When I was younger and used to tempt fate, I would sometimes wake up wondering what the day held. You know what I mean - wondering if today would be the day...that I discovered the 'truth', that I finally found Samantha, that I gathered the courage to tell Scully I loved her. I never feared what the day might hold, no matter how dire things seemed. Somehow, circumstances seemed controllable, even in the face of those tragedies and failures that dogged us for years.

A child changes all that. Events can be managed, manipulated, but a child - a *life* - simply happens, and you're almost powerless to do anything but watch and hope. When Will was born, we changed - without discussion, without argument or debate. Somewhere deep down, we both knew that the future had arrived - all bets were, in fact, off. A baby teaches you that *now* matters, that tomorrow cannot be counted on, and that questioning it, wondering what the future might hold, can be a scary thing.

The effects of our mutual realization played out in our decisions...we married and moved out of Washington. Scully extricated herself from the FBI within a year of Will's birth, working from home as a forensics journal editor. Once my own duties as stay-home dad were largely fulfilled, I turned to consulting - called in on the occasional case as a profiler, but no longer working in the field, no longer looking for X-Files. John Doggett could have them; I needed my family more.

We weren't afraid, but we played it safe. We enjoyed each other and we enjoyed our son - every day, a stronger, bigger, sunnier boy. We made love...we argued, but over little things now. We quit trying to save the world. We stopped wondering what would happen next.

We no longer tempted fate, but caution made us complacent and contentedness is her siren-call.

...

Maybe you know the feeling - when you realize, with a hard catch of the heart, that the ground is shifting beneath your feet, that nothing will be the same again. It begins with a glance, careless and casual; I'm shaving in the bathroom when, looking down into the wastebasket at my feet, I spy several carefully crumpled tissues blotched with bright blood. My hand slows to a stop in mid-stroke and all I can hear is my heart pounding in my ears. A dozen recent observations suddenly gel in my mind...a sleepy Scully nodding off in her armchair, hours earlier than usual...little angry bruises marring her soft skin...her white cheeks and tired eyes...

No coherent thoughts, but if I have to give them words they are all "no."

I haven't seen my wife yet this morning; Scully's taken Will to school - a rare event. I'm supposed to be headed into DC, called in by Skinner on a domestic terrorism case; but, when I'm able to move again, it's only to go as far as the phone. I call the Bureau to tell him I won't be in today, and he hears the fear in my voice.

"Is there a problem, Mulder?"

A long pause, while I consider his question.

"I don't know."

Just three words, but I know I've betrayed my concerns when he says, simply, "Keep me informed."

I try to sound casual, but it comes out tight, clipped. "I'll do that, sir."

Scully's eyebrows rise when she returns to find me sitting at the kitchen table, my tea cold in the mug that reads "World's Best Dad" - a present from Will two Father's Days ago. I glance up at her with an angry look of fear that hasn't been there in a decade, and her pale cheeks suddenly burn brightly. She weakly sits down across from me, a stray ray of sunshine illuminating her lightly graying hair.

When I speak, my voice is low, controlled.

"When were you going to tell me?"

Scully's eyes are wide, stark; part of me wants to go to her, but I'm still too frightened to do anything but sit and stare at her. She takes a deep, shaky breath.

"When I knew."

I fix her with my gaze.

"And do you? Know?"

She nods briskly, biting her lip, and I feel the ground under my feet slip a little more. Her voice is small and scared, but steady as ever.

"Acute myelogenous leukemia."

My mind is blank; I can't comprehend, and I sit dumbly for long moments.

When thought returns, it's looking for a cure.

"Is it - the chip?"

She shakes her head.

"Mulder - " her voice catches. "I think - it just is."

Fifteen years ago, this would have been unacceptable. Today, I slowly nod; sometimes, there's no reason. I've learned that things just happen.

I try to speak, but it hurts. My throat is strained, my voice competing with silent tears for expression.

"When..?"

"Yesterday - I was tested at Georgetown last week, when you were out of town."

I try to mask the reproach I feel creeping into my eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Scully shakes her head again, lost.

"I didn't know how..."

Her hand reaches out blindly across the small table, and I cover it with my own, grasping it as I pull her up, standing to embrace her. I hold her close; she feels so small.

...

There's no time to waste.

Will takes the news better than I expect; it helps, perhaps, that he's only ten. Any older and he might be less secure, more afraid of what it all means. Instead, he's factual - a true Scully through and through.

"So, what do you have to do?

Scully looks over at me as I hover, as always, on the sidelines.

"Well, first I have to go to the hospital for chemotherapy."

"What's that?"

"Drug treatment. I'll have to spend some time there, and then we'll see how well I do."

"Then what?" I recognize the pained petulance of his look as my own.

"Then I'll have to have a bone marrow transplant..."

"Does it hurt?"

"I don't know, Will; I've never had one before."

He accepts this explanation with a little nod; he's so much older than his years.

"Can I come to the hospital?"

"Once I'm done with the chemotherapy..." Scully's voice is softer here, less certain. Will looks to me, and now it's my turn to reassure - whether I feel like it or not.

"The chemotherapy makes it easy for Mom to get sick - to catch colds - so you'll need to wait until the doctor says it's okay to visit her. But we'll go to the hospital every day once you can, I promise; you'll see her."

Without warning, Will gets up from his seat on the sofa and quickly crosses over to Scully. Impulsively, he wraps his arms around her neck, clinging to her. The openness of his affectionate nature is all his own.

We lie together in the dark of a cloudy, moonless night. I'm exhausted in the wake of this surreal day - arrangements made, family informed, Will...

...

As I hold Scully, her head resting on my chest, I feel her thin hand slide over my skin and look down in alarm.

"Scully...what are you doing?"

She is silent, and brings her lips to my chest.

"No, Scully..."

She lifts her head and looks me in the eye, a quiet desperation flickering in her glance.

"Yes, Mulder." Her voice breaks slightly.

We've come together in so many ways over the years. That first time - tentative and half-afraid...playful, later. Rough sometimes - hormone-charged fumblings in the kitchen, hallway, car...

Scully's always matched my arousal with the force of her own; until today, I've never been afraid of hurting her. But now, I don't know how to respond; it doesn't seem right, somehow, and I feel a surge of self-loathing as I begin to respond to her insistent caresses.

She reaches up and slides her fingers across my forehead, down my rough cheek.

"Please...it's okay..."

She snuggles up to whisper, her soft lips resting against my ear, and I almost forget my fears in the normalcy of her touch.

Her sweet, small mouth kisses softly along my face...neck...chest...her hair fanned out, brushing against me. I resist, stifling the moans her ministrations call forth, but she persists.

"I love that I do this to you, Mulder."

I reach down and stroke her still-ruddy hair with my hand, burying my fingers in its rich warmth.

"Scully...you've always done this to me - I can't remember a time..." I stop - a sob threatens to escape. I can't think in terms of time tonight.

Scully creeps up beside me again; she takes my rougher hand in hers and guides it over her own body. Her eyes close and I gaze on her pleasure, admiring the beauty of her graceful lines as her back arches.

Between breathy sighs, Scully opens her eyes and looks into mine.

"This is what you do to me, Mulder...every time...all the time..."

I wrap my arm around her and lay her back on the bed. I move slowly, deliberately, unconsciously imprinting the feel of her body on my mind. Her sighs grow ragged, sharp...I cry out, and I can barely tell if it's in pleasure or pain.

We lie together in the dark. Eventually, her soft pants turn to sobs.