AUTHOR: Kate M (also Kathryn Ravvin) 
E-MAIL: Enigma806@aol.com 
TITLE: "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" 
RATING: PG-13 (No drugs, no sex, rather mild gore...mainly for the one Russian Roulette scene.) 
I prefer to err on the side of caution...you don't get your butt sued that way! (I might throw in a little 
rock-'n'-roll... :-P) 
SUMMARY: On the most romantic day of the year, Mulder and Scully face the toughest moments 
of their lives. 
FEEDBACK: Yes! Yes! YES!!!!! It really does mean a lot to me. And I *do* respond. You have 
to understand, we authors...our egos require a lot of stroking...I accept constructive criticism, too. 
Flames will be saved for the purpose of burning my Euclidean geometry texts. If you want to use 
any or all of this story for something, contact me. 
ORGANIZATION: I'm a drifter... (I'd have said "FBI", but I don't need any legal trouble!) 
KEYWORDS (CATEGORY): Valentine's Day, MSR, major angst, torture (both M&S), Ratboy 
returns...whatever else you might want to read into it...(plus minor UST). 
DISCLAIMER: Chris Carter is god of anything and everything XF. I bow in humble subjection 
before him, 1013, and FOX. I'm not worthy. I'm taking their characters (not mine, I said, NOT 
MINE!--oh, that hurt...) out to play for a little while...I'm not making any money off this! I'll return 
them when I'm done. I promise. Except maybe Mulder. Just kidding, you can have him back too. 
And, much as I hate it, I'll even clean up. Deal? Okay! Good, then! Thanks! No infringement 
intended. Any songs mentioned here are also not mine, unless otherwise noted. 
DISCLAIMER 2: The poems quoted in here are by a friend of mine, Ryan Scott. I don't intend to 
take credit for 'em, although I wish I could. They're really good! 
ARCHIVE: Yes, please, definitely, but please tell me first, so I don't accidentally repost later. And 
feel free to pass this along, as long as my name stays attached. 
SPOILERS: Not really...unless you count one of Scully's speculations as a reference to "Closure". 
But you probably won't think anything of it unless you've seen the episode. Oh, wait, there's one for 
"Pusher" and "Anasazi". And a tiny one for "The End","Paper Hearts", and "731". The others are just 
"obscure references". 
SEASON NOTE: Really, this is supposed to be 7th season--it presumes that Valentine's Day was 
*before* "Sein Und Zeit", however. Otherwise, a lot of stuff would contrast continuity. 
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Hope you enjoy this...even if I'm still a little ticked over the fact that fictional 
characters are seeing more romance than I am! :-P It might get a little depressing, but things *do* 
work out, eventually...I promise. I don't write *too* many Valentine's Day stories of destruction...
really! I swear it! Okay, fine, then, don't believe me. One other thing...in certain spots, I'm going for 
a sort of parallelism... *please* don't think of me as simply repetitive! Okay, 'nuff said, now on to 
the story! 
************************************************************************ 
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. < he thought, < 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. < 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! 
XXXXXXXX 
Boston, Massachusetts 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." < Not that the last part of that would have been such a bad thing. He *was* sort of 
cute... 
XXXXXXXX
 Mulder and Grace were soon approached by the man they both worked for--each in their own 
way. And, of course, Grace was a little more likely not to tick the man off. But Mulder ticked a lot 
of people off, so that was something he was used to. The FBI's "most unwanted", the agency 
maverick...Fox Mulder would never be completely controlled. Not even by the certain female agent 
assigned to keep him in line and out of his superiors' hair. The man approaching was none other than 
Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner. He looked...well, Mulder wasn't entirely sure *how* he 
looked. Like his dog had run away or something. Okay, so maybe that wasn't a very apt 
comparison. But, then, Mulder didn't exactly specialize in apt comparisons (unless they somehow 
pertained to the extraterrestrial or otherwise strange). "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." < Mulder 
wondered, slightly indignant. < 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. < 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. 
XXXXXXXX 
Teena Mulder sat alone in the lobby, looking as lost (and depressed) as Scully felt. Scully was 
surprised to see her, but not precisely thunderstruck. After all, Boston wasn't that far from the 
Vineyard. And Teena still went up to the Vineyard fairly often, despite everything. "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. 
XXXXXXXX 
Mulder approached the casket, Margaret by his side. His need to know prevailed over his 
apprehension about finding out. Margaret squeezed his hand. Mulder looked. Suddenly, all the 
breath rushed out of him, and he stumbled backward in a combination of shock and horror.
Margaret helped him to sit, suddenly having become the comforter instead of the comforted. It was 
his worst nightmare come to life. The one thing he had hoped never in his life to have to face. It was 
Scully. 
XXXXXXXX 
Scully's surprise over finding herself at a funeral was only superseded by her surprise at also finding 
Walter Skinner there. "Sir?" she asked, hopelessly trying to make sense of it all. He hugged her. "I'm 
sorry. I really am. I know how tough this has to be for you." 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..." < 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. 
XXXXXXXX
 Walter Skinner observed the situation passively, debating his own feelings on the whole matter. 
Scully's death had shaken him...maybe not so much as it had her mother--or Mulder--but it had 
definitely affected him. He'd seen entirely too much death in his life--first in Vietnam, then in the FBI. 
Unfortunately, with the work he'd found himself tied to...the "shadow government" Mulder so actively 
pursued...the killers were rarely caught. And, even if they were, they were rarely brought to justice.
< Skinner mused. < He turned just in time to see Scully's mother helping Mulder to sit down. The 
agent looked shocked, horrified...the same way he'd looked just after his partner had been killed. 
Had it finally hit him? That wasn't an unlikely scenario. If there was one thing Skinner had learned on 
this subject throughout the years, it was that the mind seldom accepted things it didn't want to 
believe...at least not right off the bat. 
XXXXXXXX 
Walter Skinner quickly found himself with an armful of Dana Scully. He caught her fast, before she 
could hit the floor, and momentarily wondered just what he was going to do next. Once he regained 
his senses, Skinner picked her up. He lifted her slight form into his arms as easily as he would a child. 
She was so tiny, now that he actually considered it... It made him wonder how this woman had ever 
decided that the FBI was the right place to her to make the difference she so desperately wanted to 
make. Scully loved her work...but with her partner's cruel fate, would that now change? With all 
she'd survived, all she'd been through...had it been Mulder convincing her to stay all along? Just by 
his very presence? In one moment, could all of that have changed? If there was one thing Skinner 
had learned through his association with the X-Files, it was that nothing was impossible. 
XXXXXXXX 
Margaret Scully eased Fox Mulder down into a seat. Her heart went out to him. She'd lost her 
daughter...and he'd lost his best friend. Not that there was really any form of comparison between 
the two, but Fox had been extraordinarily close to Dana. A bond such as the one that existed 
between them couldn't be broken except by death. That had happened, but some shards of the 
broken dreams still remained...they always would. And, most importantly, Dana's memory would 
live on. What was it someone had said about death once? "Death is a state in which we exist only in 
the memories of others, so it's not really an end. No goodbyes, just good memories." Gone but not 
forgotten indeed. There was only one thing Margaret couldn't figure out, though--why Fox had 
seemed so shocked to see Dana. Maybe part of it was denial...not wanting to accept the fact that 
she was truly gone...but even that explanation was somewhat lacking. How could he not remember? 
After all, he'd been right in the middle of it. 
XXXXXXXX 
Margaret Scully rushed over as she saw her daughter collapse. She followed Skinner out into the 
hallway, and kneeled beside him as he gently laid Dana on the floor. Poor thing. She'd taken Fox's 
death awfully hard...not that Margaret had honestly expected any less. The two of them were so 
close...they had an incredible bond. And now that bond had been broken--snapped suddenly, 
without any prior warning. Dana would survive, of course--she'd always been a survivor. And she'd 
have her memories. That helped. Having lost too many people in her lifetime already, Margaret knew 
that sometimes, the memories were all that sustained you. Only one thing puzzled her. Why had Dana 
been so surprised? She'd been right there when it had happened. 
XXXXXXXX 
End pt. 1/4 
"Every Rose Has Its Thorn" pt. 2/4
XXXXXXXX 
< Mulder told himself slowly, still recovering from the jolt he'd just received. < He didn't want to 
attempt anything more difficult just yet. "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." 
< 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?" 
XXXXXXXX 
When Scully gradually blinked her eyes open again, she found herself staring at the ceiling. Voices 
talked nearby, moderately hushed. She couldn't quite make out the words... She tried to sit up, 
cautiously, and felt a hand on her shoulder. She was also able to see the sources of the voices. Her 
mother knelt on one side of her, Skinner on the other. Both looked concerned. "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?" 
XXXXXXXX 
"You really don't remember?" Charles asked. Mulder shook his head. "No--I don't. I can't remember 
a thing about it. I--I have to know, Charles." "Understandable," Charles allowed. "Are you sure 
you're all right, though? I can't believe you don't remember." "I'm okay," Mulder insisted. "Please, 
just tell me what happened." 
XXXXXXXX 
Langly put his hand on Scully's shoulder, as Byers moved closer. Both looked concerned. Scully 
couldn't quite see Frohike's face, but the way his grip on her arm changed...she could tell he was 
worried too. "You don't remember?" Langly asked, a lock of his long blond hair falling diagonally 
across his face. He blew it away impatiently. "No," Scully replied. "Really, I don't. I need to know, 
you guys. If he's dead, I at least want to know how he died. I haven't got a clue--do you realize how 
*frustrating* that is?" She realized a second later she was on the verge of going into a tirade, and quit 
there. Frohike spoke next. "Dana, honey--you were smack dab in the center of things. You don't 
remember anything about it?" "I just said that!" She decided to ignore the "honey" and his use of her 
first name for the time being. "Okay, calm down," Byers said, his voice soothing. It mildly irritated 
her. She didn't *want* to feel better! Her partner was *dead*, for God's sake! "We'll fill you in. Just 
come over here...sit down." Scully followed him, allowing herself to be led over to a seat. The Lone 
Gunmen began to tell her the tragic story. 
XXXXXXXX 
"Now I wasn't there, of course," Charles began, "so I'm just telling you what was told to me." "I'll 
take it," Mulder said, a hint of desperation edging its way into his voice. "Please, just tell me." 
"Okay...now where do I begin?" Charles wondered aloud. "How about the beginning?" Mulder 
suggested. It seemed as good a place as any. "Sounds logical enough," Charles agreed. As Mulder 
listened to Charles tell the story, something happened. He began to remember. 
XXXXXXXX 
As the Lone Gunmen filled Scully in on the events surrounding Mulder's death, a funny thing 
occurred. It all started coming back to her. 
XXXXXXXX 
Cautiously, Mulder crept down the darkened alleyway, Scully close behind him. He didn't like it here. 
He didn't like the ominous silence that seemed to hang overhead. He didn't like the implications. But 
he'd come searching for the truth, and he wanted to find it. No danger could turn him back from 
*that* mission. And, as much as he hated to willingly drag Scully into a situation he knew to be 
perilous, he needed her. As she'd informed him any number of times before, his taking on these 
cases alone usually ended up with his getting hurt. That didn't mean he hadn't warned her 
beforehand--he'd learned the hazards of not doing that long ago. Alex Krycek was back. And he 
had an associate this time. A man of German descent named Rutger Lawson. Mulder couldn't say 
for sure, but he was positively convinced that Lawson was the neo-Nazi type. He just acted that 
way. Krycek had promised some information he'd gleaned from the stolen digital tape, the MJ 
files--information pertaining to Samantha's disappearance. And Krycek had lied, as usual. Nothing 
surprising about that. Mulder had still gotten *some* information from another source, however--that 
same day, by sheer coincidence. He and Scully were leaving for Chilmark, Massachusetts the next 
morning to follow the lead. But first, this little matter had to be taken care of. 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..." < 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. 
XXXXXXXX 
Everything was going well enough, right then at least. Scully sighed softly, climbed into the 
passenger's seat of the rented Ford Taurus, and shut the door. Was it just her, or did it seem like 
they *always* ended up renting a Taurus? Who knew? She looked over at her partner, who--
characteristically--was lost in thought. "Hey, Mulder! Want me to drive?" "Oh, no, it's fine," he 
insisted, quickly snapping out of his self-induced trance. "Besides, Scully, I know my way around 
Boston better than you do." "That's true," Scully allowed. "As long as you don't give me that crap 
about my 'little feet' not being big enough to reach the pedals!" "Now would *I* do that to you...
again?" Mulder's expression was pure innocence. He turned the car on, and started driving. 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." < Scully 
thought, < 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. 
XXXXXXXX 
He cradled her limp body in his arms, holding her as though sheer force of human will could breathe 
life back into her body, bring back a sparkle to the blue eyes that had once blazed so brightly. The 
paramedics *did* arrive--very soon after that, in fact. They worked on her for what seemed like 
hours, trying to bring her back...but it was all to no avail. Mulder watched, almost dumbfounded, as 
one of the paramedics scribbled his notes on the case. < he thought, trying to muster up as much 
clinical detachment as possible--and failing miserably. <<"D.O.A." I must've seen those words a 
thousand times before. Never bothered me before. After all, I work in law enforcement. It's all part 
of the job description. I never gave it a second thought. But now I can't keep my mind off it. Now 
it's personal. But why Scully? Why *her*? Some questions would never be answered. His partner--
the woman he entrusted his life to every day, the woman who had become the best friend he'd ever 
had--was dead. Killed by an "unknown assassin"...at least that's what the official reports would say. 
But Mulder knew it had been Rutger Lawson. Lawson would never leave enough clues to convict 
himself--but Mulder knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Lawson had been the one to deal Dana 
Scully her final blow. And Mulder was going to make him pay. Even if it were the last thing he ever 
did.
XXXXXXXX 
< The words echoed through Scully's mind as she came to consciousness. She tried to lift her head 
and groaned quietly when she was rewarded for her efforts by a throbbing headache. She blinked 
several times, trying to clear her vision. There was something warm and thick running in her eyes. 
Pressing a hand to her face, Scully realized that it was blood--from a cut on her forehead. "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. 
XXXXXXXX 
"Every Rose Has Its Thorn" pt. 3/4 
XXXXXXXX 
Charles looked at Mulder, deep blue eyes meeting green. "You remember now, don't you?" The 
agent nodded. "Yeah, it came back to me--in all-too-vivid detail, unfortunately. How could you tell?" 
Charles shrugged. "Wasn't too hard. You're not exactly transparent, but you kind of faded out a few 
minutes ago--it was obvious you were remembering *something*. It didn't take much to guess what 
that something was." Margaret rejoined them then, making a clear effort to keep herself together. "I 
still don't believe it. I want to believe this is all some kind of horrible dream, but..." "Don't worry, 
Mrs. Scully," Mulder assured Margaret, putting an arm around her shoulders, "I'll find him. I'm going 
to find him and I'm going to make him pay." "Find who?" Margaret asked. "The man who did this to 
her." She looked up at him, teary-eyed, daring to hope. "But they said they don't *know* who it 
was. That they probably won't be able to find him." "*I* know who it was," Mulder told her. "His 
name's Rutger Lawson. I'm not sure how to find him--but I will. I promise you that. I owe it to 
Dana. I owe it to myself." "Just don't get yourself into anything you can't handle, Fox," Margaret 
advised. "I want to see justice served just a much as you do. But I don't want you getting hurt." "I'll 
be careful," Mulder promised, standing up. He walked back to the side of his fallen companion. She 
was still beautiful, even in death. Fiery auburn hair framed a perfect porcelain cheek, and she looked 
so...well, peaceful. It was a side of her he had rarely been able to see. He wished he weren't seeing 
it now, like this. He sensed, rather than saw, Margaret join him. "Maybe it's just maternal prejudice," 
she began, "but I swear, even now...she still looks like an angel." "Yeah," Mulder agreed, thinking 
the description perfectly appropriate, "she *does* look like an angel." He sighed softly--a sigh filled 
with grief-tinged angst. "A sleeping angel." He brushed his hand across her cheek, then bent down, 
kissing her forehead. "I'm sorry; I tried." "I know you did," Margaret replied, thinking his words had 
been intended for her. "It wasn't your fault. You did what you could; don't blame yourself for that." 
"'What I could'," Mulder echoed, his voice turning bitter. "I couldn't really *do* much of anything." 
"You called an ambulance," Margaret offered. "You tried to stop the bleeding." "Anybody with half a 
brain could've done that." Mulder pushed a boyish lock of hair away from his brow. "I didn't really 
do much for her except be holding her when she died." "You never know, Fox," Margaret 
encouraged him, walking away. "Maybe that was all she really wanted." 
XXXXXXXX 
Scully opened her eyes, trying to push away the terrible memories. Frohike's hand had moved from 
Scully's arm to her shoulder, but--for once--she didn't mind. "I'm okay," Scully whispered, squeezing 
his hand just slightly, and fighting her tears. "I, uh...oh, who am I trying to fool? I'm not okay. I'm 
having a really tough time absorbing this." "That's perfectly natural," Byers assured her. She barely 
heard him, though. "You're remembering, aren't you?" Langly asked. Scully just nodded. No other 
explanation was necessary. The Lone Gunmen understood. They, of all people, knew the depth of 
the unique relationship that had existed between Dana Scully and Fox Mulder--if anyone really did.
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. 
XXXXXXXX
 ***TWO DAYS LATER*** 
February 16 
XXXXXXXX 
"Another day, another dollar, another chance to allow the whole world to tick you off," 
Mulder muttered to himself, waking up to one the most beautiful February mornings Arlington, 
Virginia, had to offer. The sunlight was streaming in through his window; there was barely a cloud in 
the sky. And this was really getting on his nerves, as nothing else ever could. He was angry at the 
injustice of the world, and then it had to go and be so freaking pretty! Pretty, as in attractive, as in 
downright gorgeous...like a certain someone he couldn't seem to push out of his thoughts. By sheer 
dumb luck, he happened to glance over at the top of his entertainment center and see a picture. A 
picture that had been taken in much happier days--shortly before Scully had learned of her cancer. 
Before that stupid fight they'd had...before everything had started going...well, going wrong. Not that 
things had ever been completely right in the first place... In the photograph, she was leaning back 
against him contentedly, smiling that cute, sweet, enigmatic little half-smile of hers. She didn't seem to 
have a care in the world, if only for that one precious moment. Mulder desperately wanted that 
moment back. He slammed the photo frame against the wood, shattering the glass. "It's not fair...it's 
just not fair." How many times had he said those words over the past two days? How many times 
had he thought them? Far too many to count, that was for sure. Someone knocked on his door. 
"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 
between 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." 
XXXXXXXX 
I've been so dizzy since you've gone Those spinning tires that took your life... 
Well, they crashed my world too. 
Now I'm playing Russian Roulette, Hoping that I'll win-- 
'Cause it's so hard to take 
This new life I'm living in. Ironic how that spinning killed us both...
 The wheels on your car... 
This pretty spinning bullet could take me home. 
It's just like when I touched your sleeping face (The barrel), cold and stiff.
I could squeeze your "hand", And--bang--be on my way. I love you. 
--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. < 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. < she reasoned with herself. <<You've survived much worse odds before! More 
times than she cared to remember. < 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? < Modell's voice rang clear in her mind again. < 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. 
XXXXXXXX 
Alex Krycek was a smart man after all. He'd hightailed it out of Alexandria before Mulder could 
catch up with him. Now Mulder was alone again...but he hadn't gone home. He was kneeling in the 
freshly cultivated dirt of St. Peter's Memorial Park...looking, with tears in his eyes, at the headstone 
belonging to the woman he'd loved. He *had* loved her, even if he'd only now realized it. There it 
was, right in front of him...her name, Dana Katherine Scully, glaring back out at him from the cold, 
hard stone...the dates 1964-2000...symbolizing the span of a life that had ended much too soon. 
She was there, next to her sister... Men who would never taste true justice had murdered both of 
them. Mulder set down the flowers he'd been holding--the flowers he'd picked up when he'd realized 
that his apartment was the last place he wanted to go. Because, there, he'd be forced to face the 
loneliness. He'd be forced to face life without the presence of a woman who had been his everything 
for the better part of seven years. There were two bouquets...one, the usual one he brought for 
Melissa--the ones she'd always surrounded herself with. The other bouquet was of white roses...
Scully's favorite. She'd loved white roses, although she had never mentioned it to Mulder directly. 
But he was her partner...he made it his duty to find out these things. And Margaret had been more 
than happy to volunteer the information upon request. 
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?" < 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." 
< 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? 
XXXXXXXX 
The next day, Scully actually worked up the courage from somewhere deep inside herself to go back 
to the office. That office in the basement of the J. Edgar Hoover building, where she and Mulder had 
shared laughter, shared tears...and had their fair share of arguments. Her throat tightened 
involuntarily. God, she missed him. "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. < 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." 
XXXXXXXX 
Mulder sank back into the chair behind his desk, dejected and alone. He didn't even have enough 
fight left in him to lean back and prop his feet up on the desk rebelliously. Besides, Scully had 
always warned him that he'd break his neck doing that one day. There was a knock on the door that 
was already open. Mulder looked up to see his boss standing in the doorway. "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. 
XXXXXXXX 
"Every Rose Has Its Thorn" pt. 4/4 
XXXXXXXX 
Charles Scully put his arm around his sister, exhaling slowly. This was a tough week for him, just 
watching her go through everything. Dana was normally so string, so tough, so independent. Seeing 
her fall apart like this was difficult. No, it scared him beyond belief. She was an emotional wreck...
and Bill sure wasn't much help. He hated Mulder...his theory was that once Dana got past her grief, 
she'd be better off without him in the long run. Oh, he'd never mentioned this to her face...but she 
sensed it. His mother was pretty upset too...Charles got the sense that she had more or less adopted 
the man as one of her own...losing him now was like losing another child. So, all in all, the past week 
had been pretty lousy. He almost wished he hadn't come for vacation *this* week--but, then, he 
was glad that he was able to be there to help them get through this. "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...
< 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. 
XXXXXXXX 
"Charlie?" Only because it was his mother did Charles Scully look up. He'd had too much going on 
in the past week, too many people to deal with, too many factors to be considered. He'd had to be 
the strong one thus far...with Bill stuck out at sea and unable to get back in time for Dana's funeral, 
Charles had to sort of take over as the older brother. Be there for Mom. Make sure everyone was 
okay. Figure out what exactly he was supposed to do with Fox Mulder... In this respect, Charles 
was glad that he was the one handling things. The man would surely have been dead by now if things 
were up to Bill. "Yeah, Mom?" Charles looked back at his laptop for one second, and hit the "send"
button again for the e-mail. Nothing. < he thought, with no small amount of sarcasm. < Sure, it was 
trivializing things. But until he got home and could sort things out with his wife Hanna, trivializing 
things seemed the only way to stay sane. "Have you talked to Fox recently?" 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? 
XXXXXXXX 
Scully resigned herself to the fact that: a.) She was going to have to get a new clock radio b.) Her 
brother Charles was now seriously doubting her sanity, and c.) Her life was going to have to go on. 
She realized by now that this was her classic "response" to these things, more or less...sink to the 
depths of depression for a few days, totally break down...then get on with her life. Even after the 
worst of tragedies, life always went on. It would always go on.
 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. 
XXXXXXXX 
A tiny spark of light shone through the bleakness Mulder was now calling his life. He saw a shadowy 
figure sneaking along the alleyway just outside his apartment. Déjà vu. It was Krycek! Had to be! 
No, wait, that was last time. This man was slightly taller, a little more muscular, and not quite as light 
on his feet. Lawson! It was Lawson. Mulder recognized him immediately, and took full advantage of 
the element of surprise. Rutger Lawson had about two inches and twenty-five pounds on Mulder, 
but Mulder snuck up behind him, and was able to tackle him easily. "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. 
XXXXXXXX
 Scully sighed deeply. Picking up the tattered pieces of broken dreams was never an easy task...and 
piecing them back together again was harder. But she had begun to believe that maybe...just maybe...
she was going to be able to pull it off once again. She, like Mary Tyler Moore, would "make it after 
all." It wasn't going to be simple--and nothing in her life was ever trouble-free--but she could do this. 
She was going to have to. After all, if Fox Mulder couldn't chase after all those lights in the sky 
anymore, she was going to have to do it for him. Oh, she'd be a bit more cautious than he was, a 
little more skeptical as always, and a little more discerning...but she'd also try to be a little more open 
to extreme possibilities. After all, as improbable as it was, as unlikely--maybe one of those lights 
*wouldn't* be Venus. She highly doubted it...but, then, which one of them had been right, "like, 
98.9% of the time"? That was when the world shattered around her. Not like in the accident...but, 
truthfully, the pieces of the world around her cracked and broke apart. What the heck...? 
XXXXXXXX
Mulder blinked, and looked around. His head hurt...and his arms were strapped down. < was his 
first thought. But there were no monitors beeping, and Scully was nowhere in sight. < Suddenly, he 
realized that he had no clue what he'd done after he'd shot Lawson. He didn't even know if Lawson 
was dead or not. Probably was...the gun had been aimed at Lawson's chest. But then again, in his 
blind fury, Mulder's aim could have been way off. "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." < 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. 
XXXXXXXX 
Scully moaned softly and batted her eyes open. Wow...whatever she'd taken had a kick to it. She 
turned her head slightly to the left, and screamed. One of the scientists she vaguely recognized from 
her abduction was standing right next to her. "Miss Scully," he greeted her. "You're awake. Very 
good." "What have you done with me?!" she challenged him. "I won't let you! Not again!" He blew 
air between his lips in a very uninterested manner. "You can certainly get your Irish up, can't you? 
Shouldn't surprise me...redheads can be like that." He walked over, and started to undo the straps 
on her upper arms. "Just a little dream research, my dear. You and your partner made ideal 
subjects. And besides which, I liked you. Hated to let you go. But with that nasty little incident with 
the Purity Control...we had to get you to a hospital." "*What*...*on*...*earth*...*are*...*you*...
*talking*...*about*?" Scully growled at him, each word laced with pure acid. "Long story," he said 
dismissively. "And you're not ready for it. Trust me." "I wouldn't trust you any farther than I could 
throw you." Scully sat up on the table, and glared at her captor. She'd been through this crap once 
before, and once was enough. More than enough. "Were they with you? The two people in the 
Dodge? Were they trying to kill Mulder?" "Believe what you like, dear," the scientist informed her. 
"In any case, my name is..." He didn't get the chance to tell her, because she surprised him with a 
quick blow to the jaw, and shoved him against a cabinet, letting him hit his head just enough to 
knock him out. "Never again," she told him, every word venom. "*Never*. And don't call me '
dear'!" She ran out the door.
 XXXXXXXX 
Mulder raced down the hallway, wishing he had a better idea of where he was so he could get out. 
XXXXXXXX 
Scully raced down the hallway, wishing she had a better idea of where she was so she could get out.
XXXXXXXX 
In his hurry, Mulder didn't see the small auburn-haired woman headed straight for him. 
XXXXXXXX 
In her hurry, Scully didn't see the tall brown-haired man headed straight for her. 
XXXXXXXX 
Mulder ran straight into her, falling backwards. 
XXXXXXXX 
Scully ran straight into him, falling backwards. 
XXXXXXXX 
Mulder looked up. "Miss, I'm so sorry..." He broke off as he realized just who it was. 
XXXXXXXX 
Scully looked up. "I'm so sorry, sir..." She broke off as she realized just who it was. 
XXXXXXXX 
"*Scully*?!" 
XXXXXXXX 
"*Mulder*?!" 
XXXXXXXX 
"I thought you were dead!" they both exclaimed. "*I* was dead?" they asked in unison, then started 
laughing. Mulder stood up, and helped Scully to her felt. They embraced instantly. "So how did I 
die?" Scully asked casually. Mulder was caught off-guard. "Um...some guy named Rutger Lawson 
stabbed you..." A thought occurred to him. "What about me? How did I die?" Scully shrugged. "Car 
accident. But I think it was set up." "You, Scully? Maybe we've been together for too long!" 
He paused. "Car accident. Sheesh. After all these years, I'd expect something a little more exotic. 
But oh, well. They question is, since we're both not dead, obviously, what really happened?" They 
both thought about this, and came up with the same answer at the same time. "Dream research!" 
"They planted those thoughts in our minds..." Scully explained, just in case her partner hadn't figured 
it out. "Yeah, I got it," he assured her. "Let's get out of here, G-woman." "I'm all for that. Too bad 
we missed Valentine's Day." He checked his watch. "Actually, we didn't. It's still February 14. Let's 
get out of here...and we'll catch a movie or something. Your choice." "Wow, thanks. Sounds good 
to me, G-man. And since it *is* Valentine's Day...I want to tell you that I love you. Right here, right
 now. No drugs. Really, I do love you." "That's good," Mulder answered, "because I love you too. I 
meant it when I said it the first time. I've always loved you, Scully." They stopped a moment to share 
a sweet kiss--filled with promise for the future. And both knew that they would never take the other 
for granted again. 
XXXXXXXX 
THE END 
XXXXXXXX 
EPILOGUE: Two days later, Skinner's office (Note: if you haven't seen "Field Trip", you might not 
get this.) "Welcome back, Agents," the AD told them, grinning. He smiled at the file in his hand. "It's 
certainly a are day when both of you sign off on the same report. It was only Japanese scientists? 
No aliens, Mulder?" "Not this time, sir," Mulder replied, smiling. "That's not to say that they're not 
out there." Something occurred to him. "Rare day...the same report...Scully? You don't think that...?" 
"Mulder," his partner answered firmly, "don't even *think* it." 
XXXXXXXX
 END NOTES: I can't remember what date I started this on, but after what has to be about 4 
months of work (not to mention the time I toyed with the idea beforehand), I finally completed this 
story on May 17, 2000. It's been my pet project, and I'm particularly proud of it. I need feedback, 
people, please. But now I also need a new pet project! Ah, well, that's what fanfic challenges are 
for, right? *Grins* I know I can always count on the Church of X! And my friend Lacye, who has 
been my editor, proofreader, and critique since the beginning. In fact, she was reading over my 
shoulder as I typed out the first sentences one lazy afternoon during Journalism class... And she, of 
course, hit me several times with my own work (she hates Mulder Torture about as much as I love 
it--but at least does admit he's at his cutest when he's hurt), refused to speak to me for nearly 15 
minutes, screamed in shock, came close to shedding a few tears (don't think no one saw ya, Lace!) 
:p, and made me re-write the scene with Vicki giving Scully her cell phone back about 4 times until it 
met her satisfaction, enlisting the opinions of others to convince me that I was blind as a bat in this 
case, she was right, and I'd better change it! Thanks, Lacye, I really do appreciate it--especially all 
those words of encouragement when I was feeling a bit unsure about the work itself. Yeah, sure, the 
scene with Marita is kind of a lull, but, hey, it's just one scene. I'm grateful, really. So, Lacye, this 
one's for you! Yeah, I dedicated a whole *story* to you, girl. (She'll be insufferable for at least a 
month...and Shauna's gonna kick my @$$ if I don't dedicate something to her soon--then there's 
Beth...what have I gotten myself into?) :-P In fact, it was a comment Lacye made to me several 
months ago (before this little gem was even a figment of my all-too-overactive imagination) that 
helped out a lot here. She told me I should write a fic that had the following in it: Krycek (Evil 
shouldn't look so good!) Frohike's crush on Scully (as if I could forget...my little Frog Prince!) 
Mentions of Samantha MSR (right, like I was gonna leave that 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