"Hand Clasp" . . .Modell lay in the hospital bed, swathed in bandages, machines beeping about him. Mulder stood silently watching him, his arms akimbo. Scully paused in the doorway, gazing at Modell's still form as she stepped into the room. Hearing her footsteps, Mulder turned around and she spoke softly.

     "There's no telling how long he'll hang on." Mulder lookd at her mutely and she continued, "but he'll never regain consciousness."

     He nodded slightly and then turned to look back at Modell. "You know, we thought he was undergoing treatment. We were wrong."

     Scully glanced at him, "what do you mean?"

     "Read his chart," he responded, meeting her eyes. "The M.R.I.'s were a way to gauge how much life he had left, but he consistently refused treatment." He gazed at Modell. "The tumor remained operable right up until the end, but he refused to have it removed."

     "Why?"

     "I think it's like you said: He was always such," he paused, the slightest grimace entering his voice, " a little man. This was something that finally made him feel big."

     Scully held his gaze for a few moments, not speaking. Then she reached out, without breaking eye contact and extending her fingers, she brushed them against his, finally clasping his hand with her own. She glanced briefly at Modell and then back to Mulder.

     "I say we don't let him take up another minute of our time."

     Releasing his hand, she turned and walked out of the room. Mulder looked at Modell a few beats longer and then he too left, joining his partner.