February 14
Annapolis, Maryland

With a heavy sigh, Special Agent Fox Mulder got out of his car. He looked down at his attire. Black suit. Hmm. He could've sworn he'd put the *navy* one on this morning, but then again, it *had* been dark. He'd gotten up late, and had to hurry to work. Let's see...black suit, white shirt, black tie...he had his sunglasses on against the sun's glare...had he happened to have a black fedora on hand, he could've been one of the men in black (or one of the Blues Brothers, but that was another story altogether). He looked to his left, expecting his partner to be tagging along. It wasn't her. It was Skinner's secretary, Grace McDaniel. She was wearing a dark dress as well...it was a little dark to be grey, a little light to be black. He chuckled softly. So she was protesting Valentine's Day as well, as she'd threatened to earlier in the month.
He didn't like Valentine's Day. Not because he had something personal against it, but rather because he had no one to share it with. The friendly "dates" that had become an annual tradition between himself and Scully didn't really count. If he only had the nerve to ask her out!

Grace drew up beside him. "How're you holding up, Mulder?"
"I'm fine," he replied. Okay, he didn't like the day, but it wasn't as though he were *depressed*....
Grace smiled at him--sympathetically, it seemed. "I wish I could lie half as well as you do."
"Really, Grace," he insisted, "I'm fine. I'll just go home tonight, curl up with my video collection, and pretend like this whole day never happened."

She took off her sunglasses as they approached the building, and he could see the very real hurt in her eyes--one that *didn't* come from the brightness of the sun. Maybe this was affecting her more than she was letting on. Maybe she...who knew? He hadn't spent excessive amounts of time with Grace, so he couldn't say for sure...hey, Skinner had just been complaining about not having anyone! Maybe Mulder could set his boss up with Grace...nah. It'd never work out.

**Come on,** he thought, **be realistic for once in your life!**

And where was Scully, anyway? She'd said she'd meet him there.

With a sigh, he took off his own sunglasses, tucked them safely inside his suit jacket, and stepped inside the...cathedral? Huh? He could've sworn Scully had given him directions to the research facility she'd wanted to check out, but then again...she was...*Scully*. He couldn't even guess at the way her mind worked sometimes, but rather suspected the feeling was mutual. And she *was* Catholic...
He and Grace exchanged a glance.

"Here goes nothing," he sighed.
"Or everything," she added.
**That too. I wish I could cheer her up. I've never seen Grace so pessimistic!**
And why was Grace even there in the first place? Oh, well...some questions might be best left unanswered...but he wanted some answers soon--forget conventional wisdom!

Blowing a pesky strand of auburn hair out of her face, Dana Scully once again vowed her revenge on the smart aleck who had decided that the death of a martyr named St. Valentine was reason to make the day a romantic celebration. She'd purposely dressed in black, as Skinner's secretary had vowed to do...red may have been the color of the day, but she wasn't going to give anyone the pleasure.
It surprised her that she was in such a mood over the day, though. Sure, being alone on Valentine's Day was no real treat, but she *did* have Mulder. And having a friend--scratch that, best friend--was certainly better than nothing. She had to admit it, those alien-shaped chocolates he had given her last year *were* kind of cute...if not exactly something she'd have bought herself.
At Mulder's request, she'd accompanied him to Massachusetts a week ago--Chilmark, to be exact. He'd thought he'd found some more information on his sister Samantha's disappearance. He'd been called back to D.C. yesterday, but wanted her to follow up on one more lead for him. And she'd done it. Not out of duty or obligation...not because she felt she owed it to him...but because she'd *wanted* to. She was his friend. She wanted to find Samantha just as much as he did...although she was a bit more realistic about it than he was. But that was probably because he was so close to the case. Had it been one of her own siblings, she'd probably have been just as blind to the facts as he was.
She'd intended to return to D.C. today and meet him at an Annapolis research facility, but she'd missed her plane. Just her luck, today of all days! At least it wasn't Friday the 13th or anything. That would have sent Mulder on a speech about the day that she'd have been hard-pressed to stop. Of course, Monday wasn't exactly her favorite day of the week, either. But that was only natural...right?
She had decided to spend the time before she had to catch the next flight out (5 hours!) hanging around Boston. She'd never gotten much of a chance to see the city...and most of the time she and her partner had spent in the state had been in the Martha's Vineyard area--Chilmark, West Tisbury, the surrounding towns.
But where was she now? Inside, that was for sure...but *where*? She couldn't believe she'd let her mind drift off *that* much. Fortunately, a man approached her. He seemed to know what was going on.

"Miss Scully. You'll want to come this way, please."
She smiled gratefully. "Thank you."
"It's no trouble," he replied. "Are you all right?"
"Sure," Scully answered. "I was just a little...distracted for a moment."
He patted her hand in what she assumed was supposed to be a comforting manner. "Completely understandable. You've been through a lot."
**Yeah, in my life, perhaps. What's he talking about? Or is he just trying to pick me up?**

Not that the last part of that would have been such a bad thing. He *was* sort of cute...

"Mulder," Skinner said simply. "How are you?"
"I'm okay," Mulder answered. "Fortunately, this only has to be done once a year."
Skinner nodded ruefully. "Unfortunately, in our line of work, that seems to be the case. God, I just wish it were someone else. I know that sounds awful, but I do."
Mulder couldn't quite hold back a grin. "Believe me, sir...I know exactly how you feel."
Skinner regarded him for a long moment. "You know, Fox, I honestly believe you do. You're probably one of the few that would."
**Now what on earth is *that* supposed to mean?** Mulder wondered, slightly indignant. **And 'Fox'?! Since when does he call me *Fox*? God, the only person who really calls me that is my mother...oh, yeah, and Margaret Scully.**

Funny he should think of Scully's mother just then, because she was there too. She looked as though a terrible tragedy had recently occurred in her life. Mulder crossed over to her, wondering what the problem was and hoping he could help. The last time he'd seen Margaret this upset was right after Melissa died. Hey, maybe this was why Scully had wanted him there. Where *was* she?!

Mulder walked over to Margaret. "Mrs. Scully?"
She pulled him into a tight embrace.
"Oh, Fox..." she sighed. "I don't know what to do..."
"Hey," he soothed, pulling away, "it's going to be all right. We'll make it out of this just fine." Out of what, he hadn't a clue. But it seemed like a good thing to say. He looked into her eyes...eyes that held a world of pain and too much hurt. She was crying, and he brushed the tears away. Mulder had always had a soft spot for Margaret...she was like another mother to him. The personification, almost, of the ideal mother--loving, patient, strong, and so much more. It tore at his heart to see her like this.

Another man stood nearby, maybe a few years older than Mulder. The agent had never met him before, but felt as though he should've. The man regarded Mulder with a mixture of sympathy and respect.

"You don't have to be so strong about this, you realize. I know how close you two were. Dana told me."
With a quick glance around, all the pieces fell into place for Mulder. He mentally kicked himself.
**Oh, *that* was smart. Why didn't you realize it before, Sherlock? You're at a funeral.**
But whose? Scully had given him directions...he assumed it had to be someone she knew as well. That was made all the more likely by Margaret's presence-and the fact that Skinner and Grace were there too. And he was apparently close to this person.
A sense of dread filled him. Who? Who could it be? Who else had he lost to this foolish game? They'd already taken his sister, abducted Scully, murdered his father. Who else? Who now? Or *had* this death been due to his allegiance? Had it been natural? Had it been an accident? What was going on here? And why couldn't he remember?
Too many questions. Way too many questions. And not enough answers to go around.

"Mrs. Mulder?"
Teena turned, and almost smiled--almost. "Miss Scully. I'm glad you could make it. I heard your flight left this morning."
"I'm catching another one later," Scully replied, shrugging. "This hasn't really best the best of days for me."
"I know how you feel, dear," Teena said, putting a hand on Scully's shoulder. "Truthfully, I do. I've seen this too many times in my life. But I'm still glad you're here. I know the two of you were very close."
"Things *have* been a little strained lately," Scully admitted, correct in assuming that the older woman was alluding to the relationship between herself and Mulder, "but I never thought it was anything we couldn't work through. We *do* have our fights every now and then."
"You're only human." Teena began to walk away, motioning for Scully to join her. "And with two such different personality types, the occasional argument...well, it was inevitable. Take my advice, Miss Scully. Don't beat yourself up over it. Don't torture yourself over all the things you might have done differently. I've spent too many years doing just that, and all it got me was a lot of sleepless nights. You were very special to him. You always have been."
"He told you that?" Scully asked, her blue eyes widening. For as sweet and sensitive as he could be, verbally expressing his feelings was not one of Mulder's strengths.
"Not in so many words," Teena answered, "but I could tell. A mother knows these things."

They stepped into a room together, and Scully stopped short. There were a lot of people there...all dressed the same as they were. In black. A funeral? It certainly appeared that way, but whose? A fleeting look back at Teena confirmed that this was indeed the correct place. A tear slipped down Teena's cheek. Oh, God. Had they finally found Samantha--only to discover that she was dead? Was that why Mulder had left her here...because the truth was too painful for him to face? She fervently hoped not. Samantha couldn't be dead...she just couldn't. But if not Samantha, then who?
Scully took another step inside, bracing herself for whatever was to come.

Teena had already wandered off by this time, so she wasn't going to be much help.
While Scully was puzzling over this, Skinner continued talking. She forced herself to concentrate on what it was he was saying.

"I've worked with a lot of people over the years, Dana..."
**Dana?** she wondered, amused. **What's going on with that? He's only called me Dana maybe once or twice before.** Amusement gave way to apprehension once she remembered that it had only happened when something was wrong. Very wrong.
"...and many of them have been very good..."

Scully nodded, hoping it looked as though she'd been paying attention the entire time. Skinner went on.

"But believe me when I tell you this...out of all the people I've had working under me...Fox Mulder was definitely one of the best."

It took a few seconds for the implications of his words to hit home. But then, Scully realized it. Realized what, exactly, was happening there.
And she fainted.

"Are you okay?" Margaret asked him.
He nodded. "Yeah, I, uh--I'll be fine. Just give me a minute."
"Of course, Fox."

He didn't really mind her use of his first name. Actually, it made her seem even more like his mother...
The man who'd been with Margaret earlier came over and sat beside Mulder. The agent looked over at him.

"Excuse me, but I don't believe we've met."
"We haven't. And to tell you the truth, I sure wish we weren't meeting here."
**Amen to *that*,** Mulder thought.

The guy continued. "I know that you and my sister were really close. And, actually, I wanted to thank you for always being there for her when I couldn't be. You meant a lot to her, you know, Mulder. She'd have given her life for you."

"Yeah," Mulder muttered bitterly. "Well, she certainly gave her life for *something*." He'd pretty much figured out by now that this was Scully's other brother, the younger one... he couldn't remember the name.
Scully's brother seemed to pick up on this. "My name's Charles."
Charles. Okay. Charles. Mulder had heard Scully mention Charles before...and now, when they finally met, Scully was gone. Forever gone. It wasn't fair. "Nice to meet you," Mulder said. His tone was sincere, his expression an absent one. He meant what he'd said...but there was so much weighing on his mind just then--so much he had to process so suddenly.
And one question remained in his mind above all others. He had to know.

"How did she die?"

"Dana, sweetheart," her mother began, "are you all right?"
"Yeah, yeah," Scully managed, "I'm fine. I'll be okay. How long was I out?"
"A minute or two," Skinner answered. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine," Scully repeated, getting to her feet. Skinner helped her.

Men's voices drifted to them from down the hall. Scully would've recognized the voices anywhere. And, frankly, she was grateful for their presence. Normally, they drove her to the brink of insanity, but right now, they could provide some answers. And, perhaps, a small amount of solace.
Langly was, as always, wearing a T-shirt. This one, however, had the print of a tuxedo on it. Byers was wearing a suit, true to form...while Frohike had traded the usual grey shirt under his black leather jacket for a black one.
Scully's mother and Skinner moved off, sensing that she wanted to be alone with the Lone Gunmen.

Scully half-smiled, which was the best she could manage right about then. She tried to lighten the mood somewhat--anything to alleviate the despair she was feeling. "Don't you boys have anything else in your closets?"
Frohike merely raised an eyebrow, and continued to look at her. "Don't *you*?"
Scully looked down at her own attire. "I guess you've got a point there."
Byers put a hand on her shoulder. "How are you?"
"I'll live," she sighed. "Story of my life, you know."
Langly's hair, predictably, looked as though he'd washed it in a blender. It was comforting to know that some things *didn't* change. "Yeah. I still half expect to find out that this was all someone's idea of a really sick joke."
"Me too," Scully admitted, her voice cracking ever-so-slightly. Any other time, she'd have pulled away when Frohike put a hand on her arm, but now she found herself needing the support of a human touch.
"Is there anything we can do?" Byers asked.
She nodded languidly. "Just one thing. There's just one thing I have to know."
"What's that?" Frohike asked.
Scully looked at them, her blue eyes glistening with tears yet to be shed. "What happened? How did he die?"

Mulder felt Scully stiffen in back of him. When she spoke, her voice was hushed. "I don't think we're alone here, Mulder. I just heard footsteps."
"Lawson?" Mulder questioned.
"Maybe," Scully answered, so softly that only Mulder could hear her. "I don't know. I didn't see him."
"It had better not be Krycek," Mulder hissed. "If it is, I'll kill him."

Scully gave him *that* look--the one she always gave him when she thought he was getting a little too carried away with himself. "For God's sake, Mulder--we're the FBI, not the *Mafia*! We both know he was probably involved when Duane Barry kidnapped me. I know you're still trying to get even with him for killing your father, and Lord knows *I'd* have more than a few things to say about his being an accomplice to Missy's murder...but the law doesn't exactly see revenge as justifiable homicide!"

"Okay, okay, I won't kill him," Mulder promised. "I'll just hurt him a little."
"Mulder..."
"In a nice way, of course," Mulder covered.
Scully couldn't quite hide a grin. "You are absolutely impossible, Mulder."
"It's part of my charm."
She didn't reply to that, instead focusing her attention on an area at the end of the alley. "I'm going to check out that crawlspace over there."
Mulder didn't like the looks of it. "That's okay, Scully, I'll do it."
"Don't be so stubborn, Mulder," Scully argued. "It's going to be a tight fit for *me*. I'll be careful."

She hated it when she felt he was being overprotective of her, but Mulder felt he couldn't help it sometimes. They were so much a part of each other. He'd die for her, if necessary--no second thoughts. Of course, he sincerely hoped it would never come to *that*. Her abduction several years ago had forced him to realize just how much she meant to him--as a partner and a friend. If anything were ever to happen to her...
Before he could protest again, she was gone. She wouldn't have taken no for an answer anyhow. He kept an eye out...wary, watchful. He had the strangest feeling that something was going to happen--and it wasn't going to be good. And, in these cases, his instincts were rarely mistaken. They didn't call him "Spooky" for nothing.
Seconds later, Mulder heard running footsteps--Scully, and someone else. Krycek or Lawson? Maybe neither. He heard Scully call his name, sounding worried. Was she in trouble? Did she need help? He rushed off in the direction of her voice, but the next sound he heard momentarily paralyzed him. A scream. Scully's. Not a scream of fear, but an awful, pain-filled scream. Then more running--but only one person.
The agent turned the corner just in time to see Rutger Lawson sprinting away, but--by far--that was the least of his concerns.
Scully was lying in a crumpled heap on the ground, an ever-increasing pool of blood beneath her.
Mulder immediately dropped to one knee beside her, and turned her over as delicately as he could. Scully moaned softly, in pain. She was still conscious, but just barely. She was just barely alive.
Mulder tried to access the damage. She had been stabbed several times--four or five, at least. Lawson worked fast, apparently. There was blood everywhere. He didn't even have time to take off his jacket to try to stop the bleeding; he had to use his bare hands.
As Mulder put pressure on the worst of the lacerations, Scully winced. He knew she was probably in agony, but she couldn't stand to lose any more blood. She didn't need to lose what she'd already lost. He pulled out his cell phone with one hand and called an ambulance. "Emergency"... "agent down"...the words were all too familiar--and frightening as ever.
Scully tried to lift her head. Her lips moved, but Mulder couldn't make out what she was saying. He bent his head down, straining desperately to hear.

"Mulder..." she murmured.
"What?" he asked, using his free hand to brush a blood-soaked lock of hair from her face. It was nearly crimson now, the gorgeous auburn color made that much more red by the fluid that was so vital to life. She was losing blood faster than Mulder could control it. Blood...so much blood. Lawson must've hit an artery...the celiac, perhaps? No--it was too close to the extension of the aorta...she'd be losing even more blood than she was now, if such a thing were possible. The inferior...(oh, what was it?) inferior--messentera!-- (or was it mesenteric?) seemed a little more likely...it had been much too long since biology class. He was amazed he'd even recalled this much--adrenaline did funny things to people.
"Remember..." Scully managed. "Always, I..." she trailed off, trying to find the strength to go on. She was fading fast--where were the paramedics?!
"What is it?" Mulder asked her, gently. He knew she needed to save her strength, but he also had to know what it was she was trying to tell him.
"We've always been...so much more..."
**More than what? More than partners? More than friends?** Mulder wondered, but he never found out. As slowly and softly as a child falling asleep, Scully closed her eyes. Her head fell to one side.
And then she was gone.

They'd been in Massachusetts for about a day and a half. After kibitzing around Chilmark for some leads, Mulder had declared his intention to show Scully the more interesting side of his youth...or at least some of Boston's more appealing diversions. She wasn't quite sure what she was in for--and, furthermore, wasn't sure she wanted to know. Sometimes, Mulder could be so...well, 'spooky' was a good word for it, though she doubted he'd have appreciated her saying so. That man was understood by only a chosen few--herself not included.
They turned a corner. One of the street lights was out, making the road look that much more dark and foreboding.

"Um...Mulder?" Scully asked warily. "Are you sure this place is safe after dark?"
"Sure it is," he assured her. "I know it *looks* rough--it's the lighting. This is really one of the better sides of town. Trust me on this one."
"Always," she responded, her voice a little *too* candy-coated. He gave her a look, but said nothing as she proceeded to lock the vehicle's doors.
"Just in case."
"Of *course*, Scully. What are so you worried about, anyway? I know for a fact that you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself in just about any situation. We work in *Washington, D.C.*, for goodness' sake! You live in Georgetown; you're a trained FBI agent--and, besides which, you've survived so much that I'm starting to wonder if you're even able to die!"
"I just have a bad feeling about this, is all," Scully contended.
"Leave those to me, all right? I've got a reputation to uphold."
Scully couldn't help but smile at the devil-may-care gleam in his eye. "Mulder, you're hopeless."
"So I've been told."
She paused a moment. "And what do you mean, 'not able to die'?"
Mulder was about to answer when he slowed down the car, and eyed the next bend carefully. "You know, back when I was a teenager, a couple of my friends used to call this 'Dead Man's Curve'."
"*What?!*"
"Calm down. There was really no understanding Aaron and Debra. In any case, they were also addicted to a certain song by the same name."
"Then why'd you mention it?"
"Oh...reminiscence. Memories. You know."
**No, I don't,** Scully thought, **but that's okay. With you, my friend, I *never* know.**

He turned the corner, and Scully was barely beginning to relax when a black Dodge Neon swerved at them from out of nowhere. Mulder muttered a few choice words under his breath, and jerked the car into a hard turn, trying to compensate.
Almost, but not quite. The words flashed through Scully's mind inexplicably as she realized that Mulder's driving skills, good as they were, weren't enough to counterbalance the actions of the other (apparently psychotic) driver. She wasted a valuable second trying to figure out where she'd heard that before, but then reason came back to her, and she all but yelled at Mulder, imploring him to move the car.

"I'm *trying*!" he acknowledged.

Newton's laws of physics kicked in as an outside force definitely had an effect on the forward motion of the Taurus. As the windshield broke, Scully turned her face away from the shattering glass, and closed her eyes. She could hear the tires squealing; she caught the sound of twisting metal. She felt pieces of glass rake across her unprotected lower arm, felt her body slamming up against the car door. But what concerned her most was the last thing she perceived as the world around her came--quite literally--crashing down. Mulder's soft moan beside her. Weak, but intensely painful. A small amount of his blood trickled onto her hand. Her mind decided then and there that between this and the blow to the head she'd just received, there was simply too much information to be processed at one time, thank you very much. So she blacked out, allowing the blessed darkness to take her for a short time.

"Mulder?" she asked inquiringly, using her jacket to wipe away the blood. She hadn't yet looked in his direction. "You okay?"

He didn't answer. Dabbing away the final traces of blood still oozing from the wound, Scully turned to her partner. She gasped and dropped the edge of her jacket, unconsciously switching into her "medical" mode. Hastily, she unbuckled her seat belt, opened the car door, and got out. She crossed around the Taurus to better enable her to help Mulder. Her ankle protested the movement--she must've twisted it in the wreck.

Scully opened the driver's-side door, and leaned in. "Mulder...can you hear me? Oh, God...just hang on, okay? You're going to be all right."
A young woman, seeing the accident, rushed over to offer assistance. "Oh, my God...is there anything I can do?"
Scully pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and handed it to the woman. "Yeah, here. Call an ambulance."

Nodding, the lady took the phone and placed the call.
Scully, meanwhile, overlooked the situation in order to see what she needed to tend to first. Mulder seemed to be breathing okay for now...a cut on his arm was bleeding heavily. That had to be controlled. She pulled off her jacket and applied pressure. His other arm was at such an odd angle...it had to be broken. A sharp piece of metal had ripped diagonally across his face, leaving a jagged cut.
The blood soaked through her jacket...the bleeding wasn't letting up. Med school had taught her to only use a tourniquet as a last resort...but the situation was getting desperate. And desperate times called for equally desperate measures. With one hand, she ripped a strip of cloth off the bottom of her blouse, and used that. The bleeding slowed to a small trickle. But she couldn't leave it on too long. Of course, she also couldn't take it off until they got to a hospital. She hoped the EMT's would get there soon.
Mulder blinked his eyes open for just a second, and they looked soulfully at one another for a moment before he lost consciousness again.

The woman who'd been helping them out came up behind Scully, and put the cell phone in her purse for her, seeing that the agent's hands were otherwise occupied. "Can I help you at all? I'm a nurse. My name's Vicki. Vicki Bennett."
Scully spared a fraction of a second to look back at Vicki before returning her attention to her wounded partner. "That works out well enough--I'm a doctor. Could you help me find something to splint his arm with?"
"Sure." Vicki scrounged around the area and quickly located a small board. Not ideal, but it would work for then. "Now we just need something to secure it with...wait a minute. I've got an idea. Her eyes widened with inspiration, and she proceeded to pull two ribbons out of her purse.
After they'd applied the makeshift splint, Scully took a step back to survey the situation. Vicki watched her carefully for a reaction, which she got once they heard a siren in the distance.
"Good," Scully sighed, wanting to believe it was the help they'd summoned, "they're almost here. We've got to get him to the hospital." She reached out and rested two fingers on Mulder's neck, checking his pulse again. Swearing softly, she tried checking it in his wrist, then back at the carotid. "God, *no*. Mulder..."

Thinking quickly, Scully unbuckled the seat belt, and enlisted Vicki's help in getting him out of the car. She hadn't wanted to move him yet, but she no longer had a choice. Not if she wanted him to live.
As she started CPR, Scully could hear the ambulance pulling up. The paramedics allowed her to continue while they got their equipment ready and charged. Completing a cycle, Scully paused to check Mulder's pulse again. No change.

"It's not working," she hissed, sounding as defeated as she felt, and moving back to let the medics work on him. They tried to revive him, tried all the measures available to them. Nothing worked.
"He's gone," one of the EMT's announced flatly, regret evident in his voice. "I'm sorry."
"No," Scully whispered, her voice sounding choked with dirt from the grave. "No, we can't give up!" She moved closer, intending to start CPR again, but Vicki gently eased her back.
"It's too late," Vicki told her, sympathy filling the words. "I'm so sorry." In the short time the nurse had met these two, she had been able to sense their emotional closeness, the depth of their bond.
But Scully didn't hear the latter words. "No," she whispered again, the word almost having become something of a mantra to her. "No, no, it can't be, this isn't happening. Not now. Not like this. Not after all we've been through." She began to cry, and no one could do anything to console her.

Frohike let go of her hand, taking a step back as Scully walked off. He really cared for her--even if it wasn't the love he thought it was. She was so broken up about this...he wished there were something he could do. He wasn't alone, though.
Scully managed to get through the rest of the funeral, somehow...teary-eyed, staring blankly ahead. It was her only coping mechanism--just not thinking about it. She thought it divine intervention that she didn't completely fall apart.
When it was over, she stood alone again with the Lone Gunmen, after bidding her mother and Skinner goodbye. Her mother had wanted to stay with her, but Scully had told her that wouldn't be necessary; she'd be all right. In all honesty, she didn't want to have to face the sympathy-filled looks she knew her mother would be giving her. The less she had to remind her that her partner was gone--and that he wasn't coming back this time--the better.

Scully looked from Frohike to Byers, then behind her at Langly. "C'mon, you guys, let's go. I don't really feel like sticking around here."
"Yeah," Frohike agreed. "You're not the only one who's sick of it."

As it turned out, she hadn't driven herself, but caught a ride with her mother, so she decided to head back to her hotel with the Gunmen. Coincidentally (or perhaps not), they were staying there too--albeit on a different floor. Scully got into the van, and sat in the back, next to the most adoring of her "public".
It just so happened that she had to go into her purse for something a minute later, and when she did, it was just her luck that the first thing she saw was a picture. Of her and Mulder. As "Rob" and "Laura", from their Arcadia case. They were smiling, happy--the perfect yuppie couple. It was too much for her to handle at the moment. She began to sob softly. Frohike reached out to her, and she collapsed into his arms, weeping bitterly for the partner she'd lost.

"Leave me alone," he called out, not caring if the person on the other side was the President of the United States, or even God Almighty Himself. Okay, so maybe in the latter event, he might have cared. He had a few complaints in the "handling of human affairs" department.
Of course, it wasn't either one. It was Marita Corruvbias. Mulder stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her through the peephole, and almost forgot to open the door in his shock. It had been a very long time since he'd seen her last.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, after he finally had opened the door.
Marita grinned slyly, pushing a shock of pale blonde hair away from her face. "And hello to you too, Agent Mulder," was her wry reply. "Mind if I come in?"
"Yeah, sure...of course." Mulder stepped back to let her in. "What brings you here?"
"I heard about Agent Scully," Marita answered, stepping in to shut the door behind her. "I came by to express my sympathies. I'd have come to the funeral, but it would have been too high profile for me--I trust you understand."
Mulder nodded, still a little surprised. Marita was definitely more sympathetic than his last informant, X...if not exactly around as often. Deep Throat had a little more compassion for the agent and his interests...but he'd also been a friend of the family for years beforehand...never mind. Marita was here, it was now, and she hadn't come all the way from New York City just to say she was sorry about Scully's death. "Is there something else?"
"Always so suspicious, Mulder..." Marita sighed, more to herself than Mulder. "That's not necessarily a bad thing, though. Keeps you alive sometimes. Well, in any case, you're right. There *is* something else."
"And that would be...?"
"I know where Alex Krycek is. And he probably knows where Lawson is. Are you interested?"
Mulder couldn't believe his luck--if you wanted to call it that. "Of course I am. Why didn't you just call me, though?"
"I had some business in Washington," Marita replied breezily, not really wanting to discuss it. Or perhaps she wasn't at liberty to. She *did* work for the UN... "In any case, Mulder, you'll want to be heading to Alexandria."
"You say that like it's such a long trip." Mulder half-grinned--the closest he'd come to smiling since Scully's death. "Alexandria's, like, five minutes from here...could he *be* that stupid?"
"Sometimes the most ridiculous place to hide is the best," Marita advised. "I believe he's taken a room at the Embassy Suites."
"The one on Diagonal Road?" Mulder asked.
"That's the one," Marita confirmed. "He has an alias--Nicky Leanski. Try it. I'm giving you this information because I want to help...and I want a small measure of revenge."
"Revenge?"
"You know what they say about a woman scorned, Mr. Mulder."
Mulder had intended to inquire further into the exact relationship been Marita Corruvbias and Alex Krycek, but at that point decided he no longer had any great need to know. He stepped closer to Marita. "Tell me what you know."
The UN operative chuckled softly. "I knew you'd be interested. Let's sit. This might take a few minutes."

--R.S.

Scully sat at the kitchen table in her apartment, taking care of the "simple things"...the everyday, mindless tasks... Funny, now they seemed to require a tremendous amount of effort. Since Mulder had died, everything seemed to require a tremendous amount of effort--including breathing. There wasn't a moment that went by that she didn't think of him, didn't wish she had the whole horrible day to do over. She'd have stalled him, she'd have insisted in driving...she'd have done *something*. But the past was the past, and she knew one couldn't change the past, even for all the wishful thinking in the world.
At least she knew it intellectually. The emotional side of her psyche was having a harder time grasping the concept.
She was cleaning her gun...it was something she could do fairly automatically. It didn't require a lot of thought. Mindless fluff it may not have been, but she had never really liked mindless fluff. She needed to at least feel she'd accomplished something during the day.
Her mother was staying at the apartment...Margaret was, quite frankly, concerned for her daughter's state of mind. A lot of people were. Dana had been withdrawn and brooding ever since Mulder's death...as though she were angry at the world. Margaret didn't blame her. To lose someone you cared about so much so suddenly...she'd had it happen to her too many times before. She knew the pain all too well. It was one of the worst things that anyone could go through.
Back in the kitchen, Scully had just finished wiping down the interior surfaces of her weapon and was reassembling it...all that was left to do was reload. She put one bullet back in the chamber, and stared at it.
**C'mon, Mulder,** came a voice from her memory--Robert Patrick Modell, aka Pusher. **One pull of the trigger. One pull.**
She remembered that day so vividly...recalled her barely contained fear as Mulder had put the gun to his own head. She had been terrified that his pull of the trigger would be the loaded one. That he'd die. But he hadn't died...not then. She almost wanted to die now.
Not entirely sure why she was doing it, Scully spun the chamber around and snapped it shut. With an unsteady hand, she picked up the gun. A one-in-six chance.
**Come on, Dana,** she reasoned with herself. **You've survived much worse odds before!** More times than she cared to remember. **It won't kill you. Not the first shot. Just try it once. Mulder didn't die then...and, besides, would dying really be so bad?**
It would sure be a lot better that what she now called her life. But what kind of a life was it? Without Mulder, she was nothing. She had loved him--almost desperately so. Why had she only realized it now? Why had it taken such tragedy for her to wake up and see the light?
Mulder had been the light of her life. Had that light blinded her to the simple truth?
Hand still shaking, she raised the revolver, and put it to her temple, breathing heavily. Why was she doing this?
**Shoot her,** Modell's voice rang clear in her mind again. **Shoot her, Mulder.**
But he hadn't shot her. Had he loved her too?
Well, now she'd never know.
But, strangely enough, Scully couldn't bring herself to pull the trigger. She was afraid. Afraid of what would happen. Her grip on the handgun tightened. Five out of six times, she'd be perfectly fine. But there was always that one...
Cautiously (and still questioning her own motives), she held the gun out slightly in front of her, and fired, just to see what would happen.
The kickback from the fired round surprised her. It would have been the one...oh, God, it would have been the one! Had she pulled that trigger before, she'd be dead. The realization of it all caused her to burst into tears.
Margaret had come running as soon as she'd heard the shot. She found her daughter sitting in the kitchen, holding the gun in her hand...her small frame racked with violent sobs.

"It would have been the one..." she managed to say between breaths, "just like last time. It would have...oh, my God."

Margaret quickly surmised what had happened. She had no idea what "last time" meant...but she had figured out that her daughter had just nearly killed herself. She folded her little girl into her arms. "Oh, baby..."
"Mom..." Scully whimpered, clutching her mother fiercely, "I, I, it..."
"I know, Dana, I know," Margaret soothed, holding her tight. "It's okay...everything's going to be all right now. I'll help you, sweetie...I'll always be here."
She continued to whisper words of comfort, rocking with her child until, finally, Dana cried herself to sleep.

Things haven't been the same without you
I know that it's the truth
I wonder, can you see me?
Kneeling at your tomb?
I made a bed of roses,
But flowers can't express
This emotion that I'm feeling--
I'm drowning in loneliness.
I wish that God would take me
To be up there with you
And if you weren't there...
I'd go anywhere for you.
Always and forever,
You know that I'll be true.

I know that you're not gone,
I heard you yesterday...
Whispering in the wind,
I thought I heard you say,
"Angels never die,
We only fade away.
And if you look around,
You'll see us everyday."

I'll love you always, girl.

--R.S.

Mulder tried to ignore the silent tears that were streaming down his cheeks. A line from a song he'd only caught snatches of came back to him... "Why did you have to die?" It was completely, perfectly appropriate.
"I loved you," he whispered, resting his forehead against the cool marble of the grave. "Did you know?"
**Did you love me?**
He sat back, and felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. Mulder looked up, his paranoid nature momentarily taking over as he wondered who on earth would have the audacity to...oh, it was Frohike.
"You okay, Mulder?" the hacker-theorist asked.
"I'll live," Mulder answered. "What about you?"
"Hey, life goes on," Frohike muttered, obviously trying to sidestep his true feelings. He was terrible at that. Always had been. He glanced over at Scully's grave, emotion filling his eyes. It was then Mulder saw just how deeply the man really had cared for Scully.
"Rest in peace, sweetheart," Frohike whispered, not knowing that Mulder had overheard. He looked back at the FBI agent. "She was one of the best...stuff like this shouldn't happen to people like her."
**Tell me about it,** Mulder thought, but he merely nodded. "Where are Langly and Byers?"
"I came alone," Frohike replied. He didn't elaborate, so Mulder didn't push him on it.
"It's been awhile, huh?" Mulder asked, knowing Frohike would know he meant the time since they seen each other last. Not extraordinarily long, admittedly...but when they were used to it being on the average of once a week at least...
"We were at the funeral," Frohike told him.
Mulder looked back up, apologetic. "I'm sorry...I guess I just didn't see you."
Frohike smiled at him sympathetically, sharing the pain. "As I recall, Mulder, you weren't seeing much of anything that day."
"Ain't that the truth." He stood up, and walked away wordlessly, knowing Frohike would understand.

It was good to have friends who would be supportive and sympathize with you...but nonetheless, Mulder was starting to wonder just whether or not life was really worthwhile anymore. He wasn't going to kill himself, though...no, committing suicide would be too easy. And, besides, if he died, who--bedsides the Gunmen--would ensure that Rutger Lawson would eventually pay for what he'd done?

"Danie," Margaret told her, holding her hand, "you don't have to do this right away. Give yourself some time, honey."

Margaret had reverted to a childhood nickname...but rather than feeling patronized by this, as she normally would be, Scully found herself oddly comforted by it.
Stopping outside the door, Scully pulled her keys out of her pocket, unlocked the door marked "Fox Mulder, Special Agent". He had offered to have it changed one time...but she had turned him down. It wasn't not wanting to be identified with him and his X-Files--no, not that at all. She just knew that they had become something of a packaged set by that time. No one ever mentioned one without at least thinking of the other.

"I *do* have to do this, Mom," Scully answered. "I have to face the fact that he's gone."
"I think you've faced that already," Margaret told her. "It's time to heal, darling."
"This'll help," Scully assured her, smiling bravely. **At least I hope it will. I'd give anything not to feel this pain anymore.**

She swung the door open, and walked inside. The office was exactly as Mulder had left it before they'd gone to Massachusetts...in other words, complete chaos. Heck of the matter was, it was an *organized* chaos. Mulder had known exactly where everything was all of the time. He'd had yet to teach his partner his rather unique filing system.
The "I Want to Believe" poster jumped out at her first of all. That was the summary of what this work was all about...Mulder's need to believe that the truth was out there...that his sister was safe and sound somewhere out there. That he would be reunited with Samantha one day.
Maybe he was now.
But...no. Samantha couldn't be dead. She just couldn't. Scully was not about to accept the possibility that everything Mulder had worked for...everything he'd been through...even his *death* had been in vain. No! That was *not* an option.
If he'd had to die, he should have at least died for *something*.
Sunflower seeds sprinkled across the desk...he'd been in too much of a hurry to pick them up. Knowing Mulder, he'd probably have just eaten them when they got back. Scully could never understand just what it was he loved so much about those stupid things.
Not that any of that mattered now.
She had been doing okay up to that point--all things considered--but Scully began to sob softly when she opened the top left-hand drawer of the desk. It was the more personal side of Mulder's office; she had known that already. But she had never known exactly what it was he'd kept there. Now she knew.
There was the photo she must've seen a thousand times...the one of Samantha he so cherished. The cloth heart from the infamous "paper hearts" case was still there. All in all, the items inside the desk at the time of the office fire had held up fairly well.
And then there was the photo that had (once again) brought her to tears. It was a picture, from a time the Lone Gunmen had talked Mulder and Scully into going to New Mexico with them to investigate a claim of a top-secret government project...somewhere outside of Albuquerque. If it existed, it was well hidden--*very* well hidden, because they never found it. But there had been some *adventures* on the way out. Such as Byers not knowing that the brownie that "nice" Mexican fellow had sold him was actually peyote-laced...and Frohike not volunteering any information...

"That man was high as a freaking kite by the time we made it to Destiny..." she recalled.
"Where?" Margaret asked, having overheard.
"Destiny, New Mexico..." Scully answered. "It's a long story..."
Margaret grinned wryly. "I'll bet."

Scully glanced down at the snapshot. She and Mulder had fallen asleep in the backseat of the van...leaning up against each other. When the insomniac slept (willingly), it was a rare moment...Scully recalled watching him sleep until she herself had drifted off. She assumed Frohike had snapped the picture. Her suspicions were further advanced when she saw the writing on the back. It was in Frohike's handwriting...
"Mulder, I hope you know you're breaking my heart! But you obviously make her happy--keep it that way."
Margaret came over and, seeing the photo, wrapped her arms around her daughter. "Baby, it's tough, I know...but you'll get through this. One of these mornings, things will look better. I promise, Dana."
"Mom..." Scully managed to say between sniffles, "it's not going to be okay. I loved him, Mom. He was the best thing I ever had...and I never told him. I never *told* him, Mom!"
"He knew," Margaret assured her. "Believe me, honey, he knew. I don't see how he could have missed it."
"How can you be so sure?"
Margaret's last words, whispered soothingly, definitely struck a chord with her daughter. "Because it was always so obvious."

"What brings you to the castle of no return?" Mulder asked darkly, his tone as despondent as his mood.
"Actually," Skinner countered, "*I'm* surprised that *you're* here. Weren't you going to take some time off?"
"I did," Mulder muttered. "Still am, actually...I just had to come here for something...I forgot what it was..."
Skinner left his position at the threshold, and walked across the office. He put a hand on Mulder's shoulder. "Listen...I know you miss her. I miss her too. But slowly killing yourself like this isn't going to bring her back."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I think you know exactly what I mean," Skinner countered. "Have you even eaten in the past three days?"
"I wasn't hungry..." Mulder insisted.
"That's what I mean, Mulder." Skinner sighed, a mixture of frustration and concern. "I'm not *even* going to ask if you've slept, because I already know the answer to that question. You look like death warmed over...I'm just worried about you, is all. I've already lost Scully; I don't want to end up losing you too."
"I'm fine." Mulder repeated Scully's catch phrase from the previous seven years. His attempts to placate his supervisor didn't work out very well, though--probably because he was just as transparent as his partner had always been.
"You are *not*, and don't even try convincing me otherwise. Just go home, okay? Relax, take some time to deal with this...and, for God's sake, take care of yourself!" Knowing full well that his insistences had more than likely fallen on deaf ears, the AD left the office. He didn't know what else to do. He hated to see the man so miserable, but Skinner knew there wasn't anything he could do to help Mulder until the agent was willing to help himself.

Suddenly, Skinner figured out what the problem was. Mulder had finally realized (and possibly come to terms with) his feelings for Scully.
Now, Skinner had never been a big fan of inter-office romance, and usually tried to discourage it, but he'd seen the way those two had gazed at each other when they didn't think anyone else was looking. But love really was blind in their case...neither one of them realized just how crazy they were about each other.
And now Mulder realized it.
Now that it was too late to do anything about it.
Why was fate so cruel?
Skinner reached the elevator, but just before he got in, he turned around and went back to the office at the end of the hall. He stuck his head in the door again.

"Hey, Mulder."
Mulder took up, despair evident in his expression. "Yeah, yeah, I'm going..."
"No, that's not it. There's something I think you need to know."
"And what would that be?"
"She *did* love you."

And leaving the agent with that particular bit of information to reflect upon, Skinner walked away.

"Oh, Chuck..." Dana sobbed, accepting his comforting embrace. "I'm absolutely lost without him."

Chuck. She never called him that. Charlie, sometimes...but not Chuck. Only when she was *really* upset. Which she definitely was now.

"Oh, Danny," Charles pacified her, using his pet name for his sister, "you'll survive. You're a fighter. I mean, Billy didn't give me *all* those bruises growing up!"
She laughed mirthlessly. "Screw Billy. He doesn't care. He's probably glad Mulder's dead."
Charles didn't want to flat-out *lie* to her...but did stretching the truth a little count? "He's just worried about your safety, Dana. I'm sure he didn't want Mulder to *die*..."
"Yeah. Sure, fine, whatever." She didn't really care anymore.
Charles got up, and started heading toward the kitchen. "I'm just going to get a small snack. You want something?" She needed to eat, but Charles felt that being subtle would work a lot better than forcing the issue. He was at least rewarded by a raised eyebrow.
"You, Charlie? Small snack? This, coming from the child who finished off a bag of potato chips at the age of three?"
He rolled his eyes. "*Half* a bag, okay, Danny? You're exaggerating. And you're dodging the question besides. Do you want something or don't you?"
"Thanks, but no. I'm not really hungry."

He should've expected this. But he wasn't going to push it just yet. He'd give her some time. Like another couple hours or so. He'd persuade her eventually, though. Just turn on the old charm, and...
**Yeah, Charlie, right. In your dreams. She's as stubborn as any other member of this family. She won't do anything 'till she's good and ready.**
Charles rejoined her in her living room, and tried to hold back a small smile as his sister reached out to turn the radio on. As least she was showing some level of interest in the outside world again. He was worried for a while that she was going to start becoming agoraphobic or something.
Things progressed fairly smoothly (at least in Charles' opinion) until the song on the radio switched from "Monday, Monday"--which actually elicited the tiniest of smiles from her, for reasons Charles couldn't understand--to "Dead Man's Curve". Her facial expression became stormy...azure eyes narrowed. This wasn't a good thing.
Uncharacteristic, sheer, unbidden anger flashed across her features, as she grabbed the clock radio, and winged it into the nearest wall. Charles yelped in surprise.

"I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!!!!" Dana screamed, to the heavens, or anyone else who would listen. The shattered radio laid there on the floor, unnoticed by either of the room's occupants.

Charles once again gathered his sister into his arms, and offered a silent prayer heavenward. From the looks of things, it was going to be another *very* long night.

So like her, to be concerned about him in the midst of her own personal crisis. She had done most of her crying when she'd first gotten the news...but she knew it was only now hitting him.
Denial wasn't just a river in Egypt anymore. Actually, it had become something of an art form in recent days.

"Um, no, not since..." Well, since the funeral. Why remind her?
"Oh. Billy hasn't talked to him, has he?"
Charles swallowed. He did not particularly relish the idea of lying to his mother...but he also didn't want to worry her...

Bill had talked to Mulder. Yeah, they'd had a real nice little one-sided chat. Suffice it to say, it was Bill's side. And "sorry SOB" (his insult of choice during Dana's battle with cancer) was about as *good* as it had gotten.
Margaret seemed to sense this. "Oh, wonderful. That's just *wonderful*. He already blames himself for Dana's death, now he's just going to blame himself even more...thanks a lot, Bill." With this, she exited the room.
Dang...he'd never heard his mother so sarcastic. It intrigued and worried him at the same time.
The phone rang. From his mother's words and tone of voice, Charles assumed it to be Mulder. This was only confirmed when she called him "Fox."
Shutting off his laptop, Charles sat back with a sigh. He wanted to go home. He wanted Hanna. He wanted his sisters back so life could go back to normal. But what was normal to begin with? How far back did one have to go?

Love can touch us one time
And last for a lifetime
And never let go 'till we want.
Love was when I loved you,
One true time I hold to
In my life, we'll always go on.

"My Heart Will Go On". Celine Dion's song. The "love theme" to Titanic. She loved that movie...had dragged Mulder to see it Valentine's Day 1998. Something of a "pity date", admittedly...they had both gone with each other because they didn't want to be alone. And neither of them had a date. They'd done that the year before, too...'98 was when they realized it was going to be a tradition. It had been a Saturday. Chilly. She remembered the tragic end of the movie...the sweet, concerned look Mulder had given her as she'd cried her eyes out. To him, it was a movie. To her (although she'd never have admitted it at the time) it was a possibility. That she could allow herself to get so close to a person who would be suddenly snatched from her.
Well, it had happened now, hadn't it? But Rose survived after losing Jack...and as tough as it was going to be after losing Mulder, Scully knew she was going to have to survive. She would never give up the X-Files if she could help it...she would carry the torch. She would learn of Samantha's fate. She would find the Smoking Man and bring him to justice. Heck, maybe she could even kick Krycek's butt one day. Just for old times' sake--and to settle a score.
She had loved Mulder. She had unknowingly given him her heart, but now as the song said, her heart was going to have to go on.
Scully didn't intend to start calling herself Dana Mulder just yet, though. Sometimes a good thing could be taken too far.
And besides which, Bill would probably never speak to her again.

"How do you like it?!" Mulder demanded, going for his gun. "How do you like it when they sneak up on you and attack?! How do you think *Scully* liked it when you put that knife in her?!"

Lawson muttered something in German. Mulder, fully enraged, allowed himself a small, twisted smile. Revenge would be sweet.

"I think you just called me a bad name," Mulder mumbled to himself, recalling the time he'd said those words to Krycek. And what had happened then? He'd ended up in a Russian prison. Well, not this time. This time, *he* was going to come out on top. He kicked Lawson once, in the ribs, fairly hard.
Lawson saw his opportunity a second later, and managed to trip Mulder, allowing himself the time to jump to his feet. He swung at the agent. Mulder--running on pure adrenaline--easily ducked the blow, and caught Lawson with another one under the chin, knocking him over again.

"That was for my partner," Mulder explained casually. He kicked Lawson again, catching him just under the ribs. "That was for me." He bent down to help Lawson up, and stuck the gun in his face. "And this--well, I suppose it's for both of us."
"Now, uh, Mulder..." Lawson began, reverting to English, "I can--"
"You can what?! You can explain? Oh, yeah, right, you were just doing your job. I'm going to kill you anyway, so you might as well tell me the truth. Why'd you kill her?"

The words had changed slightly, but the situation was still the same as it had been on that cool April night nearly five years ago. Scully had been there then. She'd shot him--ironically enough, to protect him.

"But she's not here now, is she?" Mulder mused. His glare returned to Lawson. "And we both know why. Just tell me why you killed her!"
"Because," Lawson countered, an evil gleam in his eye, "it was *fun*. I enjoyed it. Seeing her squirm so helplessly, that beautiful crimson blood everywhere..."

That was the last straw. It was more than Mulder could take. He pulled the trigger.
And the world fell to pieces around him.

"So," a voice said. "You're awake. Enjoy your dreams?"
"What?!" Mulder asked, completely clueless.
"Well, Mr. Mulder," reply came back, "you've been having some interesting dreams from the looks of your REM patterns. Care to let me in on the details? Or don't I have to ask?"
Suddenly, Mulder recognized the voice. It was one of the Japanese scientists who'd helped experiment on Scully during her abduction.
"You won't get anything out of me!" Mulder maintained, feeling the surge of vehemence return. He'd wanted to get his hands on these people for years. "You wanted Lawson to kill her, didn't you? To cover up your tests! You already gave her cancer, and she just barely survived that! Is that why you give these women cancer? Is it?! To kill them so there won't be any proof left?!"
"If you'll recall," the scientist sighed, sounding bored, "there was a chip implanted in your precious Agent Scully's neck--as with all the women we've used in our research. It wasn't *our* fault they had them removed."
"Wouldn't you have?!" Mulder demanded. He'd probably have hit this guy in his self-righteous face if his arms hadn't been tied down. "And is that all they are to you? Research tools? Lab rats? Well, some people out there care about them, you know! They have family! Friends! People who love them!"
"Like yourself?" the man suggested.
"Yes!" Mulder hissed.
"We didn't do everything, you realize," the scientist explained. "After all, Agent Mulder, we're only helping in this venture. "In any case, you should know that my name is Thai Jun. *Doctor* Thai Jun, if it means anything to you. We're doing some research into dream patterns and the subconscious--you and your partner were perfect for it. And I'll let you up if you promise not to do anything rash."
**No promises,** Mulder thought, but made his face the perfect picture of innocence. "I promise."
"Good," Jun responded, and undid the restraints. Mulder took his shot when he had it. He shoved Jun away and into a nearby table, stunning the scientist. With this, he ran out the door, hoping he'd be able to quickly locate a fast way out.

I think I got 'em, plus a few extras! Okay, I couldn't resist the woman-scorned thing. Actually, I think Lacye was, at the time, being a smart aleck, as usual. But, hey, it gets results! :) As for the medical/anatomy info in the story...I love Mosby's Medical Encyclopedia! But I'm going to be a doctor, so I suppose it's good practice. *Smiles wryly*
Okay, I'm rambling, sorry. Tend to do that when I'm wrapping up. Thanks for bearing with me, hope to hear from you. Share with me, people!

Kate
5/17/00