LOOSE ENDS
by Lara Silver
(Laura Castellano)

laurita_castellano@yahoo.com

Now for something completely new and different:

Category: MSR, Humor (I hope)

Rating: R for language

Disclaimer:  No, they're not mine.  Yes, I wish they were.  CC is one
lucky man.

Warning: Lots of character death, but nobody I think the readers will be
too sorry to see go ;-)

Notes: This is meant to be sick humor.  I hope it succeeds.  Don't
bother taking anything you read here too seriously.  Oh, and I'd like to
thank my beta reader, arcticfox, for all her hard work and input.

Summary:  Scully is dying, but before she goes, she's going to tie up
some loose ends in Mulder's life.

*********

Monday, April 30

*********

I, Dana Scully, am making a list and checking it twice.  Except all the
people on my list have been naughty, no question.  And they're all gonna
get what they deserve.

I saw him near tears today and it almost broke my heart.  He's been so
upset about my deteriorating condition anyway, and then when someone
from VCS came down to seek his help on a case they're not smart enough
to solve on their own, it almost all came to a head.  These lesser
mortals can't simply ask politely for the assistance they need, first
they have to call him names and say things to make him feel two feet
tall.  I wanted to grind Tom Colton's face on the floor when he
commented that maybe Mulder could use my help on this one before he
managed to lose me again.

Mulder's face went completely white.  Colton probably didn't know how
bad my cancer has gotten lately, to give the worm a little credit.  He
probably didn't know that Mulder and I spend about an hour each evening
at my place just sitting on my couch and holding each other, not
speaking about things neither of us can bear to discuss.  Mulder drives
me to and from work now, because making my way through the heavy traffic
exhausts me, and we both want to keep that important fact from Skinner
so I'm not put on medical leave.  We want to spend these last few,
precious weeks together.  So when Colton made his ill-timed comment, I
wanted to shove him out the door of our office, ass-first. Instead, I
guided him gently toward the door, keeping an eye on Mulder the entire
time in case my partner decided to pull out his weapon and shoot Colton.
Or himself.  Fox Mulder cannot always be trusted around a firearm these
days.

Colton goes at the top of my list.

Then Spender, if I can ever track him down.  And all the people who have
hurt Mulder in the past and never been punished for it.  As soon as the
idea came to me I grabbed a pen and began writing furiously.  That slut,
Diana.  Kersh.  Cancerman.  Krycek.  That other slut, Phoebe Greene.
I'm sure she's still around, no doubt screwing some unsuspecting,
married British nobleman these days.  Or maybe more than one.  I added
Teena Mulder's name to my list, then crossed it off.  Even though the
woman has neglected Mulder horribly throughout his life, he was awfully
upset when she had her stroke and he thought he might lose her.  If
anything happened to her now, so close to losing me, it might send him
right over the edge.

I suppose we have to cut family some slack.  Well, Mulder's family,
anyway, although if I could track down that woman who passed herself off
as his sister the *last* time I was dying of cancer, I'd take care of
her as well.  My family, on the other hand, doesn't require the same
consideration, and I added my brother Bill's name to the list without
hestiation.  I never did like the little shit.

Through a minor miracle I have come into possession of a firearm
registered to Spender.  (You do *not* need to know how, Mulder, so
forget it.  Yeah, I know this is my journal, but I also know you'll read
these files after I'm gone.  You're the only other person on Earth who
knows my password.)  We all thought Spender was dead, but recent events
have made us doubt that fact.  Well, recent events coupled with the fact
that no body was ever found.  We've been down this road before.  I think
he's gone into hiding with the help of his father, one C.G.B. Spender
(among various other aliases). Well I'll make sure that he'll never be
able to resurface. I'm going to make it look like he's the one who did
it all. Just a little icing on the cake for old Jeffrey.  He deserves
it, the weasel.  He'd have let Mulder die there in the Bermuda Triangle.
Up until that day I was sure there must be a human being hidden down
inside him somewhere, but now I know better.

It's a good thing I'm a professional.  I can actually frame someone else
and make it look *good*--not like the majority of stupid criminals the
Bureau deals with on a daily basis.  I suppose one has to have a few
non-functioning brain cells to engage in a life of crime anyway, but we
have seen some incredibly dense perpetrators in our careers.  I'll bet I
get away with this.  Even if they did think I might be guilty, who would
seriously suspect Special Agent Dana Scully of the F.B.I.?  She's such a
*tiny* woman.  And besides, she's *sick*.

And, as a final protection, on the off-chance that they do figure out
it's me--what are they gonna do about it, throw me in jail?  I have
maybe two months to live at best.  They'd hardly get me settled into a
jail cell before they'd have to put me in the hospital anyway.  And
besides, it wouldn't be the first time I went to jail for Mulder's
benefit.  I can stand this.  I can stand anything for him; after all,
I'm dying. What I can't stand is to leave him all alone, unprotected and
defenseless against those who would seek to do him harm.

I've protected him all these years--now that I can't be around for him
any longer, my only option is to remove the threats.  All of them.

I thought of one more thing I wanted to do before I went on my killing
spree, and this afternoon I did it.  All the times I've fantasized about
taking Mulder right there on his desk, and today I made it a reality.

Poor Mulder never knew what hit him.  I locked the door to our office
and backed him up against the wall, enjoying the confused look in those
beautiful eyes of his.

"Scully...?" he began hesitantly, and I never let him say another word.
I attacked with the ferocity of a madwoman, letting him feel all the
things I've been hiding for too many years.  My body pressed against his
from head to toe, my mouth devouring him, and I could feel that he
wanted me too.  I ground myself against him and was rewarded with a
small moan.  I reveled in that moan.  He was finally going to be mine.

After all, I was dying.  What difference would it make if we screwed
like bunnies for as long as I was able?  What were they going to do,
suspend me?

I suckled on that delicious neck of his, acting out on all the fantasies
I'd been weaving over our years together.  I've always had a thing for
Mulder's long and graceful neck, and I let my mouth enjoy it to my
heart's content.  And those luscious lips of his, lips that should come
with a surgeon general's warning.  I felt his hands come up, trying
weakly to push me away, and I slapped them back down to his sides.  If
Mulder thought he was getting out of this, he was crazy. He'd told me
once that he loved me.  Now it was my turn.  Only I intended to *show*
him.  No time to waste, not now.  I'm dying.

I loosened the knot of his tie and started on his shirt buttons, feeling
his breathing grow more ragged with each passing moment.  I wanted to
open his shirt slowly, dragging out the torment, teasing him until he
begged me to put him out of his misery, but I didn't have the time or
the patience. Instead, I grabbed his collar with both hands and pulled,
ripping the shirt open down the front, ignoring the couple of buttons
that bounced off into hidden corners of the office.  At last, his
delectable chest was bared for me (thank goodness he wasn't wearing one
of his undershirts today!) and I ran my hands over it, fulfilling
another fantasy.  I licked and nipped my way back up to his mouth, still
holding him firmly against the wall.  The stiffness in his pants was
even more obvious now, and I smiled inwardly.  We'd been building up to
this for such a long time; I was going to make sure it was worth it for
both of us.

Once I had him so crazed he couldn't possibly have resisted me, I
grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket and pulled him over to the desk.
Ignoring the way pencils and papers scattered, I slid my bottom across
it until I was able to hook my ankles around his waist.  I reached for
his belt and his hands grabbed mine.

"Don't you dare try to stop me, Mulder," I growled, and with a nod and a
beautiful smile, he finally gave me what I really wanted.  It was wild,
ecstatic, frenzied, and I plan to have a lot more of it before I die.

Tomorrow I begin.

******

Tuesday, May 1

******

Colton really will be first, I've decided, simply because he's ugly and
I don't like him.  And Mulder wasn't himself all day yesterday after
Colton's comments.  Our little roll on top of his desk probably
accounted for a bit of his differing mood, but not the troubling,
melancholy silence into which he sank later in the evening.

I've been trying to convince Mulder that living without me won't be so
bad, but I'm sure I've been totally unsuccessful.  He listens to my
efforts with mournful eyes, and when I'm done he only pulls me closer
and holds me tighter.  If there truly is an afterlife, I expect Mulder
to join me there not long after I depart this Earth.  I can think of
worse things.  Maybe there we can be together the way we've always
wanted to be.

I arrived at work late this morning due to a traffic jam on the Beltway.
At least that's my cover story.  Mulder knows what time I arrived,
because as usual I rode in with him, but should anyone ask, that is the
alibi I'll provide.  Not that I expect anyone to ask.  What would they
say?

'Excuse me, Agent Scully, don't mean to bother you while your precious
time on earth ticks quickly away, but did you by any chance shoot Agent
Colton while he was sitting on the toilet this morning?'

Just typing those words brings a smile to my face.  Mulder just glanced
over at me and smiled back, a weak version of his usual dazzler.  He's
looking awfully pale and tired himself these days.  We'll be lucky if
Skinner doesn't decide to put *him* on medical leave.  I know he wonders
what I've been typing so frantically into my laptop the last couple of
days, and I have refused to answer his carefully phrased questions.  He
can't just come right out and ask me--that wouldn't be playing the game
that we have established over the years.  He must deduce, explore, and
in the end give the impression that he has read my mind.  On the other
hand, maybe the man *has* learned to read my mind.  If so I certainly
hope he doesn't try to stop me, for I am a woman with a mission and no
one can stop a Scully woman once she's made a decision.

But back to Colton.  It was really so incredibly easy.  I manufactured
an excuse to visit his area this morning--a quite plausible excuse, I
assure you, I'm no dummy--and simply bided my time.  I watched while he
downed three donuts and four cups of coffee, and knew the result was
inevitable.  Sure enough, twenty minutes after I arrived I saw him head
down the hall in the direction of the men's restroom.

It was that time of the morning that was most desirable for my task--not
quite lunchtime, but enough past the beginning of the day that people
had settled comfortably into their work and were less likely to take a
bathroom break.  After I watched him enter the restroom, its door
swinging slowly shut behind him, I carefully glanced around to make
certain I was unobserved.  Fingering the weapon inside my coat pocket, I
slipped inside, breathing a sigh of relief when I found the room
unoccupied except for one telltale pair of shoes and its owner.

There's a funny thing about men's restrooms--women don't know this as a
rule, but Mulder has mentioned, on occasion, how embarrassing it can be.
Lots of them don't bother putting doors on the stalls.  Weird, huh? As
women we are never burdened with this affront to our modesty, but then
we are referring to the gender that likes to stand in front of a urinal
and whip it out for everyone to see.  Maybe it's an ego thing; maybe
they spend the time comparing size.  Whatever the reason, I was glad of
it this morning, because I wanted that bastard to see my face when he
died.

I moved as silently as possible and soon stood before him, shielded by
the newspaper he was reading.  I made certain Spender's weapon, complete
with a silencer (also procured from a place you don't need to know
about, Mulder) was ready to fire.  Then I spoke.

"Tom?" I said gently.

The fact that he'd never heard me enter, coupled with the surprise of
hearing a distinctly female voice in this all-male domain, caused him to
jerk the newspaper down in surprise.  He didn't even have time to blush
fully before I put my bullet through his ugly face.

No more smirking comments from you, Tom Colton.

Oh, and by the way, did you want to donate your liver?

*****

Oh, it's tragic.  The sadness, the dismay we are all feeling this
afternoon as one of our colleagues has fallen!  And in such an
undignified manner, too.  Ballistics claims the bullet came from a
weapon registered to one Special Agent Jeffery Spender, previously
believed dead, whereabouts currently unknown.

I always knew Spender was a slimy bastard who couldn't be trusted.

******

Thursday, May 3

******

Hmmmm....let's see.  Who's next, who's next?  I've put out feelers in an
attempt to locate Alex Krycek, but so far have met with no success.  His
murder will be the last, I think, and definitely the biggest.  I plan to
torture him interminably before I finally do him the favor of separating
his evil soul from its sorry body.  He deserves a lot more for the pain
he's caused both Mulder and me, as well as Skinner and countless others.

I'll need to let things die down a bit here before I try someone else on
the premises.  Maybe I won't do that at all, but getting away after
hours to complete the task will only become more difficult as my cancer
progresses through its last stages.

I've decided to let Bill live out of deference to Mom--if I killed him
she would only have one child left.  I suppose she deserves the same
consideration I've given to Mulder where his mother is concerned, so
Bill is off the hook--sort of.  I'm still considering hiring some guys
to beat the shit out of him.  In fact, I think I've talked myself into
it.  Mulder has a couple of somewhat shady sources that he consults on
occasion; perhaps one of them might point a lady in the right direction.

Phoebe will be impossible for me to visit in person, so it's a letter
bomb for her.  Frohike, on pain of a promised death of he talks, has
agreed to help with the construction of said device.  With the
understanding,  of course, that if we are discovered all blame is to be
placed solely on me.  Can't pin this one on Spender no matter how I
try--he'd have no reason to kill her.

Kersh is going to be a problem as well, unless I can catch him taking a
convenient crap too.  That one will require some thought.

That leaves, let's see...oh my, the lovely Agent Fowley.  Now this one
ought to be fun.  I think I'll dispense with the firearm for this
particular person as well.  Guess Spender isn't going to be as guilty as
I'd originally planned, but even the murder of one FBI agent should
pretty much send him away for life.  Kersh.  I'll make sure Kersh is a
Jeffery special.  That ought to send Special Agent Fuckface Spender to
death row quicker than lightning.  When they find him.

So, back to Fowley.  I'd know what I'd like to do, but unfortunately I
don't have the time.  I'd like to tie her down and slowly pull out every
hair on her body, one strand at a time.  Then I'd take a very sharp
knife and remove her epidermis, inch by inch.  Then I'd cover her in
salt.

Alas, that would take too much planning and a lot more privacy than I
can hope for.  I wish I could do something to her hair, though, she's so
damn proud of it.  Acid, perhaps.  Some type of acid that I could douse
her with.  Maybe I'll enlist Frohike's help again.  The little weasel
had better come through after all I've done for him.  He owes me big.

Hmmm....that reminds me.  I think I'll have Mulder for lunch again
today.

******

Friday, May 4

******

Acid it is.  Frohike came through like a real pal.  He even provided me
with several gallons of the stuff; God knows where he got it.  I don't
even remember the name of it...something long and medical-sounding that
I should know, but my mind isn't at its sharpest these days.  Sometimes
it's all I can do to keep myself focused on the task at hand.

Mulder has turned out to be such a popular menu item that I'm planning
to repeat it yet again today.  This time, though, he'll have to be my
afternoon snack.  He has a meeting scheduled over lunchtime, and that's
fine with me.  I have a date with Melvin Frohike.  Just hope Mulder
doesn't realize I've swiped his lockpick set.

*****

All set.  Remember that old trick of rigging a bucket full of water to
fall down on the first unsuspecting person to open a door?  Well when
Miss Diana Fowley returns home this evening she's going to get the shock
of her life.  The very *last* shock of her life.  Hehehehe.  Oops,
Mulder is watching me laugh again, and getting curious.  Better have
that snack now.  He's looking particularly yummy today in his blue dress
shirt and the tie I gave him for his last birthday.

Can't write more now.  I'm hungry.

******

Monday, May 7

******

We spent a quiet morning in our office, coming up for air around
lunchtime.  Mulder has gotten used to my sudden attacks on his clothing,
and seems to find them as enjoyable as I.  To my surprise and delight he
wasn't wearing any boxers beneath his suit today.  His shy grin told me
he hoped I'd be pleased, and I expressed my gratitude for his
thoughtfulness in a number of ways.  We were both ready for sustenance
by noon.

The buzz in the cafeteria reached us immediately, and several sets of
eyes fastened on us as soon as we entered the room.  Many people knew of
the past relationship between Mulder and Diana--most of them knew more
about it than I did--and a hush fell over the tables around us when we
sat down to eat.  Finally I could stand the suspense no longer; I didn't
yet know how well my plan had worked.

"Hey, Ruby, what's going on?" I casually asked a co-worker as she
passed.  Ruby Dillon is a sweet soul, an elderly secretary who has
worked for the FBI since Hoover was a pup, so to speak.  She's the
source you want to probe in order to get all the current gossip, and she
has a soft spot for Mulder and me.

Glancing around hastily, she pulled up a chair, her face solemn.

"Oh, Agent Scully, Agent Mulder, didn't you hear?  It's just horrible!"

We both shook our heads, me with the most innocent expression I could
muster.

"Agent Fowley...someone attacked her right in her own home Friday night!
They threw some horrible type of acid all over her."

"Is she dead?" I asked, perhaps a bit too quickly, judging by Mulder's
glance my way.

"No, but she's in the hospital in terrible condition, and her beautiful
face..."  She put her head down and sobbed, and I rubbed her shoulder
sympathetically.  Ruby loves everyone, and I'm sure she has no idea what
a truly twisted bitch Diana is.

Mulder had a shocked look on his face, and I reached out my other hand
across the table to take his.

"I'm sorry, Mulder," I said with the utmost sincerity. "I know what she
meant to you."

He nodded, dazed, and I resolved to make him forget his troubles
tonight.

Next up, brother Billy.

******

Wednesday, May 9

******

Mom left for California today after stopping by to see me, full of tears
and hugs.  My poor, sweet big brother, who has always been so supportive
of me in everything I've wanted to do, was attacked by three unknown
assailants last night and beaten within an inch of his life. The doctors
have assured Mom that he'll survive, but his pretty face may never be
the same.  Such a tragedy.  I suppose those men who beat him were sorry
sons of bitches.

Mulder looked at me curiously and asked if I didn't want to
accompany Mom to California to be with the family, but I declined,
saying I wasn't up to such a long trip.  That part was the truth.

My other reason for refusing, the one I neglected to mention to Mulder,
was that I'm expecting word from the guys about Krycek at any minute.
Apparently he's out of the country right now, but that didn't stop me
where Phoebe is...er...was concerned.

What is the world coming to when a Scotland Yard Inspector can be blown
to bits at her front door while opening a letter that she was certain
came from her current love-interest?  I'm sure His Lordship's Lady has
been giving him hell since the news hit the London Times yesterday.  I
don't believe Mulder has heard the story yet, and coming on the heels of
the Diana incident I would consider it unwise to mention this to him.
What he doesn't know can't hurt him.  Neither can Phoebe, Diana, Bill,
or Tom Colton.

Kersh is next.  Then Krycek's sorry ass.  And I've decided exactly what
to do with him.  I'm going to have him sold into slavery.  I hear the
wealthy men in some of the third-world countries of the world can be
quite strict with their boys.  And very protective of them; he'll never
see the light of day again.

*****

Friday, May 11

*****

I had to let Frohike kiss me, but it was worth it--he found Krycek for
me.  The Rat Bastard, as Mulder likes to refer to him, is in Kazakstan.
No doubt cleaning up another Consortium mess.  Now all I have to do is
arrange for his abduction and his ass is...well...no longer his own.
Frohike has come through admirably in everything I've asked of him, and
really, I owe him something big.  I know what he'd like, but that
belongs to Mulder alone.  I may be desperate for help, but I'll be
damned if I'm *that* desperate.

I'm planning to catch Kersh on Sunday while his family is at church.
During the time I should be at church myself.  I'm sure God will
understand.

And now, time for my snack.  I find Mulder addictive; the more I get of
his delicious body the less time I can endure between a fix.  I think
I'll talk him into spending the night with me tonight.  That's one step
we haven't yet taken.

******

Sunday, May 13

******

Mulder ended up spending the weekend, and we never got dressed on
Saturday at all.  We woke up, showered away the remnants of our
passionate night together, then spent the rest of the day naked in each
other's arms.  My strength is fading quickly now, and I fear my doctor's
two-month estimate may be cut short.  I might live another six weeks,
but soon I won't have the strength for anything.  I have to get in as
much time with Mulder as I possibly can before I end up, inevitably,
hospitalized to await the end.

I also have one more person to take care of.  Cancerman.  (Still no word
on Krycek.)

Kersh, on the other hand, is a different story.  A story whose end has
now been written.

I wanted to get creative with Kersh, possibly use some sharp spikes to
impale his disgusting body, but the desire to further implicate Spender
was too strong.  He's surely made our ten-most-wanted list after today.

According to the evening news, an unknkown perpetrator entered Assistant
Director Kersh's home early this morning while his wife and children
were attending church and shot him twice--once in the balls and once in
the head.  The rounds recovered from the crime scene matched the bullet
used in the murder of one Special Agent Tom Colton in a restroom at the
Hoover building early last week.  The weapon is said to have been issued
to a Special Agent Jeffery Spender, whereabouts currently unknown.

Isn't it a shame how good men can go bad?

******

Wednesday, May 16

******

I had my chance at him today and I gave it up.  No, not Krycek.  If I'd
had a chance at him, nothing in Heaven or Hell would have made me pass
on it.  No, I'm talking about *the* man.  The Cancerman.  The Evil
behind the evil.

I went to Assistant Director Skinner's office for a meeting to which I
had been summoned, only to find the AD was out for the afternoon. There
was, however, someone in his place.  Spender the Elder (or whatever he's
calling himself this week) took a long drag on his foul-smelling
cigarette and motioned me to a chair, which I took more out of fatigue
than a desire to obey the sonofabitch.  I can barely get through half a
day now without frequent rest periods, and the mid-morning MulderSnack I
had enjoyed didn't help my energy level, although it did wonders for my
attitude.

"Agent Scully," he greeted me, and I sat silently, refusing to carry on
even the most banal of conversations with this man if it could possibly
be avoided.

When I didn't answer he smiled, as if he expected no less of me, and
continued.

"I understand you've been quite busy for the past couple of weeks."

"I'm not sure what you mean," I answered carefully.

"I mean," he responded blandly, "that I am aware of your little 'hit
list'."

I raised an eyebrow but declined to speak.

"I'm also aware that I happen to be named in your roster of potential
victims."

"I can't imagine why you'd think I want to kill *you*," I said icily,
and that earned an actual laugh.

"Let's get down to business, shall we?" he asked when he'd mastered his
features again.  "I have a proposition for you."

"No thanks," I said, rising to my feet.

"Don't you want to hear me out?" he asked, blowing smoke rings into the
air.  I've always been fascinated by people who can blow smoke rings.
And besides, I didn't have any pressing business at the time.

"Sure," I grinned.  "Lay it on me."

He laughed again.  "I can cure your cancer."

I snorted.  "Oh, please.  *Again*?"

He shrugged casually.  "It worked before, didn't it?"

"But before, I had removed your little chip from my neck.  I haven't
done that this time.  Your piece of technology is still tucked away in
there, so what else can you do?"

He smiled then.  That man's smile is enough to send small children
screaming into the night.  His teeth are yellowed from years of
nicotine, and all the evil in the world is in his face when he smiles.

"I can flip a switch and you'll go back into remission."

Now it was my turn to laugh out loud.  "Just like that," I sneered.
"Like turning on a light?"

"Or turning one off."

"And what's to stop you turning it on again after I've given
you...whatever it is you want?" I demanded.

"I suppose we'll be at each other's mercy," he commented.

"How's that?"

"I'm sure if I made your cancer return, you would pick up exactly where
you've left off."

"You're damn right I would."

"And I'm asking you to spare my life as well as Alex Krycek's."

That got my attention.  "Why do you care about Krycek?  I thought you
two were on opposite sides these days."

Another evil smile.  "He's my son."

I snorted again.  "Ah hell, you say that about everybody.  Next thing
you know, you'll claim I'm your daughter."

His face took on a musing appearance and I reached for my weapon.
"Don't even think about it, asshole," I growled, and he relaxed into his
usual mask of indifference.

"Of course not, Agent Scully."

"And what about Spender?  He's your son too, isn't he?"

He stubbed out his cigarette and reached for another one.  Why, I
implored the heavens, hasn't this man long since died of lung cancer?

"Of course he's my son," he replied as he stuck another cancer stick in
his mouth, "but he's a weasel.  I can't use him.  Krycek, on the other
hand, has proven quite useful in the past and will again, I am sure.  If
you agree to my deal."

I shook my head, a little confused at this odd turn of events.  "So, if
I let you and Krycek off the hook, you'll cure my cancer?  Again?" I
asked.

He nodded agreement.

"Well hell, let's get it on!" I exclaimed.  "Cure me!"

He laughed again.  "It will take a little time, Agent Scully."

I narrowed my eyes and reached again for my gun.  "You don't have time,"
I hissed at him.

"Don't worry," he assured me hastily.  "You'll notice marked improvement
by this afternoon, and if you visit your doctor tomorrow morning you'll
find the cancer is gone."

"It better be," I warned, "or I'm coming after you next.  And I won't
miss."

"You'll have to find me first."

"That shouldn't be too much of a problem," I answered loftily.  "After
all, even a man as full of shit as you has to visit the restroom
sometimes."

With that I left the room, determined to give him until the end of the
day.  If I didn't feel better by then I swore I would track him down and
maybe do the hair and salt thing I'd wanted to do with Diana.

Fortunately for old C.G.B., I was actually feeling *much* better by this
evening.  So much so that Mulder and I were able to engage in more than
our usual amount of...activity.

I'm going for a check-up in the morning, but I already know what they'll
find.  My cancer is gone.  I can feel it gone.

And life is good--I have Mulder now in ways I never dared hope for, and
I'm sure not letting him go just because I've found out I'm *not* dying.

My only regret is that Krycek is still out there, somewhere.  But if I
ever get a chance at him...


The End
.

   Respond to Lara Silver (larasilver@yahoo.com)