"What?" He got to his feet, scattering pho-tos around him. "Scully? What's wrong?"

"Salt Lake City, Utah," she said softly. "Transfer effective immediately."

He shook his head, refusing to hear her.

"I already gave Skinner my letter of resig-nation," she added brokenly.

Mulder stared at her. "You can't quit, Scully."

"I can, Mulder. I debated whether or not to even tell you in person, because I knew—"

He took a step toward her and then stopped, gesturing at the photos at his feet. "We're close to something here," he said, his voice rising desperately. "We're on the verge—"

" You're on the verge, Mulder." She blinked and looked away. "Please—please don't do this tome."

He continued to gaze at her. Not believing she was here, not believing this could be it. "After what you saw last night," he said at last, "after all you've seen, Scully— You can't just walk away."

"I have. I did. It's done."

He shook his head, stunned. "Just like that..:"

"I'm contacting the state board Monday to file my medical reinstatement papers—"

"But I need you on this, Scully!" he said urgently.

"You don't, Mulder. You've never needed me. I've only held you back." She forced herself to look away from him, biting her lip to keep herself from crying. She turned and started for the door. "I've got to go."

He caught her before she reached the ele-vator, running to keep up with her. "You're wrong," he cried.

Scully turned on him. " Why was I assigned to you?" she asked fiercely. "To debunk your work. To rein you in. To shut you down."

He shook his head. "No. You've saved me, Scully." He put his hands lightly on her shoul-ders and gazed down into her open blue eyes. "As difficult and frustrating as it's been some-times, your goddamn strict rationalism and science have saved me—a hundred times, a thousand times. You've—you've kept me honest and made me whole. I owe you so much, Scully, and you owe me nothing."

He dipped his head, a knot in his throat as he went on in a voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to do this without you. I don't know if I can. And if I quit now, they win…"

He gazed down at her and she stared back at him, silent, her blue eyes dark in the half light. She moved very slightly away from him, not breaking his gaze; her own registering respect and sorrow. His hands remained barely touching her arms as she lifted herself on tiptoe and kissed his forehead.

He did not move away, did not for a moment respond. Their eyes met and linked. A sudden, inexplicable tension flared. And then his hands tightened on her, his head dipped as he drew her toward him, his fingers moving upward to trace the long line of her neck, her skin warm beneath the thick mane of auburn hair, her eheek. For only an instant she hesi-tated, then reached for him. She could feel his mouth grazing hers, when—

"Ouch!" Scully pulled away from Mulder, rubbing her neck where his hand had been.

"I'm sorry." Mulder stared at her, worried he had done something wrong.

Scully's voice was thick. "I think… some-thing… stung me."

She withdrew her hand as Mulder moved around her, running his fingers quickly across her neck. He shook his head. "It must've got-ten in your shirt."

He gasped as Scully slumped forward, as he hastily caught her in his arms. Her head lolled drunkenly as Mulder whispered, frightened, "Scully…"

She stared up at him through slit eyes and opened her hand. In the palm lay a bumblebee, legs feebly twitching. "Something's wrong," she murmured, barely coherent. "I'm having… lancinating pain… my chest. My… motor functions are being affected. I'm—"

Frantically, but as gently as he could, Mulder lowered her until she lay upon the floor. She felt limp and helpless as a sleeping child, her head rolling to one side. She contin-ued to speak, her voice growing fainter and fainter, eyes no longer focusing.

"… my pulse feels thready and I—I've got a funny taste in the back of my throat."

Mulder knelt above her, straining to hear. "I think you're in anaphylactic shock—"

"No—it's—"

"Scully…" Mulder's voice cracked.

"I've got no allergy," she whispered. "Something… this… Mulder… I think… I think you should call an ambulance…"

He stumbled to his feet and raced for the phone, punching in 911. "This is Special Agent Fox Mulder.

I have an emergency. I have an agent down—"

Scant minutes passed before he heard sirens wailing outside. He ignored the elevator and ran downstairs, holding the door open as two paramedics rushed past him carrying a folded gurney. He followed them, giving them a broken version of all that had occurred. When they reached Scully, one paramedic opened the gurney while the other knelt beside her.

"Can you hear me?" he said in a loud voice. "Can you say your name?"

Scully's lips moved but no words came out. The paramedic shot a look at his partner. "She's got constriction in the throat and lar-ynx." He looked back down at her and asked, "Are you breathing okay?"

No reply. He lay his head beside her mouth, listening. "Passages are open. Let's get her in the van."

They bundled her onto the gurney and Mulder went with them back into the corridor. Neighbors were standing in doorways, staring as the paramedics hustled the gurney toward the elevator.

"Coming through, people! Here we go, coming through—"

Mulder rode with them down the elevator and ran outside to where the EMT van waited, lights flashing. The paramedics banged out the front door, stutter-stepping the gurney down the front walk.

Mulder ran after them.

"She said she had a taste in the back of her throat," he said. "But there was no preexisting allergy to bee stings. The bee that stung her may have been carrying a virus—"

The second paramedic stared at him. "A virus?"

"Get on the radio," the first medic shouted at the van driver. "Tell them we have a cyto-genic reaction, we need an advise and adminis-ter—"

They guided the gurney to the back of the vehicle, lifting it in with expert hands. Scully's eyes rolled and then focused on Mulder. Unable to communicate, she held his gaze as they rolled her into the brightly lit interior. The paramedic quickly moved into the van. Before Mulder could climb aboard and join Scully, the paramedics swung the doors closed.

"Hey—what hospital are you taking her to?" he said as the doors were closing.

He ran to the driver's side of the van, wav-ing frantically. Mulder knocked on the window.

"What hospital are you taking her to?"

He got his first look at the driver, a tall man in a light blue EMT uniform, his hair close-cropped. He stared coldly out at Mulder, who drew up short in shock.

Because suddenly, in a split second, it all fell together. It was the uniform that triggered his memory: the tall man on the fire escape, sliding into an open window; the tall man in a vendor's uniform exiting the snack room where the bomb had been. And now the driver of the van…

It was the same man. His hand was raised, aiming a handgun directly at Mulder. The next instant a blast echoed through the night. Mulder fell backward, clutching his head as the ambulance shrieked away. He lay bleeding in the street and his neighbors watched, horrified, as a second ambulance roared up, skidding to a halt to let two other paramedics leap out and rush to the fallen man's side.