when Dr. Lowry told you that you need to rest more during the day. Now, if you can't follow doctors orders--" "Oh, please! Tell me about 'following doctors orders'!" she howled, her face a mask of sarcasm. "You went back to work two weeks before you were supposed to when you got back from your gunshot wound in North Carolina. And I won't even mention how Skinner and I both had to take your gun and badge to keep you from coming back too soon from Alaska. So just shove that up your ass sideways, Mulder, because it's not going to cut it! Fuck. Off. Now." "Scully, those times . . . I was getting better," he said, and hated himself for bringing the subject up in the first place. "It's MY life, Mulder. Get out of it. Now." She opened the rental car door and got out. "I'll get my own fucking rental. And don't worry, I'll put it on my VISA so you don't have to account for it," she added, slamming the door before he could say another word. He was still sitting there when the local rental car agency dropped off her car. She made a point not to look at him as she accepted the keys. She didn't want to see the tear tracks she knew would be on his face. She had gone out and interviewed all three witnesses, he knew that because one of the last one's called him to tell him that she had forgotten her handkerchief. Mulder had thanked the woman and went to the house to pick it up. "There's some blood on it, your partner must have had a nose bleed," the woman apologized. "She's such a gentle woman. So easy to talk to. So open with her feelings. It must be wonderful working with her. All my business associates are cold fish," the woman confided when he arrived to retrieve the hankie. "Yeah, it's great working with Agent Scully," he assured her, and hurriedly made his departure. All the way back to the motel, he couldn't get those words out of his head. At he moment he said them, they'd been a lie. It was torture working with Scully lately. He was always saying the wrong thing, always making her angry. And she was always slamming the door in his face. It was so much easier for her to talk to complete strangers than it was to talk to him. 'Open with her feelings'--it sounded like the woman had been describing someone he'd never met. He knew from his reading that cancer patients responded better when their lives were kept as normal as possible, and he was trying so hard to do that, but his nature kept getting in the way. He wanted to lock her in a satin-padded room, let her sleep on silk sheets and fill the room with fresh cut flowers. He didn't want her to tromp through muddy woods for signs of supernatural predators. He didn't want her to spend her days listening to tales of alien abductions. That was his life, and it just wasn't good enough for her anymore. But it was her life, too. That's what she kept screaming at him. And she was making it painfully clear that if he couldn't accept that and move on, he could jolly well get the hell out of her way. He'd gone with her to the cancer specialist at Northeast Georgetown. She'd never asked him to go, but when he offered to drive, she hadn't refused. He knew she was frightened. But he was the only one who could have seen that. She was very professional, taking the information Dr. Lowry gave her without comment, submitting herself to more blood tests. She agreed to try some of the newer treatments, advising the doctor only that she didn't want to be incapacitated in any way. She had to work, she had to make a living, as she put it. The good doctor had simply nodded. He probably heard that a lot, Mulder figured. So she went in for treatments every other week. And during those weeks, they stayed in DC. She would go in on Tuesday morning, he'd drive and take her home. And then he was supposed to go back to the office and not call her. She made all the contact. She'd call him, after the retching stopped, after she had fallen asleep on the cold tile of the bathroom floor, after she'd managed to keep a cup of tea down her stomach. It was usually late in the evening when she'd call to tell him that she'd be in on time in the morning. He was hating every second of his life these days. When he wasn't worried sick about her, he let himself get worried about himself. What was he going to do? What could he do? All he knew was that neither of them were very happy at the moment, even more unhappy then before. And she wasn't getting any better. When he arrived at the motel, he saw that her light was out. He almost took the extra key she'd given him and opened the door to make certain every thing was all right. Instead, he went into his room and closed the door, not even bothering to turn on the lights. Hours later, his stomach protesting loudly because he hadn't eaten much at lunch and had skipped dinner completely, he lay on the bed and mindlessly flipped channels on the motel television. He'd turned off the sound, just in case Scully was having a restless night. He didn't want to be the cause of anymore stress for her. His stomach growled again, this time accompanied by a sharp, stabbing pain. He rubbed it absently, and snorted. It would serve him right to get an ulcer over all this. He'd never had an ulcer in his life, with all he'd been through, but now, it almost seemed appropriate. Maybe it would perforate and he'd bleed to death in his sleep, he pondered. Yeah, that would work. Not really even a suicide. Just an escape. No guilt. No note. Just dumb Mulder luck. He thought back to the last time he thought he'd been dying. Correction, he mind scolded, _had_ been dying. He was certain of it, while he was crawling through the rock crevice after escaping the searing heat of the boxcar set ablaze. He'd pushed his way past mounds and mounds of bones and decayed flesh, skulls that weren't human, nor like any animal he'd ever seen. His lungs were full of smoke and he couldn't get a deep breath to save his soul. It hadn't even been his soul that he was worried about. He just knew he was going to die. But he didn't want to burn. When his hand brushed against the uppermost rock, and a faint breeze tickled his outstretched fingers, he'd willingly given up the struggle. At least his body would be safe from the fire. He'd be dead, that much was decided, but he wouldn't be lost to fire. He allowed his eyes to close and listened for his heart to stop beating. He remembered nothing until four days later. He awoke, his throat parched, his eyes taking in the surreal images around him. Several faces illuminated by firelight, he didn't know any of them, until one, an old grizzled face with long gray hair, leaned over him and spoke. At first, Mulder expected some kind of question. Something on the order of 'What good have you done in your life?' or maybe 'How do you account for your time spent on earth?' He didn't expect to hear 'You are safe, FBI man.' He didn't expect his first experience in heaven, or hell for that matter, to be a hollowed out gourd touching his lips and bringing water to his desert dried body. He accepted it gratefully and then submitted to the darkness again. Each time he woke, he remembered more of his dreams. Dreams of his father, of his old mentor, both now dead. Talk of his sister, and how she wasn't there. Talk of how he was the memory, and if he were to die, the memories would die as well. Being told that it wasn't his time. Mulder was convinced that the Blessing Way Ritual had cured him. No, had brought him back to life. Albert had told him that they couldn't find a pulse when they dragged him out of the cavern in the rock. His flesh was still hot from the fever, but as far as anyone could tell, he'd gone on. He was dead. Still, Albert had been convinced that the decision was not permanent--there was still a chance. The Blessing Way was a journey, and the journey was the miracle. The miracle was life. It hit him just as his stomach growled again. The journey, the miracle. They were trying it Scully's way. It wasn't working. They needed to try it _his_ way. It was their only hope. But how to convince his partner? She hadn't really slept, only dozed. She'd been so exhausted when she got back to the room but her argument with Mulder was keeping her from really falling asleep. It had been grueling, keeping awake while talking to the witnesses. But she couldn't admit to him that he was right. She had to prove to him that she could still do this. The thought that he expected her to calmly go back to the room and _take a nap_ only set her mind on fire again. He was so infuriating these days. Now she was laying there, trying to decide what to do. This was having too great an impact on him. It was funny in a way. She was laying there, slowly losing the battle to cancer, and here she was, thinking about how it affected her partner. How she couldn't stand to watch him suffer through this horror anymore. It was laughable, in a car wreak kind of way. She knew he was trying. He always tried. He very seldom succeeded, that was the problem. He was being so gentle with her. Even when she pushed him away as hard as she could, he would still stand there, still take it. As if this was just punishment for all his sins and transgressions. As if her hating him was all right with him as long as he could be there to protect her, help her in any way imaginable. He was getting nothing out of this partnership but pain and grief and she was bold enough to agree to that. She was using him. And she hated herself for it. He was her punching bag. She couldn't rail against the cancer, so she railed against him. He'd been right, earlier, when he pointed out that her language was more gutterlike than usual. She wanted to wound, she wanted to hurt someone, and he was the most likely target. He was there, with a big red bullseye painted on his forehead and a sign that said 'go ahead, take your best shot'. She knew just how to hurt him. His greatest fear was that she wasn't a part of his life, that she was separate, alone from him. That he, himself was alone, without her. She'd seen that so many times. And now, she used it. She almost enjoyed the look of pure sadness when she'd tell him to get out of her life. She almost enjoyed the tears that she knew fell when she wasn't supposed to be looking. She was turning bitter and hateful and evil right before her own eyes. And it wasn't the cancer doing it. It was her. Her own doubts, her own fears, her own stubborn reservations. Her own refusal to let anyone else in her life take a share of her burden. She was becoming 'Cancer Woman' in her own mind. She had to do something before she destroyed them both. The knock at the door startled her. Sometime in the night, it had started to rain. By the time she pulled on her robe and got to the door, Mulder was soaking wet, water dripping from his hair. He had on his jeans and a tee shirt and was shivering in the February air. "Good God, Mulder, get in the room before you catch-- "Pneumonia, yeah, so I've been told. Next time answer the damned door quicker," he scolded and headed for her bathroom to steal a towel. Not even bothering to close the door, he started gathering up her toiletries and throwing them in her travel bag. "Mulder, what the hell do you think you're doing?" she asked, annoyed, as he forgot to put her toothbrush in it's case and threw it in on top of her exposed bar of soap. "Packing. You're too slow, Scully. Get with the program," he announced and zipped up the bag, tossing it at her. "Where's your suit bag--never mind, I see it," he added over his shoulder as he rushed over and started shoving her hanging clothes into the bag. "Are we going somewhere, Mulder?" she asked, trying to keep a patient tone to her voice. It wasn't working. "Somewhere," he answered cryptically. "Is it a case?" she asked, finally taking her other bag away from him before he ruined every pair of panty hose she owned. She couldn't figure out why, but started packing quickly. Maybe four years had taught her not to delay when he was like this. "Something like a case, yeah," he replied. "You gonna wear your robe on the plane?" he asked pointedly. "Not that the male crew members would mind, but it might make the stewardesses jealous," he added with a defiant gleam to his eyes. She gapped at him a moment. He hadn't joked like that for weeks. He been so solicitous, or so snappish, but not a joke, not a cavalier comment. She couldn't help herself, she smiled at him. "They'll be too busy checking out your wet tee shirt entry, Mulder," she shot back and grabbed one of the bags out of his hands, retreating into the bathroom to get dressed. She just missed hearing him sigh in relief. She looked up at the gate as the began to enter the plane. "We're going to Albuquerque? What's up? Did Skinner call?" He hadn't said anything in the car, he'd been too busy wolfing down an assortment of snack foods that he'd bought at the convenience store when they stopped for gas. "I talked to Skinner, yes," he said, not looking in her eyes. He had talked to Skinner--when he'd called to tell him that they were going to be out of pocket for a week. The Assistant Director had demanded details, but after being stonewalled for several minutes, had granted the leave for both of them. Mulder could almost see the acceptance on Skinner's face, the realization that Mulder was a desperate man, set on doing anything to save his partner. "So what's in Albuquerque?" she asked, not really noticing that he wasn't looking at her. It sounded like standard Mulder operating procedure, as far as she was concerned. "It's the nearest airport to Farmington." He wasn't going to lie to her. Besides, the plane was taxiing already, she was captive. "Is Albert in trouble?" she asked, immediately worried about the old man. "No, Albert's fine. He just has something we need to take a look at." "Not another boxcar," she sighed. She really didn't feel up to dealing with another abandoned boxcar buried in the desert. She didn't like to think about how close she had been to losing her partner the last time they'd gone to check one of those out. "No, no boxcars," he smiled as he assured her. "Settle in, get some sleep. Oh, mind, if I eat your peanuts? I know you're going low fat these days," he added. "Mulder, you are a bottomless pit all of a sudden," she scolded. "Sure, take the peanuts. Geez, you act like you haven't eaten in days." And with that, she curled up in the seat and fell asleep. He watched her sleep for a while and then allowed himself to join in the luxury of it. He doubted he'd be getting very much sleep in the days ahead. ******* > >End of part one of two Vickie From raquelm@urjwc.ucla.edu Tue Mar 04 18:59:04 1997 Subject: EP> Blessings Along the Way (2/2) From: Raquel Montoya Date: Tue, 04 Mar 1997 16:59:04 -0800 -------- Blessings Along the Way 2/2 by Vickie Moseley vmoseley@fgi.net disclaimed in part 1/2 Young Eric Hosteen was at the gate waiting for them. "Eric, ah, I don't think we'll fit on your scooter," Mulder said hesitantly. "I was figuring on getting a rental." "Nah, no need. I brought dad's truck. Grandpa wanted me to pick you up. He says you tend to get 'stopped' along the way by yourselves," the youth added, giving Scully a brief smile. Once their baggage had been collected and they found there way to the well worn 89 Dodge Ram, Scully's curiosity started getting the better of her. The sun was just peeking out over the mountains and it gave the landscape and unearthly appearance. "OK, Mulder, what is it this time? Lights in the sky? Ghostly Indian braves attacking by night? Another werewolf?" she asked. The teasing tone that had come back during the last few hours had put her in a much better frame of mind. For a brief moment, she could almost pretend that she didn't have cancer, that it was all just a nightmare that faded with the dawn. Mulder bit his lip. He could tell she was enjoying the chase here. He was just concerned that once she found out the objective, she would get angry at him and possibly even refuse to go ahead with his plans. But he had to try, too much was riding on it. "Indian rituals, Scully. Mystic rituals." That was all he'd offer. "What, are there some crimes being committed? Ritual sacrifice?" She looked over at Eric, in the seat next to her, driving and then back to Mulder. It would be just like Mulder to run out in the middle of the night like this if he thought his friends were in danger. "No, no killings, no crimes that I can tell. Well, maybe one, but I don't think it's a criminal act, per se. More a civil thing," he mused, more to himself that to her. "What?" she demanded. He drew in a long breath. "Oh, maybe, practicing medicine without a license," he said with a wince and a shrug. She opened her mouth to ask for a full explanation when Eric pulled up at the little bungalow that he shared with his father and grandfather. Albert was on the porch, waiting for them. "FBI, it's good to see you again," Albert said with a pleasant smile as he opened the door and helped Scully down from the pickup. "You have been in my dreams, lately." Scully blushed. Mulder looked over at the old man and grinned. "If I'd said that Albert, I'd be hitting a high C right about now," he teased. Scully gave him a quick shot to the shin with her high heel. Albert appeared oblivious to the double entendre. "You have not been well, isn't that so?" he asked with great concern in his voice. Scully bit her lip and sighed. "I've been diagnosed with cancer, Albert. It's a tumor and it's not operable." The last word was said so low as to be a whisper. "This is not right. It is not the way it is meant to be. I've seen visions. You are not supposed to die this way." The old man was ushering the two agents up the steps and into the house. Eric's father smiled at them and handed each agent a cup of coffee. "I'm glad you feel that way, Albert, but that's the way it is," Scully said slowly, as if taking to a child who didn't understand why his pet had died. "No, Agent Scully, I mean that it is not to be. You will not die from this cancer. You will live. You have much yet to do. Both of you," he said, looking now at Mulder. "Thank you, Albert, for your faith," Scully said, not really believing what the old man said, but not wanting to offend him in any way. "Now, what is it that you wanted to show us?" Albert gave Mulder a curious look. Mulder shrugged. "We didn't get much chance to talk on the plane," he explained. Then he rose and took her hand to pull her up. "Take a walk with me, Scully." When they got out of the house and out of earshot, she let him have it. "What is going on, Mulder? There isn't a case here. There isn't a crime to investigate. If this is one of your hare brained schemes to find out more of the conspiracy--" "I want you to undergo the Blessing Way ritual," he blurted out. "What?" she asked, not daring to understand what he had just said. "The Blessing Way ritual. I underwent it when they found me in the desert. Scully, it's a healing ritual. I know that it works--I'm living, breathing proof that it works--" She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Mulder you had some smoke inhalation and exhaustion. You rested, they gave you water for the dehydration and you got better. There was no ritual involved--any first year med student would have prescribed the same treatment," she huffed as she walked back toward the house. He reached out and grabbed her sleeve. "Oh, yeah? Well, I didn't have a pulse, Scully. They checked. And my skin was still burning with a fever. I wasn't breathing, Scully. I was _dead_, goddamnit! Dead! Hell, when they found me, I was even buried!" "They aren't doctors Mulder. You have a faint pulse when you're injured," she shot back. "You're right, Scully, they aren't doctors. But you know what? Most buzzards know when something's dead and they had to fight off a flock of them that were trying to pick the meat off my fingers. But then, the buzzards didn't have medical degrees, either," he fumed. Finally, he let go of her sleeve and used the hand to wipe over his face. "Fine, I should have known better than to think you'd believe me. But Scully, the simple fact is, I did survive. And by all rights, I shouldn't have." "Mulder, even if that was so, you were injured. I have cancer. It's totally different." She had tears in her eyes by this point, but there was no way she'd let them fall. "How is it different, Scully? Isn't cancer just another injury? Aren't your cells being injured?" he pleaded. His throat was getting so tight and dry--it was a croaked whisper. "Do you think I'm doing this lightly? I know what I'm asking. I'm asking you to trust me, Scully, but in an area that you don't trust easily. I've been really good, I think. I've stood by and let them pump poison into you and I've smiled the whole time. But I don't think it's working. And I can't let you go. I can't. So I called Albert. And I asked him what he thought. He agrees with me, it's not your time, Scully. You have too much to do." "Oh, Mulder," she moaned, her face threatening to dissolve into anguish, but she bit her lip furiously and fought down the urge. "Scully, do this for me. If it doesn't work, fine. We're still doing it your way. I won't make another comment. But if there's a chance, my God, Scully. Don't we owe to ourselves to take that chance?" He stopped for a second and then looked away. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to presume--" She could now see what he was saying. 'Ourselves'--that was what this was about. To him, this cancer, her illness, he considered it a partnership, too. What was affecting her was ultimately affecting him. And by shutting him out, she was rejecting not just his interference, but their partnership, their whole relationship, as well. Even though she hadn't wanted to admit it, this was his illness, too. She couldn't reject him, along with his theories. She couldn't do that to him. Not any longer. "Yes," she said softly, taking his hand. "Yes, we owe it to ourselves to take that chance." Shyly he looked into her eyes and saw the smile waiting there. "You sure about this?" he had to ask. "Mulder, don't press it or I might change my mind," she warned. "What do we do now?" "Albert has it all arranged. We start today, this morning. It's a beautiful ritual, Scully. I'm sorry I missed out on the first three days of it," he smiled lopsided at her. "I'm suppose so," she said with a disdaining shake of her head. The ritual was different in many ways than how it had been performed for Mulder. For one thing, the women of the village prepared Scully for the hogan. And since she wasn't suffering from the fevers that had held Mulder in their grip for three days, it didn't take as long. Scully slept, lulled to sleep by the chanting of the men in the hogan. She dreamed. A field, filled with sunlight and tall grasses. A meadow. It was warm and she was laying on the pallet from the hogan, but none of men nor Mulder were near her. There were people in the distance, figures that she couldn't see clearly because the sun filled her eyes. Her first visitor was Melissa. "Dana, when I wanted you to find out about your missing time, this wasn't how I envisioned it," her sister scolded her lightly. "It's not your time, Dana. You know that, Fox knows that. You have a full life ahead of you. You are meant to journey further down the path you're on. And you aren't meant to do that alone. It is your decision whether to allow this cancer to grow or to die. Not medical science, Dana, you hold the answer. You said it yourself, the key to the secret is in you." "Don't get me wrong, I long to be with you. But I'm patient, Dana. I can wait until you're ready, until it's your time. I love you enough to do that for you." Scully watched as Melissa faded from view and then realized that in her place was the man she called Deep Throat. "Scully, I know you probably didn't expect to see me here. That's all right, I really didn't expect to see you, either." She smiled briefly at that. "You are more than just a helpmate to him, you know. You are his reason for continuing the search. Without you, he will cease to go any further. And that would be a grave injustice." "But this is not just about Mulder, you were right. You have your own destiny to fulfill, my dear. Your own achievements, your own secrets to uncover. Some of them, many of them will be with your partner, your mate on this journey. Some of them will come to you alone. Go back, Scully. Go back and be whole. Don't let this weigh you down. You vowed to fight, but it can't be done placing your faith on your holy altar of science. If that were the case, Mulder would have died a long time ago. Continue the journey, Scully. In so many things, only you hold the key." At last, she dreamed of the person she'd longed to talk to the most. "Daddy," she said, the tears staining her cheeks. "Oh, Daddy, I'm so scared." "I know Starbuck, I know. But it's all right. You are going to be fine. You've come this far, Dana. You are not a quitter, you never were. If anything, your mother and I used to worry that your were a little too stubborn for your own good," Bill Scully said with an indulgent smile. "I would have never chosen this path for you, sweetheart. I know that last time we talked that you were making a choice. You made that choice. Don't betray it now. You will be whole. You only have to believe it." "But Daddy, I can't. I can't believe. I'm too afraid. It's not what I am, it's not what I've come to rely on," she sobbed. "Ah, Starbuck, you know better than that. You know what you've come to rely on and it's not your all important science. It's a person, Dana. The one you trust more than anyone else in the world. That is who you rely on, sweetheart--not a heartless field of study. You can gain all the strength you need from him. You know that as well as I do. Now, go back. You're fine. I won't be seeing you for a long time, sweetheart. Know that I love you, as I always have." Mulder wasn't allowed in the ritual bath, and knew that he probably should be scarce for the four days following it. He waited with Eric and his father at the house in the village. He read, mostly, old books that Albert had from the war. He helped Eric with his school work and generally tried not to get in the way too much. All the time, he kept hoping . . . She was smiling when she got out of the pickup. He was so excited to see her, he ran down the steps and swept her into a hug. It surprised him a little when she hugged him back. "How are you feeling?" he asked immediately. "Good," she answered. "Rested. You're right, Mulder, it's a beautiful ritual. It's like a balm. It was something I needed." He smiled. "I told you." He turned to go back into the house, put she put a hand on her arm. "But Mulder. I want you to understand something. This helped, don't get me wrong. But I still have cancer. I'm not well. I'm not cured. It just helped me gain some strength, you know." She pleaded with him to not question her, not argue about this. She didn't want him to go back to Washington thinking everything was now back to normal. It wasn't. She'd still be tired, she'd still have the nose bleeds. She didn't want to have a nose bleed and have him fall to pieces on her. She wanted him to be clear that this was just a prayer, not a miracle. "Sure, Scully," he said cryptically. "Whatever you say." They got back in DC in time for the weekend. Mulder didn't mention the fact that in the 24 hours that it took to get their bags packed, spend a little time with Albert and his family and fly back that Scully didn't have a single nose bleed. If he had mentioned it, she would have put it down to being better rested. But it was more that . She had a spring to her step. She seemed happier than she had in weeks, ever since she'd been told the diagnosis. If nothing else, he took pleasure in that. On Tuesday, Mulder drove her to the hospital once again for her treatment. On the way in the doors to the outpatient cancer treatment ward, he couldn't keep his peace any longer. "So, when do you get your next X ray?" She gave him a disgusted look. "Mulder, I thought we agreed on this." "Agree on what? I'm just asking. Is it suddenly a crime to ask?" he whined. She gave him her best 'evil eye' and he quieted down. As luck would have it, Dr. Lowry did want another X ray. He was keeping track of the size and progression of the tumor and it was time for another measurement. She sighed when he told her, she didn't want the good mood she was experiencing to be dashed to pieces by the reality that the disease was gaining the upper hand. Wordlessly, she donned the hospital gown and walked down the corridor to the X ray department. When the X ray was over and she was dressed, she was surprised to see a nurse waiting for her in the hallway. "Shouldn't you be setting up the IV for me now?" Scully asked, concerned. "Dr. Lowry said he wants to talk to you first. He's in his office, third door on the right," the nurse directed. Scully's stomach lurched into her throat. The only possible explanation was that the tumor was growing more rapidly than expected. Dr. Lowry probably wanted to try a different treatment. He might even require in hospital stay for her. She didn't want to hear any of it, not after she'd been given so much hope just a short while before. Tiredly, she trudged down the hall. When she opened the door, Dr. Lowry wasn't in the room. She took a seat and tried to keep her stomach from betraying her nerves. There was a soft knock on the door and her partner entered. He looked a little embarrassed. "Hi. The nurse told me that Dr. Lowry wanted to speak to me. Has he talked to you, yet?" She shook her head, not daring to speak. Tears were welling in her eyes and he could tell by the way she was holding herself she didn't think it would be good news. He reached over and took her hand. "Maybe I should wait in the lobby," he said, and immediately regretted making the offer. "Stay." It was one word, but it was all she could muster. He obliged silently. It was several minutes of unbearable tension before Brian Lowry, MD entered the room. "Sorry for the delay. I made them double check the film," he said with a smile. He looked over at his patient. "Well, Dana, you're looking better than the last time I saw you. I guess that little vacation helped, huh?" Scully nodded, and then shrugged. She wanted him to get on with it, what ever the news. In the back of her mind, she was more than a little peeved that he seemed so jovial when he was about to confer a death sentence on her head. So much for bed side manner, she groused internally. "Well, I must admit, this was a big surprise to me. I mean, I've heard of some incredible results with this particular protocol, but in most cases, it took months. This was just too much to believe, quite frankly." Dr. Lowry stood up and put the film on the viewer. He flipped on the light and then turned so the other two people could see what he already had seen. "Mulder . . ." she said, her eyes wide with disbelief. She stood slowly, moved around Lowry's desk and stood just inches away from the viewer. Slowly, she reached out a hand and put it to the film, touching it, making sure it was real. "This is impossible . . ." Mulder got up and stood behind her, looking over her head as he so often did. There on the screen, where her tumor should have been a white spot on her skull, there was a much tinier white speck. "It's gone?" he asked of the doctor. "Well, not 'gone' exactly. But it's almost dissolved. I have to tell you, I was hopeful for such a recovery. But to tell the truth, with the stressors from your job, and the fact that, well, let's be honest. Most single, unattached cancer victims have a much harder time recovering than those with personal commitments. I mean, I'm not being judgmental here, those are just the facts. I didn't really see where we would get this kind of result." He let his voice trail off for a moment, allowing himself to notice for the first time the patient's partner, who had his hand protectively on her shoulder, and the patient, who was covering her partner's hand with her own. "Of course, my wife had often told me I'm blind as a bat about those things," he muttered to himself. "What about the chemo?" Mulder couldn't help but ask. "Well, I say let's give it another week. Let's kick this thing in the ass while we have it down," Lowry decided. "I have a feeling it won't be much of a problem much longer." This time, Scully let Mulder stay with her during her treatment. And even allowed him to stay with her when she got home. She still felt ill, but she took a nap and recovered rather quickly. He treated them both to take out Chinese for dinner. Two weeks went by. They went out of town on another case, and then came back and cleaned up paperwork for a couple of days. Neither one of them spoke of the appointment with Dr. Lowry that was coming on Tuesday. Neither one wanted to give voice to their fear that it was all a horrible mistake, a set of mixed X rays. But in his heart, Mulder wasn't worried anymore. Scully just plain looked better. Her hair shone like it had before, her eyes held that sparkle that had been missing. All in all, she looked more radiant that he had ever seen her. Each and every day, he silently gave his thanks to whomever had given her back to him, once again. Mulder held her hand all the way in the door of the hospital. This time they went straight to X ray. She took a deep breath and headed in the exam room to change, but before he walked away, she grabbed Mulder's sleeve and pulled him back. Quickly, shyly, she gave him a peck on the cheek. "A kiss for luck," she winked at him. He couldn't stop smiling all the way down the hall to the family lounge. They waited in the office together. This time, the tension was just as unbearable, but not as oppressive as last time. This time there was hope in the tension. When Dr. Lowry opened the door, he was smiling. "Well, Dana, I hope you don't mind that the pharmaceutical company wants your release so they can use you in their advertisements in medical journals," he grinned. "For some bizarre reason, they think you'd make a knock out 'poster girl'," he added. "I always told you it's not implausible that other people think you're 'hot', Scully," Mulder whispered in her ear. Laughing, Scully pinned her doctor with a commanding glare. "OK, time for show and tell." "Well, that's the best part," Lowry replied. "There isn't anything to show." He put up the X ray and stepped aside, allowing the partners to come closer for their inspection. There was no sign of the tumor. It was gone. "I don't--" Mulder quickly covered her mouth with his hand. "Don't you _dare_ say you don't believe it, Scully. This time, _I'll_ be the one to _shoot_ you!" he warned. He could feel her giggle into his hand. Then he looked over at Lowry. "Chemo?" "No point," the doctor smiled brightly. "It would only make her sick to her stomach for no reason. Go on, get out of here. I have real patients to take care of," he teased. "Follow up appointment?" Dana asked, as Mulder started shoving her out the door. "Next month. And if we have the same results on the film, I really don't want to see you for six months." He reached out briefly and shook her hand. "It's been a pleasure, Dr. Scully." She took his hand and gave it a firm shake. "_Agent_ Scully, Dr. Lowry. That's Agent Scully. And thank you, for everything." She headed Mulder off, holding the door open for him in a sign of superiority. She shot her partner a wicked grin. "Let's grab a quick lunch, my treat. Then I want to run over to Mom's for a bit, we can tell her the good news. And then we better figure on working late tonight, to make up for all the time off I've taken--" He stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Scully, slow down, you're making me tired just looking at you," he grinned. "Well then you better rest up, partner. We have a lot work to do and I'm not doing it all alone." "We aren't going to agree on which 'cure' worked, are we?" Mulder asked as he held open her car door. "I really don't think there's much point in it, do you? I mean, whatever works, right?" She gave him a brilliant smile. "I love it when you win the argument, Agent Scully," he laughed, and got into the car to take his partner out to lunch. Just like old times. The end.> Vickie