"I Refuse to Believe That" . . . Mulder pulled open the glass door with his left hand. In his right, he held a bouquet of flowers. Almost immediately he spoke to a passing nurse while crossing the floor "oncology?" Her nod of direction headed him to that department.

      Once there he paused before a door, peering cautiously through the window. Scully stood inside the room, her back to him, holding an x-ray in her hand. He slipped in, calling her name and automatically she looked up. Puling the flowers from behind his back, he smiled.

      "I stole these from some guy with a broken leg down the hall." She smiled, looking down, and he added softly, "he won't be able to catch me." He paused, then continued warily, "how ya doing?"

      At that, she looked up. "I guess that's the question." He nodded. "Actually, I feel fine," she offered with a smile.

      She was silent then, as was he -- their eyes locked on one another, neither one able to go into details yet. Finally, Mulder looked away, to the lighted hospital board upon which lay x-rays.

      "What exactly are we looking at here?"

      She turned to the board as well, "it's what's called a nasal pharyngeal mass. It's a small growth on the wall between the superior concha and the sphamuldal sinus."

      "A growth?" he broke in quietly.

      "A tumor," she answered. His face was blank, his expression unreadable, but for his eyes, where a hint of despair shone. She kept her gaze locked steadfastly on his as she continued softly. "You're the only one I've called."

      He nodded softly and a soft "okay" whispered between his lips. When he spoke again,his voice was stronger, but there was a slight catch in the words. "Is it operable?"

      Her answer held no hope, "no."

      "But it's treatable," he responded, stating it not so much as a question, but more as a hopeful fact. Again, her reply held little expectation. "The truth is that the type and placement of the tumor make it difficult," she paused slightly, "to the extreme."

      A look of implacability appeared on his face and a hard sureness entered his voice, "I refuse to believe that. I-- I--"

      She cut him off, a smile -- bittersweet -- on her face and in her voice. "For all the times that I have said that to you, I am as certain about this as you have ever been."

      On his face was still denial and his head shook slightly, refuting her words. She spoke again, bluntly.

      "I have cancer. It is a mass on the wall between my sinus and cerebrum. If it pushes into my brain, statistically, there is about zero chance of survival."

      Again, Mulder chose denial. "I don't accept that." His words ran over themselves as he sought to find a way out. "There -- there must be some people who receive treatment for this. We can ... " he trailed off, unsure of what exactly they could do.

      Scully held his gaze the entire time, before looking down, unwilling to look upon his pain any longer, and she found herself unable to deny him any hope.

      "Yes, there are." She looked back up at him and took a deep breath. Their gazes held for a moment before she turned and pulled one of the x-rays from the lighted board, once again looking away from the bleak despair on his face.

     "I'm Fine (II)" . . . "Is your name Kurt Crawford?" Scully demanded, her voice out of breath, of the man lying face down, held to the alley floor by Mulder.

      "Yes," he answered softly.

      Mulder turned and glanced up at Scully, a sudden look of anguish crossing his face.

     "Scully?"

      "What?" she retorted and he lifted a finger to wipe imaginary blood from his nose. Not understanding at first, Scully merely stared at him before reaching up with her own finger and felt a wetness. Looking down at her finger, she saw the all-too real blood smeared there.

      Glancing back up, she offered defiantly, "I'm fine, Mulder."

      His expression did not change, nor did he turn his gaze from her face.

      "Quit staring at me," she demanded harshly. "I'm fine," she repeated. And so Mulder looked away as Scully wiped more of the blood away.

     "The Truth Is In Me" . . . The ringing of the cell phone broke the silence and Mulder stopped sifting through files in a metal drawer as he reached for it.

      "Mulder."

      "Mulder, it's me," began Scully.

      "Where are you, Scully?"

      "I'm at the hospital with Penny Northern. Where are you?"

      "I'm at Betsy Hagopian's going through some hard files before stuff starts disappearing and call me an early bird, but I think I found something." The fire that often lit his voice when he caught a break began burning across the phone line. "Now some of these women who have died, they're childless. They've been treated for fertility at a clinic about 30 miles from here. Penny Northern and Betsy Hagopian among them."

     Scully's eyes closed as she gathered the courage to speak. "Mulder, that's --" she began, but Mulder rushed on. "Yeah, I've made some phone calls and I've tried to get some information, but nobody is talking to me, so --"

      Scully broke in, "-- Mulder, I need you to come here."

      "Why? Did you find something there?"

      She paused before answering, "I need you to bring the overnight bag from the trunk of the car," and desolation swept across his face. "And I need you to call my mother and ask her to bring up some things to the hospital," she continued.

      "Is there anything I should know?" Fear and pain laced his voice.

      "Mulder, whatever you've found, or whatever you might find, I think we both know that, right now, the truth is in me," her voice was thickening as unshed tears clogged her throat. "And that's where I need to pursue it." Her voice dropped to a whisper, "as soon as possible."

      "I will be right there," he said and anguish rode his words. She allowed herself a brief smile for him and then clicked the phone off. Silently, she stared at it a moment -- her lifeline to him -- before gazing over at the still form of Penny Northern.

      On Mulder's end, he slammed the metal drawer shut and angrily got to his feet -- a faint form of violence his only outlet.

[Note: The following are excerpts from Scully's diary. These excerpts are the ones that reflect upon Mulder and their connection. There will be no description of the images that appeared on screen during these voice-overs, because the images weren't the point -- the words were.]

     For the first time, I feel time like a heartbeat, the seconds, pumping in my breasts like a reckoning. The numinous mysteries that once seemed so distant and unreal, threatening clarity in the presence of a truth entertained not in youth, but only in its passage. I feel these words as if their meaning were weight being lifted from me. Knowing that you will read them and share my burden as I have come to trust no other. That you should know my heart, look into it, finding there the memory and experience that belong to you, that are you, is a comfort now as I feel the tethers loose and the prospects darken for the continuance of a journey that began not so long ago and which began again with a faith shaken and strengthened by your convictions. If not for which, I might never have been so strong now as I cross to face you, and look at you, incomplete, hoping that you will forgive me for not making the rest of the journey with you.

     In med school I learned that cancer arrives in the body unannounced. A dark stranger who takes up residence, turning its new home against itself. This is the evil of cancer. That it starts as an invader but soon becomes one with the invaded forcing you to destroy it but only at the risk of destroying yourself. It is science's demon possession. By treatment, science's attempt at exorcism. Mulder, I that hope in these terms you might know it and know me. And accept a stranger someone you recognize but cannot ever completely cast out. And if the darkness should have swallowed me as you read this, you must never think there was the possibility of some secret intervention, something you might have done, and though we've traveled far together. This last distance must necessarily be traveled alone.

     Mulder, I feel you close though I know you are now pursuing your own path. For that I am grateful. More than I could ever express. I need to know you're out there if I am ever to see through this.

     "The Conversation in the Corridor" . . . Mulder stood up in the white, empty hallway moments before Scully exited Penny Northern's room. She didn't see him, and walked in the opposite direction.

     His voice, loud in the silence, froze her. "Is she gone?" and she turned a pale face with reddened, hollow eyes to him, her lips quivering in an effort to hold back her sobs. Unable to speak, Scully could only nod.

     Walking forward, he offered solemnly, "I'm sorry. I know what she meant to you." A look of confusion crossed her face and she took a step towards him as awkwardly he explained his knowledge.

     "When I came to find you," he gestured to a hospital room, "and I went in your room. I got scared that something had happened." He thrust his hands in his pocket and his voice dropped to a husky near whisper. "And I read some of what you wrote."

     Contrition burdened her face, "oh, I didn't want you to read that." She kept her head downcast, unwilling to look at him. "I had decided to throw it out. I decided tonight that," she puashed and then looked at him, "that I'm not going to let this thing beat me." Determination filled her voice, "I came into this hospital able to work and that's how I'm leaving."

     Mulder nodded, a slight smile on his face, his gaze reflecting his love and respect for her.

     "Byers tell you about Dr. Scanlon?" He then asked.

     "Yes," she responded and there was a tired anger in the word.

     "He may have very well killed those women," continued Mulder.

     And now just tiredness laced her words, "that will have to be proven if we find him."

     "When," Mulder interjected, "we find him. Scully, something was done to you, something that you're just beginning to remember. You can't quite figure it out, but it can be explained and it will be explained. And no matter what you believe as a scientist or a doctor, there is a way and you will find it to save yourself."

     "Mulder, I can't kid myself. People live with cancer. They carry on and so will I. You know, I've got things to finish, to prove to myself, to my family, but for my own reason."

     And as she spoke, a smile again lit his face and this time, she returned it with one of her own. "Come on back," he whispered and enfolded her in his arms.

     They stood, wrapped in each other's embrace, his chin resting upon her head. "The truth will save you, Scully," he resolved, "I think it will save both of us."

     His hand reached up, smoothing the side of her hair and he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. She pulled away slightly and he cupped her face inhis hands, his lips brushing against her brow. They stood close still, their eyes locked and a shroud of peace lingered about them. At last, she moved away and he watched her go.

[Note: The following is a description of the cut scene from "Memento Mori," that included 'shippier dialogue and of course, the kiss. The deleted sections are in italics.]

     "The Conversation in the Corridor II" . . . Mulder stood up in the white, empty hallway moments before Scully exited Penny Northern's room. She didn't see him, and walked in the opposite direction.

     His voice, loud in the silence, froze her. "Is she gone?" and she turned a pale face with reddened, hollow eyes to him, her lips quivering in an effort to hold back her sobs. Unable to speak, Scully could only nod.

     Walking forward, he offered solemnly, "I'm sorry. I know what she meant to you." A look of confusion crossed her face and she took a step towards him as awkwardly he explained his knowledge.

     "When I came to find you," he gestured to a hospital room, "and I went in your room. I got scared that something had happened." He thrust his hands in his pocket and his voice dropped to a husky near whisper. "And I read some of what you wrote."

     Contrition burdened her face, "oh, I didn't want you to read that." She kept her head downcast, unwilling to look at him. "I had decided to throw it out. I decided tonight that," she paused and then looked at him, "that I'm not going to let this thing beat me." Determination filled her voice, "I came into this hospital able to work and that's how I'm leaving."

     Mulder nodded, a slight smile on his face, his gaze reflecting his love and respect for her.

     "Byers tell you about Dr. Scanlon?" He then asked.

     "Yes," she responded and there was a tired anger in the word.

     "He may have very well killed those women," continued Mulder.

     And now just tiredness laced her words, "that will have to be proven if we find him."

     "When," Mulder interjected, "we find him. Scully, something was done to you, something that you're just beginning to remember. You can't quite figure it out, but it can be explained and it will be explained. And no matter what you believe as a scientist or a doctor, there is a way and you will find it to save yourself."

     "Mulder, I can't kid myself. People live with cancer. They carry on and so will I. You know, I've got things to finish, to prove to myself, to my family, but for my own reasons."

     Nodding slightly, he whispered one word, "okay." And with her gaze never leaving his, she added softly, "but there's one thing that I'm most certain of, that for as long as I'm able, I need to be with you," she paused slightly, "searching for the truth."

     And as she spoke, a smile again lit his face and this time, she returned it with one of her own. "Come on back," he whispered and enfolded her in his arms.

     They stood, wrapped in each other's embrace, his chin resting upon her head. "The truth will save you, Scully," he resolved, "I think it will save both of us."

     His hand reached up, smoothing the side of her hair and he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. She pulled away slightly and he cupped her face in his hands, his lips pressing against her brow. He lingered there a moment before withdrawing and then with only the briefest hesitation, he bent down and kissed her on the lips, softly and gently.

     Without meeting his gaze, perhaps unable to do so, or unwilling to let him see the despair engulf her, she moved away and he watched her go.