Fat raindrops splattered against the windshield so heavily that Mulder had to squint and lean forward to see the road clearly. He strummed his fingers on the wheel and simply kept his foot on the gas, not quite sure exactly where he was going. After dropping Scully off at her doctor's office, he had told her he had errands to run and would be back in an hour, which, of course, was a lie. Mulder needed an excuse to take her, because she had insisted on driving herself. She had headaches with the cancer…no, she can't be out of remission. The nosebleeds would have come back. She probably just has insomnia—she'll be fine, he assured himself firmly, wanting more than anything to believe.

Clearly, she was keeping something from him. He prayed it wasn't her health, but whatever it was, he was greatly perturbed by the fact that she didn't trust him enough to be honest with him. Scully had been dishing out a rather large amount of "I'm fines" lately, which could only mean the worst. He turned the radio sports report to nearly full volume to drown out his disturbing thoughts. She said she's happy with me…am I doing something wrong? She hadn't acted particularly strange until the night before when she suddenly lashed out at him, so he deduced that whatever it was happened sometime yesterday. As he made a left turn to loop back around to the medical center, he decided firmly: I'll convince her to tell me today…and I'll help her with whatever's going on…even if she doesn't want me to.

When the test results came back, she wasn't shocked. She should have been, but she wasn't. In fact, she already knew the answer; she'd known since last night when the dream came. Everything suddenly made more sense. They want him, she realized with a grim certainty. Impossibility often transcended reality in her daily life, and she had learned that miracles do exist, especially since she'd been working with Mulder. Therefore, the question of how it could have happened was a step behind the "what do I do now?" in her mind. Before she walked out into the waiting area to find Mulder, she stepped into a single bathroom and locked the door behind her. Bittersweet tears spilled over her cheeks, and as she rubbed them away with a paper towel, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Something was different about the face peering back from the other side of the glass; or perhaps she just felt different—changed. A new importance and grave responsibility had been placed on her; another person's life now depended on the choices she made. I have to leave. To save them both. The bleak knowledge caused a fresh bout of tears to fill her eyes, and she roughly swiped at them in frustration. I need to be strong now. Even if it means abandoning the happiness I've found. Scully took several deep breaths, and after finally managing to compose herself, she left in search of Mulder.

"So what did she say?" Mulder asked nervously, unconsciously shifting his weight between his feet. He had been waiting for her to initiate conversation since she'd met him in the waiting room, but silence hung between them all the way down the hall to the elevator.

"She prescribed migraine medication and gave me some suggestions to help with the insomnia. I'm not sick—everything's fine."

Mulder noticed immediately that she was avoiding eye contact. When Scully was concealing even part of the truth, he could always tell. The urge to scream and beg her to reveal the mysterious "it" weighed heavily upon him, but he decided to restrain himself.

"You're sure that's all."

"Yep. That's it."

"Scully, I…I don't believe you."

"I don't know what to tell you Mulder. There's nothing else."

He hung his head in defeat. So much for convincing her to open up.

I could head south—the Carolinas are too close. Georgia? Florida? Or maybe I should go west. She placed her forehead in her hands and rubbed her temples anxiously. Mulder will find me. Where can I go that he won't find me? And what am I supposed to do? What about a place to live…and a job? More than anything, Scully longed to just tell him everything. Maybe he could help her find a safe place…but he couldn't know—that's what Krycek had said. Perhaps simply knowing her location would put him in danger. Then again, Krycek wasn't necessarily to be trusted, and Mulder would certainly agree. Trust no one, right? That was their motto—not to rely on anyone except each other. I should tell him, she decided confidently. But she shook her head, continuing her internal argument. If I tell him everything, he'll never let me go alone; and if Krycek is right, then we—the three of us—will only be safe if we're apart.

"Scully? Hello? Houston to Captain Scully…"

Mulder's voice pervaded her inner dialogue, and she looked up to see that he had returned to the office from the meeting with Skinner.

"Are you OK? That was really weird—I could have sworn you were sleeping soundly with your eyes open. Did you hear anything I said?"

"What? No, I uh, I'm sorry Mulder. I was just…thinking. I'm—"

"I know—fine. What were you thinking about? It must have been pretty intense."

"Nothing. I don't really remember…So what were you saying? How did the meeting go?"

"Oh you know. Same old thing—we need to be more careful about sticking to the budget, try to be more productive, show more case selectivity… blah, blah. Be happy he only needed one of us to go—it's your lucky day."

"Yeah, I don't feel like another lecture on how I need to do a better job babysitting you." She tried to force a smile but only managed a weak, lop-sided grin.

He studied her face intently, probably waiting patiently for her to discuss whatever was obviously bothering her. She drew a deep nervous breath, deciding quickly that she could no longer bottle up this secret, despite the possible danger.

"Mulder…we need to talk."

"Um, sure," he said hesitantly as he pulled up the chair to sit across from her. "Tell me…what's upsetting you?"

"Well, there are a couple things…Uh, alright, this is…I'll just say it…I—um…I'm—"

Her lips formed around the "P" word, but she couldn't force it out of her mouth. "I'm sorry that I snapped at you a few nights ago. I wasn't feeling well, and I took it out on you. You didn't deserve that—I've been feeling really badly about it," she rambled hurriedly.

"That's what you needed to tell me? Scully, you know that's already forgotten. There's nothing to be sorry for. Don't feel bad—I'm just happy that the doctor said everything's OK…Is everything OK?"

"Yes."

"Well, what was the other thing you had to tell me?"

"What?"

"You said there are a couple of things bothering you. So what else is going on?"

"Oh—nothing. I don't know why I said that."

Mulder leaned against his black Acura as he stared hypnotically at the rapidly increasing numbers above the gas pump. Dinner sat in the backseat, and the enticing aroma of Peking's take-out orange chicken order wafted into his nostrils from the open window. Neither he nor Scully had been in the mood for playing chef tonight. His plan was to try and talk to her once again over dinner and a couch movie; he'd already conceded painfully to Steel Magnolias. Perhaps if their discussion felt more informal to her, she would just relax and let go of whatever it was that had been making her so tense. Mulder was still worried about her health, despite her insistence that she was feeling better. He had become an expert Scully reader over the years; so just because she was acting the part of "fine" didn't mean he was fooled.

When Mulder turned to replace the nozzle at the pump and close his tank, he remembered that he had promised to buy a gallon of milk today for Scully's Raisin Bran. Praying that the tiny 7-11 beside the gas station would have some sort of organic milk that would save a trip to the store, he grabbed his wallet from the front seat and walked inside. He browsed the refrigerated area in the back, and after much scrutiny, finally decided on a "naturally" fat free milk and soy combo; it sounded Scullyish. With imminent purchase in hand, he turned in the direction of the cash register just as the front door slammed open with a crash. Two large men dressed all in black with ski masks covering their faces entered, guns drawn. One instantly approached the cash register and instructed the frightened teenage cashier to place all bills in a plastic bag, while the other appraised the occupants of the store.

"Alright mother-fuckers, you know what this is. Down on the floor—face down. Everyone!" he screamed. "Do what you're told and this doesn't have to get ugly."

Other than Mulder and the cashier, there were two people in the store: a middle-aged man shaking with sobs as he lay sprawled on the floor and a college-age girl huddled in a corner looking like a deer caught in headlights. Mulder slowly nodded at the robbers, placed his hands up in a gesture of surrender, and slowly lowered himself to the floor. The second man, the more vocal one, strode to the corner and pulled the girl off the floor by her collar. He dragged her to the front of the store and thrust his gun into her temple while she screamed.

He looked directly at Mulder when he spoke. "If anybody thinks of trying something, she's dead. Ya'll got that?"

"Please, just take whatever you want from any of us and go. You won't be followed—no one has to get hurt," Mulder said.

"Really?" the man replied coolly, tightening his grip on the girl. "But it's more fun that way. Don't you think? Listening to her squeal, then watching blood and brains splatter as she squirms to her death. That's better than a movie—definitely more interesting than Steel Magnolias shit."

"What?" Mulder choked, sucking in his breath.

"Thanks for the entertainment, honey. You're cute and all, but I think I'm gonna play with that one back there," the man said to the girl as he jerked her away and threw her to the floor. Mulder, head spinning and unsure of his next move, grasped for his 9mm tucked in the back of his pants. The larger man reached him quickly and pressed an odd-looking weapon against his neck before Mulder had the chance to fight back.

"Sweet dreams," the man whispered icily as he released the projectile into Mulder's skin. Everything in Mulder's vision instantly blurred into an indistinguishable swirl of colors. He would remember tumbling backwards and staring at the stained tile ceiling before his world morphed into liquid blackness.

He wasn't answering his cell phone. He always answered when she called. Maybe it's not on, she hoped. Scully paced nervously around Mulder's living room, checked her watch every two minutes, and called him again every five. He had said he was only going to pick up Chinese take-out and would be back in twenty minutes. That was nearly an hour and a half ago and Scully's mind raced with possibilities. She had already picked up the phone twice to call Skinner and alert the Bureau, but both times she had slammed it back into its cradle, assuring herself that he was fine and would be back soon. Maybe he has a flat tire…no, he would have called…maybe his phone is out of charge, or he doesn't have service…no, he would have service anywhere in Arlington…This can't be what Krycek warned about…it hasn't even been a week…I'll go look for him—OK, that's what I'll do. She grabbed her shoes and keys from the couch and hurried to the front door. As she swung the door open in her haste, she yelped in surprise to find Alex Krycek standing in the hallway.