It takes a moment for that to really sink in. (Maybe she's dying, actually dying, right now. Maybe this is a comforting fantasy her brain is using to ease the pain. She isn't sure she wants it to stop, if it is.)

"God," she murmurs, drawing a sharp breath, awestruck. Her eyes sting with the threat of relieved tears, but she manages to blink it back.

"Mulder, that's... it's incredible." But for once, she's the one who wants to believe. She looks up at him, open and awestruck and relieved and a little bewildered.

"It shouldn't be possible," she whispers. Much as she tries to hide it, she knows her prognosis-- anything less than a miracle would be wasted.

Her fingers flex and clench on the table; instinctively she wants to reach for him, but she's not sure how he'd take it, now.