I can't do it." Kate's hand tightened on her father's with desperation. "I don't want to even talk about it. Do you understand? Don't ask me, dammit."

"I have to ask you." Robert Murdock tried to smile. "There's no one else, Kate."

"There could be a cure. New cures are developed every day."

"But not in my foreseeable future." Wearily he leaned back against the pillows of the hospital bed. "Be merciful. Do it, Kate."

"I can't." Tears were streaming down her face. "This isn't why I became a doctor. You don't mean it. If you were yourself, you wouldn't ask me."

"Look at me." She met her father's eyes. "I've never been more myself. Do I mean it, baby?"

He meant it. She searched frantically for a way to sway him. "What about Joshua? He loves you."

He flinched. "He's only six years old. He'll forget."

"You know better than that. Joshua isn't like other kids."

"No, he's like you." His tone was loving. "Bright and loyal and ready to fight the world. But he's too young to be forced to carry around any kind of baggage. If you don't want to do this for me, do it for my grandson, do it for Joshua's sake."

He had thought it all out, she realized in despair. "I don't want to let you go," she whispered.

"You won't be letting me go." He paused. "I've been lying here thinking about the time when you were a very little girl and we'd walk through Jenkins's woods. You used to be sad when autumn came and the leaves fell. Do you remember what I told you?"

"No."

He shook his head reprovingly. "Kate."

"You said that each leaf was a link that could never really be broken or die," she said haltingly. "It would curl and fall but it would return to the earth and the chain would go on brighter and stronger than ever."

"A bit profound but absolutely true."

"Bullshit."

His face lit with laughter and for a moment he was once more that younger, stronger man in Jenkins's woods. "You believed it then."

"It's easier to accept fate when you're seven years old. I'm different now."

"Yes, you are." He reached out and gently touched her damp cheek with an index finger. "Twenty-six and one tough cookie."

She didn't feel tough. She felt as if she were breaking apart inside. "You bet I am," she said shakily. "These days I'd get a ladder and nail those leaves back on their branches or find a way of keeping them from falling in the first place."

His smile faded. "Maybe someday. Not now, Kate. Don't try to nail me back to my branch. I've no taste for crucifixion."

Pain stabbed through her. "You know I wouldn't -- I love you."

"Then let me go. Help me. Let me keep my dignity."

"I don't know -- I can't even think of -- Please, don't make me." Her head sank to rest on their joined hands on the bed. "Let me fight for you."

"You will fight for me."

"No, you want me to give you up. I can't do that."

She felt his hand lovingly stroke her hair. "You can do it. Because you're one tough lady . . . and you wouldn't want to be crucified either. We've always understood each other, haven't we?"

"Not in this."

"Even in this."

He was right. She did understand. If she had allowed herself to think about it, she would have realized he would come to this decision. "To hell with understanding. I care about you."

"And that's why I know you'll do it. I've tried to live my life with dignity. Don't let it end like this."

"You're not being fair."

"No, I'm not. Will you let me be selfish? Just this once?"

She could barely hear his words through the sobs that were shaking her body.

"Thank you, baby." His hand continued to gently stroke her hair as he said softly, "But you'll have to be very careful. I don't want you hurt. No one must ever know."

Copyright © 1997 by I. J. Enterprises, Inc.