No Quarter Given IV: Truce by Mish
Title: NQG IV: Truce
Author: Mish
WIP, MSR, Angst, Mytharc, Rated NC-17
ARCHIVISTS NOTE: This story is posted as last archived on Mish's personal geocities account and no further parts are available. Although the story is incomplete, it does finish in an acceptable place, but doesn't answer all questions.
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine to play with, but I can't help myself. Writing about them is just too irresistible.
A continuation of the "No Quarter Given" series, beginning after the events of "The Truth". Though set in the NQG universe, this will not be character-driven, as that series was. And while it helps to have read the previous stories, I feel this story can stand alone.
I envision a novel length tale, heavy on mytharc, but one that resolves many issues between Mulder and Scully only touched upon in NQG. Hopefully, it will tie up a few loose ends left dangling by the show as well.
As a work-in-progress, this story is still in beta and may undergo revisions.
Truce
Prologue
On the third night, he wanted to make love to her. To join with her in the final step of their reunion and forget the lonely months spent apart. At first, she was receptive, though the shadows in her eyes were almost too much to bear. She thought she hid them well, avoiding his gaze as she pressed hungry kisses to his face. But he knew better. The realization that she wasn't as in to the moment as he was didn't stop him, however. He wanted her as much as he ever did, even more because of their separation.It wasn't until he moved between her thighs, hovering above her with shaking arms, that he heard it.
Soft, keening sobs hidden in the slick curve of his shoulder - she thought him too caught up in the moment to notice, but he did. He tried to ignore the emotional outburst; after all, with the tenseness of the past week, he knew it was nothing but a release for her. Still, it moved him to silence and motionless grief that equaled her own. Such a great weight settled upon him, one of responsibility not tied to preventing global annihilation. He found he couldn't continue; with assuring murmurs he knew her too wrought up to hear, he pulled away, denying himself the needs of the flesh. Instead, he kissed her cheek and held her close until she fell into an exhausted slumber. It was enough, he thought. A beginning that would eventually lead to more. He could wait; they would get past the hurt as they always had. Even if it took years, as before. He was a patient man with her, he'd had to be.
Hours later, the first one came. He shot the stony-faced bastard twice in the chest, then watched him stagger and fall as if in slow motion. Scully was dressed by then. How she made it out of bed and into her jeans and tshirt so fast, he didn't know. Nor did he care. His own clothes gathered close, they sprinted to the car in the pre-dawn Arizona light.
And in the open door of the pitiful hotel room, it moved. First the hand, illuminated by the glare of headlights as they backed away. Scully screaming at him to go, just go, he paused. When its torso bent in half, somewhat jerkily, he knew what it was. And as his tires spun in the gravel, he knew it wouldn't stop.
On the fifth night, as he laid beside her, unable to sleep, it came again. This time, he was ready. He'd bought it the afternoon before, at a hardware store outside Amarillo, Texas. Spent all day sharpening it as Scully drove, answering her questions with grunts until he finally told her to shut the hell up. It pained him still, the way he'd spoken to her. But nothing could deter him from his plan.
The machete sliced its head off as soon as it walked through the unlocked door. Again, Mulder watched it all unfold like some bad horror movie, watched the body separate from the brain, heard the double thumps of flesh meeting floor in the darkness. Knowing his unspoken purpose by then, Scully had been ready. Together, they made for the car.
Still, he saw it move. Cursing, he listened to her stunned gasp and knew what he had to do.
On the seventh day, he made sure she woke up alone. And safe.
Four months later
It took some getting used to once again, the daily grind. Slipping in and out of her classes at Quantico like a wraith, she knew the challenge was gone. Skinner had pulled some strings, so had Kersh, to her amazement - and she found herself reinstated and working within a couple of weeks of her return to Washington.
But it wasn't the same. Even if she had the Xfiles, which ably laid in the hands of Doggett and Reyes now, she didn't think she could muster the energy. Because he'd left her behind.
Stole away like a thief from the ratty hotel room in Houston in the dead of night, his short note explaining nothing really. But she knew. She knew he had figured it out, just as she had. They would never have been safe together. Hounded by the FBI for his trumped-up conviction, he could never walk the streets in safety. With her as companion, they'd be easy to spot. But that wasn't the real reason.
It was the things who began to come for them. The Knowle Rhorers and Billy Miles that surfaced almost immediately into their lives on the run. They're after me, he'd written. And I can't let you die with me. Go home.
She waited for two days. Paced the room on the first, wanting one of those replacements to come in and kill her, for nothing else than to prove he'd been wrong. Went out on the second and walked the streets, the malls, the open spaces where she was sure to be seen. Still nothing but a sunburn and scratchy throat. It was then she admitted he was right. They wanted him, not her. William was safe and no longer a threat to their plans. But Mulder... no matter how downtrodden, how desolate and poor, would continue. She'd felt it herself the last few days they were together.
In the way his voice slowly became heavier, more resolute. In the way he held her and touched her with possessiveness, as if no one could take her away again. In the way his body slowly straightened, as if remembering all who died for his cause... as if vowing to stop the fateful day he knew was coming. It hadn't taken long for the hero within to reappear. He wasn't a quitter, never would be.
The realization that they were not meant to live their lives together hurt her more than she thought possible. But she picked herself up as she always had, called her mother, and within a day was back home. The Bureau wasted little time in grilling her for Mulder's whereabouts, but as it was before he'd returned, she was able to be truthful and say she had no idea. Skinner and Kersh called off the dogs immediately, and she was soon forgotten as the case faded from lack of evidence. Knowle Rhorer's body had disappeared, and there were numerous sightings of him to back up Scully's insistence that he was never really dead until John Doggett saw him crumple into a pile of rock. Not that the conviction would have stood up in a real court of law, and they all knew it.
Mulder was now a free man, but in reality, he was chained to his lone existence more than he ever was. Still pursued by things far more deadly than the gas chamber or electric chair, he stayed away. Scully knew he'd heard of the overturned verdict, but stayed far from her. Even his email account was no longer there. He'd cut himself from her life as efficiently as possible, with a severing move more clean than the hatchet job on the alien.
So she walked through her pristine - by Mulder's standards, at his sole decision - life, without her man by her side, her baby in the arms of another, her work an endless round of
frustrating course work surrounded by green students.
It was not surprising she jumped at the chance to go undercover. Ana was reborn, as hard and jaded as ever.
Chapter One
"Umm... Fox?"
The low purr startled him from his work at the laptop and he sighed, removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. The day so far had been one dead end after another, and his companion's interruption threatened to blow the lid on his simmering bad temper. Looking up, he swung away from the huge mahogany desk with bleary eyes. "Yes, Marvin, what is it?"
"Tea at four, remember? And Mr. Bombay is expected with this week's report then - have you forgotten?" The stilted tones of British schooling came from a face so familiar it made Mulder ache.
"No, I haven't." Mulder's reply was short as he turned back to the computer screen. In truth, he had, but he wasn't about to tell Marvin that.
The reports said practically the same thing every week, anyway, so why bother? "And don't call me Fox. It's Mulder. Or better yet, call me Mr. Robie. It's my God damned name now."
The little man stiffened. "There's no need to swear. I am well aware of your alias."
As his friend turned to leave the study, Mulder rose from his chair, guilt at his anger making his voice low. "Marvin, I'm sorry, okay? It's just that -" He broke off, not knowing quite how to apologize; this man had enable him to live in comfort, to resume his work. It wasn't Marvin's fault he was one morose bastard lately.
"You miss him, don't you?"
Mulder chuckled, a self-derisive exhale more than genuine laughter. He missed them all, missed *her* more than anything. And this man, the perfect twin to the one who'd loved her as he still did, had done nothing but live... and give. He'd appeared to Mulder on the beach in Gulf Shores, Alabama several months ago; Mulder thought him a ghost, like before. As he dropped his pants to piss off a pier in the moonless night, drunk off his ass, he'd snidely remarked, "Gotta thing for my pee-pee, Melvin?"
His mistake was quickly corrected, however, as Marvin had turned his nose up at Mulder's beard and cutoffs before producing a detailed document that explained all.
How the hell Marvin found him still amazed Mulder. But then again, the man was a Frohike.
Identical in face and genius, his journey begun on the death of his twin, he was diligent and trustworthy like his sibling. It was Marvin who was responsible for Mulder's access, for the means he'd thought lost to him forever by his self-imposed disappearance.
And now, as he sat in opulence, courtesy of this man's wise investments over the years, he could do nothing but snap and snarl. Typical, he thought.
"I know I'm not him," Marvin began, but Mulder waved a hand, cutting off the attempt at unneeded conciliation.
"Stop. It's me who should be apologizing to you." With a small smile, he added, "I would have nothing if not for you, Marvin."
Seeing Frohike's twin, dressed in a black suit that obviously did not come from a department store rack, his close-cropped hair neat as a pin, never failed to amaze him. The glasses perched on his nose were delicate but serviceable, and his voice, while clipped and precise, was Melvin's. Even after the months they'd been together, Mulder still felt a drag of what had been lost when he looked at Marvin.
It wasn't the guy's fault, and he should at least treat him with the respect he deserved.
Thumb in the pocket of his waistcoat, Marvin took a step forward. The gesture was so like Frohike that Mulder sucked in a sharp breath.
Marvin couldn't know that, as he spoke softly, "My brother - rest his soul - spoke of you frequently, Mulder. Though we hadn't seen each other much since I departed for Oxford as a teen, we did correspond, by phone when we could. He held you in great esteem."
"As I did him," Mulder replied. Though he'd ragged on Frohike at every chance, surely Melvin knew how much he respected and admired him? He wasn't sure; just another missed opportunity along the way. One more reason to treat this man better than he did.
Marvin nodded, accepting Mulder's heartfelt statement. "He thought you were the most dedicated, passionate man he'd ever known. A mere redwood among sprouts, he told me once."
Marvin's eyes twinkled. "But he said you didn't - excuse the expression - know shit abouut handling money."
"I never cared about that," Mulder said, shifting in his chair with unease. The fact that said money was quite likely his father's blood money had always contributed to his dislike of financial matters.
"It's a good thing you set up some sort of reserve, don't you think? Use it, my good man."
Mulder laughed, leaning back in his chair. "You know, when I asked Frohike to set up bogus accounts for me in the event I had to live...
well, just like this... I never expected to live... well, like *this*. I have you to thank for that."
"Melvin was no better at investing than you were, Mulder. He knew I could turn your nest egg into a gold mine, so I did. It's what I do best."
"Why didn't you ever -?" Mulder broke off, sensing he drifted into personal territory.
"Help Melvin?" Marvin finished for him. "The little bugger refused. Wanted to make his own way." Marvin's chin dropped and he cleared his throat, picking at an imaginary piece of lint on his coat. "I retired the month he died, you know. I had every intention of coming here to persuade him to live in comfort with me.
Instead, I find him gone, with instructions to care for your needs." Lifting calm eyes, he proclaimed, "I can't imagine a more worthy use of my time."
Mulder felt his own throat grow tight with emotion, but he understood Marvin's need for command of his own. He stood and extended a hand, finally sensing a communion of sorts with this new friend after a bristling of several months. "Then I will endeavor to live up to your great expectations."
Marvin took the offered hand and said with a curl of his lips, "Don't disappoint me, my friend. Your work is not done. Melvin's work is not done."
Another jewel of a discovery was that Marvin knew all about Mulder's work, about the conspiracy and the impending alien invasion.
Frohike had been thorough. Marvin wasn't as accepting unconditionally - in many ways, he reminded Mulder of Scully - but he never dismissed anything out of hand. Mulder counted himself lucky to have found him. Rather, that Marvin had found *him*.
"I'll do my best, Marvin."
Marvin gave his hand one last jerk, then turned for the door. "Good enough. Don't forget, tea at four with Mr. Bombay."
Chuckling, Mulder made for his desk. "That's *Doctor* Bombay, Marvin. Didn't you ever watch TV?"
Marvin snorted. "Manna for the unwashed masses. A total waste of time."
"Remind me to introduce you to Baywatch sometime, okay? You gonna hang with me, you gotta loosen that starched collar." He was determined to have his friend do the memory of his brother proud, as well as let him have a bit of fun.
"My cravat is loose enough, thank you." With that, he left, closing the study door behind him.
"Not nearly, Marvin," Mulder murmured, "not nearly."
Mulder sipped at the tea, grimacing as he looked out the veranda doors. He really hated the stuff, but he didn't have the heart to deny Marvin the afternoon repast. As long as he had his morning coffee, he could put up with Marvin's insistence they at least be somewhat civilized in the afternoons.
The late February day was cold and dismal. Nothing like the winters in the northeast, or even Washington, for that matter. South Louisiana winters were wet and chilling to the bone, something his battered body didn't take to easily. His shoulder ached, as did the old gunshot wound to the thigh. Thank goodness Marvin had found a house with plenty of room, and spacious grounds. Mulder still enjoyed his daily runs, the acres of land perfect for exercise. And excellent for security, with its twelve-foot iron fences - assayed before purchase and found to be rich in magnetite. The cameras and alarm system were state-of-the-art, and Mulder admitted he'd never felt safer in his life.
He'd also never felt more lonely. When Marvin had found him in Gulf Shores and sobered him up, he'd made it clear his purpose in life now was to keep him safe. Just pick the location and I can set it up, he'd said. Money is no object.
Mulder knew he shouldn't have picked a place so close to his heart. To *her*. While not the busy decadence of New Orleans, its humid air and relaxed atmosphere were damn close. At the time, he'd harbored an unconscious hope that one day, she'd return to the place that held so many memories - good and bad - for them. Thanks to Bombay, the hotels in the city had standing orders to notify him if Dana Scully - or Ana came calling.
Especially this time of year, when Mardi Gras was gearing up. He so wanted to just pick up the phone and tell her once again, "This is what I want. Come to me." But he couldn't, not until he was sure they could remain together forever. Working constantly toward that goal, he prayed she would still want to be with him when he asked. As he would one day, he had to believe that. And when the time came, and they could face a world without threat, William would join them.
Oh yes, he kept tabs on his son as well. Knew exactly where he was and who had adopted him; knew the family down to their respective shoe sizes. Bombay's reports included William's activities; doctor's visits, the social worker's monthly workups, even the occasional trip to church and the park. Marvin had discreetly dropped a few hints, asked subtle questions, until Mulder had growled that it was none of his business. He'd tell him in due time, though he suspected Marvin already knew his relationship to the child, courtesy of his brother. And when Mulder's massive fortune was no longer needed for security and espionage, he could turn its use toward regaining custody of his son.
As for Scully? God help him. The return of her love and trust was liable to drain him, and he knew it. Not of money, but of every ounce of apology and regret within him. He'd done what was best by leaving her. Given time, she'd realize that. But it damn well would take a lot longer for her to get over her anger, and he felt it now, even though a thousand miles separated them.
With less invasiveness than he instructed Bombay to exert with William's life, he had also gotten a few sporadic reports on what Scully was doing. Mulder knew she was back at Quantico. He knew she'd tried to contact him using the old email address. He also knew he was no longer wanted by the Bureau, but he didn't dare put her in the path of one of the replacements by showing his face. The aliens were out there waiting, he knew it. They hadn't traced him past Gulf Shores, and he knew it was because of Marvin's and Bombay's efforts. No midnight visits, or potshots when he did rarely venture into the city. But they were there as surely as the next sunrise. Just waiting for one ill-timed, lonely phone call to a certain woman in Georgetown...
The pain of loneliness ate at his gut day and night. Many times, he'd picked up the phone, only to slam it down with frustration. Today, after yet another fitful night's rest and daylong scrutiny of the Internet, he was in no mood for Bombay's skimpy reports. The man had better have something to show for all that money, and he'd better do it quickly.
"Mulder! What's up?"
The clean-cut man held out his hand as he entered the parlor, his bright eyes smiling in greeting. Mulder shook his hand like a soul brother, nodding as he greeted, "That's what you're here to tell me, Bombay. Hopefully with better news than last week's."
Dr. Bombay, nee Gerald Lacombe, had been a secret associate of the Gunmen. Working out of a Bourbon Street apartment, he lived off his father's oil money while doing his best to 'uncover the truth about the government'. Not quite as paranoid as his deceased friends, he made no secret of the fact that his hacking skills were not only used for truth-seeking - he ran a legitimate business as well, consulting for private firms. Some of the richest in the New Orleans area, in fact. Turning one's nose up in private at the establishment didn't mean one had to live in poverty, he'd told Mulder at their first meeting.
He wasn't nearly as hippie-ish as some Mulder had dealt with since the Gunmen's demise, and Mulder liked the guy. Late thirties, he stood tall and fit, and was reportedly quite a charmer... with the fellows. Mulder still chuckled inwardly at Bombay's lifestyle. A gay, paranoid, computer hacker who liked the good life - the Gunmen sure knew how to pick 'em.
Bombay was also the best at what he did, and Mulder paid him well enough to do it. In cash, of course. He had to be careful about *everything* he did these days, and he knew it.
Thank goodness Marvin and Bombay were trustworthy. The Gunmen picked their friends well.
"Have a bit of news," Bombay started, sitting on the overstuffed leather couch. He reached for the pot of tea on the coffee table, pouring a cup as he spied the sugary cakes next to the teapot. "These made with sugar? Or Equal? Have to watch the old waistline, you know."
"Dunno," Mulder said shortly, sitting on the opposite couch, his ears pricked at Bombay's earlier statement. "News? Is it William? Is he okay?"
Bombay spoke around a sugary bite. "He's fine. Got his first dog last week... a mutt named Joey."
The bottom fell out of Mulder's stomach; he wanted to be the one to give his son such things. Wanted to wrestle in the back yard with him, teach him to throw a baseball, pull out the washtub and help him bathe a mangy mutt named Joey...
"What I've got is better - much better."
His friend's statement roused him from melancholy and he looked up, all business. "Tell me."
"You really knew what you were doing, Mulder, when you picked New Orleans as a base of operations. Before you came along, I never imagined the scope of the deals that go down here. Really -"
"Just tell me already," he interrupted, impatient and wanting to skip the hacker's amazement. Yeah, the world was a much more horrible place than anyone could ever dream Bombay was just now finding that out?
Clearing his throat, the hacker stilled, placing the cup down. "I think I've stumbled onto something. Big."
"What?"
"Did you know that more than 6000 ships a year transport goods up the Mississippi River from New Orleans? It's one of the world's busiest, largest sea ports. It's the only deepwater port served by six class one railroads."
"Yeah, so?"
"The Port of New Orleans handles commodities from rubber to coffee. Its number one movable product last year was steel."
"I say again - so?" Mulder felt like screaming.
It was just like this friend of the Gunmen's to linger over trivial facts - further proof of the time he spent among them.
"So, it just so happens one of the leaders in German steel production has relocated to the New Orleans area in the past couple of weeks.
Setting up shop in the International Trade Center as we speak. He's just been nominated for the vacant seat on the Port Commission, pending the governor's approval."
"Damn it, Bombay," Mulder growled, "what the hell is all this leading up to?"
"In fact, rumor has it he's making the usual political rounds at the Mardi Gras balls. Greasing a few palms, cozying up to the old Guard, you know - kissing ass big time." Mulder was seconds away from throttling the guy. As his jaw tightened, Bombay threw up his hands.
"Okay, okay! Strughold. Conrad Strughold. Ring a bell?"
Sudden excitement made Mulder sit up, his hand flying up to scratch at his bearded chin. Strughold Mining. Never proven, but certainly suspect as one of the few major players left in the Consortium. Eyes wide, he bit out, "Sure it's the same guy?"
"Only one, you know. Heavy dealer in steel and ore. Diversified several years back into gas and oil. Galpex-Orpheus, to be exact."
At that, Mulder stood, walking slowly to the veranda doors. Had to be the same guy. Not only did he own the mine in West Virginia, he just happened to own the rig in the Gulf of Mexico pumping up the black oil. A man who, by all suspicions, was up to his neck in alien collaboration. What use would he have for a seat on the New Orleans Port Commission? That was small change for an international business mogul like Strughold.
Inroads into the Port Commission, on the surface, seemed like a sound business deal. Able to make decisions on fees, schedules while not exactly ethical, the state of Louisiana had traditionally turned a blind eye to corporate wheeling and dealing... in return for hefty political contributions. Several nagging questions remained, however.
"He's not a US citizen. How could he gain a seat on the board?"
"It's not like holding elected political office, Mulder. Basically, the governor can appoint who he damn well pleases. And Strughold's got the money to buy ten seats on the board, you know that."
Well he did. Just as he sensed that it was time to leave this fortress behind and begin the war. The importance of Strughold's arrival in New Orleans pressed upon him; after so many months without a peep from the alien conspirators that remained, it was high time for someone to resurface. Bombay was right - he *was* lucky.
Or unlucky, which would be all he heard from Marvin when he broke the news. Now, to find a way to spy without arousing suspicion...
"Fox? More tea?" Marvin's quiet intrusion made him turn, an idea already forming.
"Marvin, that stack of invitations on my desk? Get them for me, please?"
Marvin paled, the inevitable protest issuing forth as he gleaned Mulder's thoughts. "Fox, I don't think that's a good idea."
"Just do it, Marvin." Ushering him out the door with a gentle hand, he murmured, "I'll be careful, I promise." On the little man's skeptical face, he closed the door, then turned back to Bombay. "Anything happening tonight?"
"Not that I know of. Now tomorrow, there's Pierre Gustav's party at Commander's Palace..."
Mulder grimaced. Gustav owned several pricey properties downtown, which didn't pique Mulder's interests. Besides, the location was too public.
Bombay continued, "Then again, there's Ernest Balfour's bal masque, at his home in the Garden District. You going?"
Balfour? The name sparked instant recognition. A member of the New Orleans Old Guard, with his fingers into everything from banking to a hefty interest in the local NBA team. Yes, Balfour's was the better of the two
Since Mulder had set up residence just upriver from New Orleans, in one of the oldest and largest estates on the river, he'd been the source of constant buzz in the city. Invitations to parties, soirees, etc., had started arriving almost immediately. The rich local mamas smelled when there was fresh meat among the eligibles. Relatively young, handsome, mysterious... a recluse, by all accounts, he knew the gossips enjoyed poking into his life. Especially when, on his infrequent trips into the city, he rode in an armored limousine and only to sign his bogus name on million-dollar documents. He could have done this all from the mansion, that was true. But now and then, against Marvin's wishes, he just had to have some freedom. Looked like his life was about to get a helluva lot more exposure... and a damn sight more dangerous.
"Masked ball, eh?" Off Bombay's nod, he added, "I don't think I'm the costume type."
Bombay stood, his grin infectious. Clasping his hands, he affected a most feminine roll of his eyes. "But you don't have to be - all you need is le masque. Something black... ooh, you will look so *wicked* in your evening dress, my friend! The devil himself!"
Ready to take revenge and take back his life. Perfect, he thought.
...Chapter Two...
"Cold, my dear?"
The concerned question pulled her gaze from the mist-swept streets beyond the car window. Her companion, the wealthy and respected Mr. Robert Luquet, sat beside her with a small smile, one brow raised at her wandering thoughts.
"No, I'm fine," she answered, "just a bit tired."
Which was the absolute truth. Ever since she'd arrived in New Orleans a week ago, she'd hardly had a chance to catch a breath. Between pursuing her quarry via the Internet during the day and the endless round of more hands-on forays at night, she was working herself into exhaustion. It hadn't shown up yet in her face, but she knew it was only a matter of time.
Hopefully, she'd reach her objective before too much longer and get the hell out of this city.
The second she'd stepped off the plane, she was assaulted by memories. The anger and frustration still hung in the chilly air, still cried on the notes of piped-in, sultry jazz... still sizzled in the red-pink sunset. As did the love. And the eventual acceptance. It was this that hurt most of all, scored into her with every step she took on the ancient streets.
This was their place. She had no business visiting alone; she saw him on every corner, heard his sex-laced voice in the rustle of her sheets at night, felt his warm touch in her dreams.
Shaking off her sadness, she glanced at the man by her side. An old friend of Walter Skinner, he'd gladly agreed to escort her to the various goings-on in the city prior to Fat Tuesday. He was himself a veteran of Army Intelligence, and a trusted ally of the Assistant Director, now once again Scully's covert boss. A most handsome fellow, with greying dark hair and piercing blue eyes, he shadowed her every move when she ventured into the cream of New Orleans society.
She knew the rumors were already flying about her and one of the city's richest, most eligible bachelors. If circumstances were different, she'd probably fall for him, and hard.
But she was here to do a job. As Ana, a temptress who could easily gain access to the homes of the rich and famous. A charmer who only ever appeared on Mr. Luquet's arm in a demi-mask of red satin. No one had ever seen her face, and she wanted it that way. There was one man... one very *dangerous* man... who would recognize her instantly. She'd never met him, but he knew her, she was certain. And with Robert's help, she gained entry into the most lavish homes in the city - the private homes of his associates.
Strughold was here for a reason; so was she.
But the outcomes of their machinations would be vastly different, if she was successful. This wasn't going to be easy; other than a daily check-in with Skinner by email, she had no one to watch her back, to come to her aid if she needed. So deep was her cover, so monumental her goal, it was impossible to reveal anything to anyone. Robert understood, and he didn't press her for information. She supposed he was her only hope should she need assistance. And she vowed to never need it.
She was Ana, who could get anything she wanted. Except what she wanted most.
"Ana?"
Robert's soft query made her blink. Realizing she'd been staring off into the blackness beyond his shoulder, she blinked, giving him a small smile as she checked her outfit. It would do as an adequate coverup; it was a simple, longsleeved sheath of ebony satin. Body-hugging, to be sure, but the leotard beneath fit like a glove. Her other needs were crammed into her evening bag.
"All set?" he asked.
"Yes." She was as ready as she'd ever be. After attending several parties in the past week warmup exercises, so to speak - it was time for the real work to begin. Balfour's was just the first obstacle on the list.
"Good luck." Robert squeezed her hand. "I wish I could help more."
Scully returned the gesture, saying, "What you know already could get you killed, you know."
"All I know is a name," he said, brushing off her concern. "And he's supposed to be here tonight. What's so dangerous about that?"
The name was just the tip of the iceberg; Scully didn't dare tell him more. But he knew already, she could see it in his eyes. A man like Robert kept his connections open, despite his retirement into the good life. But for every name he had, every bit of information he'd learned, there were a dozen other facts he didn't know, could never guess. Scully wanted it to stay that way.
"Robert," she murmured, giving him a warning glance, "you know I can't -"
"I know, I know," he interrupted. "Just don't make me sorry I let you walk into a lion's den alone, okay?"
"I'm very good at what I do. Ask Walter."
Chuckling, Robert released her hand, jerking his chin at the blare of lights beyond. "Walter is a pussy, with a weakness for redheads. Believe me, I know. We go way back."
"Are you saying he picked me for this assignment based on the color of my hair?" She knew that wasn't the case, so did Robert, but the bit of levity helped ease the tension their impending arrival had created.
"No. I'm saying he picked *me* to help you out because he knows I have the same God damned weakness." His jaw tight, he gave her a grave nod. "I know you're competent, Ana. But forgive me if I allow myself to worry about you."
At his admission, she fell silent. He could not help her if she got into trouble. As her escort, he could offer just the flimsy explanation of sudden sickness once she disappeared. Fifteen minutes, tops - a narrow window of free time to do what she had to do. It would be enough; she'd make sure of it.
As the limousine pulled into the Balfour's estate, she sighed. Someday, if Skinner's plan worked, she'd get what she most desired. It was the best reason to continue.
Marvin maneuvered the limousine to a slow halt before the brightly lit mansion, turning one last time to plead with Mulder. "I still say this isn't a good idea."
Mulder donned his mask, a simple black velvet custom made for his angular features. "Did I ask for your opinion, Marvin?"
"No, but you're fu - bloody well going to get it."
At the uncharacteristic show of anger, Mulder raised a brow into his floppy locks. "Marvin, I live for the day you finally say 'fuck,'" he teased, then sobered at the man's ruddy anger.
"I've got my radio and my gun. Just be ready to go if we have to hightail it out of here, okay?"
"You just watch your step, my good man. I didn't spend years amassing your fortune to see it spent on a funeral."
"Chill, Marv." Mulder felt the cold, wet air burst into the vehicle as the valet opened the door. He leaned a bit closer to Marvin and whispered, "I'm just gonna have a look around. Half hour at the most."
As Marvin revved the engine, Mulder heard him growl, "Then we start all over again at the next one of these colossal wastes of good money."
Mulder chuckled as he exited the limousine. A footman waved him through the massive doors, taking his invitation from his hand. "Your name, sir?" He eyed Mulder's flawless tuxedo with a nit-picking glare.
"John Robie."
At the name, the footman started, his haughty face relaxing into an ass-kissing grin. "Mr. Robie. I will announce you."
Mulder caught him by the arm and smiled, turning on the charm. "I'd rather you didn't," he said.
"I'll make my own introductions to your gracious employer."
"As you wish, sir." Mulder knew the moment he passed the groveling servant, the news of his arrival would spread like wildfire. But a formal announcement would have instantly made him the center of unwanted attention. Aloof and unofficially announced, he could move with more ease. Which he did, bypassing the throng on the dance floor to head for the bar.
The whispers reached his ears as he skirted the crowd.
"Bought the old LeBlanc place... rich as Croesus, they say... came complete with an English butler..."
Mulder grinned; Marvin would blanch at that. He was *not* a butler. He preferred the term "gentleman's gentleman", if he couldn't be known by his real title of "financial genius who saved Fox Mulder's bum". Mulder never asked Marvin exactly what he did before finding him on the docks in Alabama, but he figured either title suited him perfectly.
"Champagne," he told the bartender, feeling the stares on either side of him. He took the flute with a steady hand, leaning against the bar to survey the men and women who moved about. All in evening dress, with similar masks to his, they danced and laughed. A flash of light made him wince and turn his head; he'd forgotten about the possibility of society photographs. Though the mask served to hide the upper twothirds of his face, and the goatee - Marvin had proclaimed it a "Van Dyke" with a condescending huff - gave him additional cover, he still didn't want his picture taken.
The house was packed, at least in the ballroom.
In an effort to avoid the inevitable photograph, as well as get a better view of the partiers, he looked around for a more secluded spot. Spying the balcony that overlooked the ballroom in a neat semi-circle, he decided to chance moving to the stairs at the other end. There were a few couples above already, but they seemed more interested in stealing kisses in the curtained shadows at either end.
Halfway across the room, he was halted by the calling of his name over the din. "Mr. Robie!"
The man only reached to his shoulder, and he smelled of whiskey and fine cigars. Despite his short stature, he commanded respect, as the party-goers faded away to give him access to Mulder.
A firm, slightly damp hand took his. "Ernest Balfour," he said with a perfect smile. He was sans mask for the moment, and Mulder saw it peeking from Balfour's jacket pocket. "You *are* John Robie, aren't you?"
Mulder gripped his hand once, then pulled away. "I am," he replied softly. "Thanks for the invitation." He could feel a dozen ears perk up around him at the confirmation, though they lingered back, unwilling to upset the host.
"My pleasure," Balfour purred. "And thank *you* for choosing First Merchant's. We are always at your disposal, Mr. Robie. Night or day."
Mulder knew the man sat on the Board of Directors of the largest bank in the south. It was one of the reasons he'd picked Balfour's ball over Gustav's. And Mr. John Robie was one of his best customers. Balfour was the type to do a bit of ass-kissing should the need arise.
"I'll remember that, Mr. Balfour," he said, with narrowed eyes. "But for now, I'm finding it a bit stifling in here. If you'll excuse me..."
"Certainly. Try the balcony, or the patio. If you need anything, just grab one of my people." Balfour was gushing with help, patting Mulder on the back.
Mulder just nodded with a closed smile and left his host. In moments, he'd reached the stairs. At the top, he ignored the startled looks of the couples above and found a chair. Settling in the shadows a few feet back from the edge, he signaled a waiter for more champagne and sat back to observe.
Robert returned after about fifteen minutes, handing her a glass of champagne with a smile. "I thought you'd be mobbed by now," he remarked dryly.
In the few parties she'd attended so far, she'd been singled out by quite a few of the men. A new face among the usual crowd, she'd attracted a lot of attention. Robert had kept them at bay with his presence, and she herself had tamped down their advances with aloof answers and cool looks.
Tonight, the ballroom was abuzz, but it wasn't with her arrival. Something was afoot, and a familiar tingle of awareness flitted over her skin. The investigative instinct she'd honed over the years never ceased to fail her and it perked up now; was he here?
"Seems I'm no longer the flavor of the month," she answered, her eyes giving Robert a subtle, knowing glance. "Maybe all my efforts are about to pay off."
"From what I hear, there's a mystery man in attendance. Slipped upstairs right before we came in." Robert's gaze traveled over the crowd as he sipped at his champagne, but his words were firm and meant for her. "Balcony above, in the shadows."
Scully let her eyes wander a bit. The mask afforded her some privacy to stare, but she gave a few people a small smile before looking up, her gaze hooded. A balcony surrounded the second story of the house on all sides, with louvered doors opening into rooms. Or in this case, opening onto a narrow landing that semicircled the upper reaches of the ballroom. There was a spiral staircase at one end that led to the ballroom below, and there were many pairs of doors swung wide to the night air. She could see couples moving about up there, just as she could also see others seated in chairs on the balcony in an attempt to get away from the cacophony in the ballroom.
Robert was right; the figure lounging on the balcony next to a small table was almost lost in the darkness away from the railing, but he was there. His face hidden like theirs, she felt him doing the same thing as they were observing. A frisson of fear mixed with excitement caught her breath. Though she saw nothing really but a faint outline of a man, she sensed his importance. All the more reason to do what she had to do and get the hell out of here.
"Quite crowded, isn't it?" Robert, to her relief, seemed to sense the same thing, giving her the perfect opening.
Scully felt a fine sheen of sweat trickle down her spine. It wasn't just crowded, it was oppressive, despite the cold, damp air outside. The extra clothing she wore beneath her dress didn't help any and she passed her glass of champagne to Robert, answering, "It is... I think I need a bit of air." Raising her voice just a bit she added, "I'm not feeling well."
Robert played the concerned swain to the hilt, grasping her arm to shove his way through the crowd. "Do you need to leave?"
"No, I think I'll be fine once I splash some water on my face." She smiled at his wink of acknowledgment, heading for the door.
Once in the huge hall, she quickly climbed the stairs into darkness, ducking into the first unlocked door she came to. It was a linen closet, and she stripped in total darkness, carefully laying her dress on a shelf of towels. If all went well, she'd be able to return for it and leave the party with Robert. And if it didn't... well, she knew how to hail a taxi. Far, far away from here, even if she had to run all the way.
The black knit ski cap tugged over her head, she took the lockpick from her purse. After snapping the evening bag - which now served as a tool pouch - into place around her waist, she opened the door and melted into the dark hall, starting in the opposite direction from the noise downstairs.
Mulder sat up straight at the flash of red hair in the crowd below. For a second, he allowed himself to hope. Then the woman disappeared out the ballroom doors and he forced the feeling to die a swift death. She wouldn't be here. No way.
Then, with sharp realization, he recalled exactly why *he* was here. Surely if he knew of Strughold's arrival in New Orleans, so did she.
Skinner would not let something like that slip by him; Strughold Mining Company peppered the Xfiles, and though he himself was never connected beyond a doubt to the conspiracy, it stood to reason that he figured prominently in what was left of the Consortium. Something Skinner knew, just like Mulder did.
Damn it, Skinner should also know how fucking dangerous it was to approach Strughold then, he thought. His heart tripped and he stood; if it was her, then he'd make sure she gave it up, whatever she was doing here.
It couldn't be her. It damn well better not be.
The lock gave way without a sound and she slipped into the study, depositing the lockpick in the pouch at her waist. In the darkness, she began to search by touch mostly, sliding her gloved fingers along the walls. Skinner's sources had done well to gather the information necessary - all she had to do was find the safe. It was in this room somewhere, a small hole in the wall that held something of great value to the remaining conspirators. But what? She wouldn't know until she saw it.
She held her breath at the feel of a bump in the paneling. A slight pressure, and a twelve by twelve square of wood gave way, flipping open to reveal a keypad nestled in the middle of a metal door. Glowing eerily red in the dark, it beckoned, and she slipped the key card from her pouch. Hovering over the slot for a moment, she said a quick prayer for its success in opening the small safe. A great many lives had been put in danger already in procuring the card and the accompanying pass code. She was sure if it didn't work, the security system would spring to action immediately, trapping her within these walls to await certain discovery. And sure death, from what she knew of the men involved.
But it slid through the slot like a hot knife through butter, giving her the green light without making a sound, the safe door sliding swinging open. If she had the time, she'd cry with relief. Instead, her shaky fingers crept within and removed item after item with quick stealth, searching for anything sure to stand out.
In the dim light from the windows beyond, she rifled through the papers. They were mostly doctored financial papers and personal things like birth and baptismal certificates. A small envelope gave her pause, and she found the photographs within to be unusual, to say the least, but nothing noteworthy, unless as blackmail material. Frustrated, she reached far back, sensing this dangerous heist was turning out to be useless. Then she felt it; a small, latched box.
Pulling it out, she opened it, the glint of metal catching her eye. Her gloved fingers couldn't feel its coolness, but still, it burned her hand with its importance. And it was important, she knew it.
Fingering the brass, she held it up to the keypad. It looked just like any other key. To a house, a car, a boat... innocuous and easily lost. But she knew better; this key, hidden within Balfour's dirty dealings and innocent memories, was literally a *key*. To everything in the world she'd lived in for years now. How many times had she or Mulder spoken of 'the key to everything in the X-files'? She could have laughed at just how ridiculously true that statement had just become.
Her fingers itched to just steal it and be gone.
But she knew its absence would raise more alarms and her efforts become all for naught.
So walked around the room, looking for... yes, that would do. Quickly, she pulled a pocket knife from her pouch and sliced at the base of the heavy candle atop the fireplace mantel.
Pressing the key into the palm-sized circle of wax, she was done. A copy would do just as well as the original. Her goal realized, she put everything back in order in the wall and zipped the impression into her pouch.
All she had to do was return to the party.
Robert would be relieved. She *should* be relieved.
Instead, she'd gotten the scent of the chase. It was in her blood now, and nothing would stop her. The first flash of lightning made the hair on her arms stand on end, and with an exhilarated burst of energy, she approached the study door.
Mulder, delayed by well-wishers on the balcony, felt his anger grow with each passing moment. He didn't know if he could make his way through the false smiles below without howling with frustration. And it didn't help that the weather seemed to be taking a turn for the worse, the chilly wind picking up as thunder rumbled in the near distance.
"Is there another way to make it downstairs?" he asked one of the men who'd stopped to introduce himself, ignoring the seductive looks the drunken man's date bestowed upon him.
"Sure," the guy slurred, waving his hand at the opposite end. "Go round the other side of the house. Might be an open bedroom door."
Without a thanks, Mulder turned, elbowing his way through the growing number of people on the balcony. What was it with these idiots? One sniff of new money, and they were on him like a pack of hounds.
Amidst the grasping, greedy palms, he forced a fake smile on his face and nodded at their greetings, though he didn't pause. On swift feet he finally made it to the near-empty other side; it was with a satisfied huff that he found one of the doors unlocked and slipped through, closing it on their astounded faces.
Turning, he scanned the darkened bedroom with a keen eye, giving himself a few seconds to adjust to the dim light. In two strides, he was at the bedroom door, cracking it open to peer into the hallway. From what he could see, it branched off at both ends, probably into more bedrooms.
He took a step out and eased the door shut behind him, only to melt back into the wall when he heard a click.
Damn. He'd never make it downstairs in time to catch her. *If* it was even her.
The heavy-paneled, double doors to his right slid open a crack and he inhaled sharply at the sight of a slim figure. Covered head-to-toe in clinging black, it crept slowly out of the room and eased the door shut before glancing first one way, then another.
He knew he really should just let the would-be thief go. There wasn't any time to dally with the surge of years of law enforcement training that welled up in his chest. And it wouldn't do to draw undue attention to himself, though he'd already done so just by his attendance tonight. But he couldn't let it go; something - instinct, perhaps - told him not to let the thief get away. Strughold's arrival in New Orleans, Balfour's association with the man, and now this - someone creeping around upstairs, abble to move about Balfour's mansion with the distraction of the party below. It all added up to some very suspicious doings, and he was determined to find out the motive behind it all.
Mulder reached for the pistol strapped to his ankle, then thought better of it, realizing a gun shot would definitely summon others. Instead, he hunched behind a small table laden with flowers, hoping his black attire and the equally dark hallway would work to his advantage. It did. Missing his presence entirely, the stealthy figure began to slide along the wall toward the staircase, and it was then he made his move, staggering like he'd had too much to drink.
Affecting a sloppy slur, he drawled, "Hey! Where's the -"
But he should have known better, he thought instantly, as he grabbed the slender shoulder. A gloved fist flew up, clipping him in the chin. He stumbled back, but didn't fall, reaching up to grab the other fist that swung in an arc toward his face. A woman. The would-be thief was a woman... he felt the small bones beneath his fingers, and he lessened his grip.
Another mistake, as she grabbed his arm with both hands and flipped him to his back in a heartbeat. A subtle, familiar perfume drifted in the air surrounding him, and he drug in its potent scent with labored lungs. But it didn't stop him - in fact, it pressed him on, and he scrambled to his knees, reaching for her departing legs.
A small grunt reached his ears as she fell, and he used his feet to hold the lethal black heels at bay while he used his body to subdue her. He heard the rending of cloth as she squirmed beneath him. Crawling over her, he pinned her legs to the floor with his and grabbed the slim wrists in a firm hold.
He knew he shouldn't - what if it wasn't her? Would he reveal too much with the name? But he so wanted to know...
"Scully?"
She stilled, her chest heaving under his. But she didn't say a word.
Mulder felt a warmth spread through him and he relaxed his grip on her hands, her name bleeding from his lips in an aching whisper. "Scully..."
Right before she brought both fists up, ringing his bell with a swift, double blow that sandwiched his head. He reeled, falling away from her in a temporary daze. Shaking his head, he sat against the wall, hearing her footsteps thud down the hall.
When she reached the end of the hall, he saw it. Illuminated in the flash of lightning streaming through the balcony door as she ran through it, it was unmistakable. Rippling over the muscle in the tear of the leotard, it confirmed his suspicions.
The ouroburous. Winking at him as she climbed over the balcony railing.
First thing he did was smile, rubbing at his sore jaw. In the next instant, his face hardened as he got up and ran after her. The hard rain slashed at his face as he gripped the iron railing, trying to find her in the grass below.
Another flash of lightning, then another. Like a panther, she ran from the house into the trees beyond, and he smiled, recognizing the easy swing of those legs. Not to mention the tight pull of that stretchy black material over that perfect ass...
The smile faded as did the simple joy of touching her again. He was going to have a damn good time paddling that ass when he saw her again.
...Chapter Three...
Mulder. In New Orleans.
She ignored the curious stare of the night desk clerk as she hurried to the elevator. It was well after one in the morning, and the constant downpour outside had limited her contact with anyone on the street, despite the Mardi Gras season. Like the professional she was, she'd stuffed a few large bills into her pouch, just in case she became separated from Robert. The taxicab driver hadn't like her bedraggled looks at all, but he'd perked up at the sight of the hundred dollar bill.
Now, riding up to her suite, she allowed herself to take a deep breath, though her mind whirled with anxiety in the aftermath of their encounter. What the hell was he doing here? And damn it, he'd guessed who she was almost immediately. Though she hadn't given herself away completely, the momentary shock that made her stiffen beneath him was an ill-timed lapse. But as long as he couldn't be certain, he never would be. She'd have to be doubly careful from now on.
Slicing her key card through the lock, she stumbled into her suite, too exhausted to think of it all anymore. Sleep, she needed sleep. Tomorrow she'd think of Mulder. She wasn't going to allow him to disrupt her plans - to unknowingly cloud their future together.
The flash of lightning through the windows startled her as she closed the door with a sigh. With only a minimal amount of light from the street lamps outside, she stripped off the black clothing, carefully placing the wax impression in the false bottom of her suitcase. Only when she had the other pieces of the puzzle would she be satisfied; and then, the battle would be just beginning.
After slipping on a nightshirt, she shivered under the covers of her bed, drifting uneasily into a sleep filled with dreams of Mulder. As she did every night since he'd left her.
"Get him over here *now*."
Mulder shed his tuxedo jacket, snarling at Marvin with uncharacteristic vehemence. His friend didn't waver, however, standing firm inside the parlor door, flinging his chauffeur's cap to the nearby sofa before heading for the bar.
"Care to enlighten me as to this sudden need to see Bombay?" Marvin took his time pouring two snifters of brandy, one eyebrow raised as he calmly assessed Mulder's agitation.
"None of your God damned business." Mulder winced as he stretched his back, already halfway to his normal vigil at the doors that overlooked the side yard. He could no more stop looking at what awaited him outside than he could stop breathing. The imprisonment weighed upon him more and more each day, and now, with her in the vicinity... the urge to just throw caution to the wind and scour the streets of New Orleans for her threatened to eat him up.
"Wouldn't have anything to do with your obviously sore backside, would it?" Marvin appeared at his side, handing him the snifter.
He took it, taking a healthy gulp, grimacing at the burn of liquor down his throat. He never cared for brandy; the smell and taste reminded him of his father's constant drinking. But as usual, Marvin had sensed his need for something stronger than beer. Lifting the glass to his astute associate, he said with polite sarcasm, "Once again, none of your business." His smile didn't reach his eyes as he drained the glass.
Marvin took a sip before answering, "On the contrary, my good man. Watching that backside *is* my business."
Mulder turned and headed for the bar, his words terse as he poured another drink, this one more stout than the first. "Who died and elected you Mulder's keeper?" he growled.
"My brother," came the soft reply.
Closing his eyes, Mulder redirected his anger into remorse. At least temporarily. "Marvin, I'm -"
"Sorry. Yes, I know. Maybe if you say it a few more times, I may start to believe it."
When Mulder opened his eyes again, it was to a small smirk. He shook his head, saying wryly, "Marvin, I don't know why you didn't leave my ass months ago."
"You want the truth?"
"I *always* want the truth." The smirk faded into a melancholic, self-deprecating sag of his shoulders. He walked back to the window to look upon the blackness outside once again. It always came down to him and his truth; right now, he'd like nothing more than to send the truth back to hell and gather his family to him.
Live his life in peace. For the next ten years or so, anyway.
"Because my brother believed in you, Fox. He knew if anyone could stop the coming apocalypse, it would be you." Marvin stood at his side; from the corner of his eye, Mulder caught him surveying the night beyond. Twin vigilantes they were, keeping watch until the time was right.
Mulder sighed, feeling every ounce of his burden weigh upon his back. "I'm not that heroic, Marvin. You put too much faith in me."
"Only that which I feel is justified." Marvin turned to him. "You won't disappoint me, Fox.
But I'd be lying if I said tonight's adventures weren't disturbing."
Mulder took a sip of his brandy, realizing his friend's tactics were designed with this goal in mind. Calm him down, make him think once again instead of act. "You want to know what happened at that party." It was a dry statement more so than a question. Off Marvin's silence, he continued, "Let's just say I ran into an old friend."
Marvin huffed, "I knew you shouldn't have gone out -"
With a wave of his hand, Mulder silenced Marvin's protest, facing him to say, "Not *that* kind of an old friend. The good kind. The *best* kind." Against his will, as well as his lingering anger, he smiled. She was the *best* kind, indeed.
Behind his glasses, Marvin's eyes widened.
"Please tell me you didn't run into someone who can compromise you."
"Compromise me?" His brow lifted and he purred, "Marvin, this particular old friend compromised me long ago."
Mulder's vague answer was enough to confirm Marvin's suspicions, and he puffed up like a toad with indignation. "Bloody hell! We can't afford to have someone recognize you -"
"Take it easy, Marvin," Mulder interrupted, laying one hand on the man's stiff shoulder.
Leaning close, he felt a twinkle come to his eyes as his anger was temporarily replaced by burgeoning pleasure. "It was Scully." And despite the circumstances of their pseudoreunion, he couldn't deny he felt some happiness at knowing she was near.
The eyes behind those glasses widened to saucers. "Scully? You mean... *the* Scully?"
Chuckling, Mulder lifted his glass in a toast to her well-deserved esteem in Marvin's mind. "One and the same."
Mulder watched the myriad of emotions flash over Marvin's face, totally understanding the feelings. Frohike had regaled Marvin with information about the woman he worshiped more than any other, and Marvin, for all his British stoicism, had come to believe every word. And why not? All of it was true, in Mulder's estimation. He doubted Marvin would believe him if he told his friend Scully had an annoying little snore, an alternating puff and wheeze when she was bothered by allergies. His former partner could do no wrong in Marvin's eyes, thanks to Frohike. Though Marvin tried his best to deny it, to hide behind his stiff upper lip, Mulder knew it was there.
But Mulder also knew Marvin pretty well, and knew the man was protective to a fault. Despite the courageous tales Frohike had told him, Marvin wouldn't give his faith to Scully as easily as that. Trusting Mulder had come about before they'd met, simply because Marvin lived in an honorable man's world. Scully, for all her bravery and intelligence, was still a woman.
And the little man, with his old world schooling, still tended to be a tad rigid about females in general. Once again, just like it always happened when the subject of Scully came up, Marvin schooled his face into an impassive mask. But his voice, when he spoke, held a betraying little tremor of excitement. "You saw her? Spoke to her?"
"Not exactly." His grin faded as he recalled the way she'd decked him. "But I know it was her. Trust me." Briefly, he explained his encounter with her in the hallway of Balfour's mansion, including the way she'd knocked him almost senseless.
"What the hell is she doing in New Orleans?"
"That's what I need Bombay for, Marvin."
At last, his friend realized the importance of it all, and walked back to the bar, where he deposited his glass. In a thrice, he was at the door. "I'll see what I can do, Fox. Of course, it is rather late in the evening. Might take me a while to track down the man." He paused, his hand on the door knob, then added, "What are you going to do when you find her?"
It was Mulder's turn to hesitate. Really, he had no idea. Send her home? He dismissed that thought in an instant - no one could make Scully do what she didn't want to do, least of all him.
He knew what he *wanted* to do. Lock her up in this fortress and keep her in bed for about a week. Fat chance on that one, too. With a humorless grin, he faced the windows once again.
"Before or after I spank her?"
Marvin's reply was delivered with a snort. "My friend, you'll be lucky if she doesn't take a whip to *your* backside."
Picturing the certain fury she must have felt when she'd awakened months ago to find him gone, he said softly, "Don't I know it."
"Want some coffee?"
For just a moment, the man sitting in the muted dawn of the suite's living room... the way he held his head, the slight fury in his tone, the smell of the rain and the tapestry of the sunrise... God, she thought it was Mulder. With shaky fingers, she snapped on the lamp beside her bed and yellow light blossomed out from the fringed shade.
Robert. His concerned gaze sweeping over her, sitting in her hotel room as if he owned it, tipping a delicate cup in his fingers.
Suddenly, his face hardened and she pre-empted what she was sure to come.
"No," she replied coolly, rising to head for the bathroom, "but I'll thank you to leave my room.
I'm tired." That he'd gotten the management to let him in her room in the first place angered her; but she knew what the rich in this town could command. They'd seen him escort her several times and assumed a romantic liaison and it didn't help that he was part owner of the place. Still, she slammed the bathroom door with enough force to rattle the walls. Sitting there as if he owned *her* - that made her furious.
As she flipped on the overhead light, she grimaced at the scratches on her forehead, remembering her flight through the bushes outside the mansion. She pulled the bathrobe from where it hung on the door and winced at her sore body, sighing at her near capture - and near discovery. Shoving aside her thoughts, she stripped off her nightshirt and stepped into the shower. Robert could wait. She hadn't expected to find him lurking in her room this morning and damned if he thought he could just demand explanations at this early hour. She knew that, as her contact here, he deserved some
consideration, but he wasn't her boss. And he certainly didn't need to know she'd seen Mulder.
Her shoulders sagged under the hot spray.
Memories of the past few months crowded in, despite her best efforts to ignore them. The worry, the anger, the fear... only to find out he was right where she didn't want him to be.
As she flipped off the shower, she decided to think of him later. She couldn't allow herself to feel anything at the moment, not in front of Robert. Like the excellent operative he'd once been, he was very astute at discerning weakness.
And Mulder was definitely a chink in her armor.
One word to Skinner of any sign of wavering on her part and she'd be out of New Orleans in the blink of an eye. After Robert left, she'd let the floodgates open.
He was standing when she re-entered her suite, all apology. "Dana, I'm sorry -"
"Ana," she corrected him, walking to the night stand to retrieve her cigarettes. Another habit she'd fallen back into as soon as she'd gotten one whiff of New Orleans air. "Remember that, Robert." Lighting one, she raised her chin, all calm defiance.
"I was worried about you," he offered.
Exhaling the smoke, she schooled her face into a bland mask, tightening the belt of her robe.
"You offered to help me and Walter. You are. I didn't ask for your concern, and I don't need it." This harsh set-down was uncharacteristic of her, but she knew it was necessary.
Robert took a step in her direction; she stood her ground, certain he was a second away from shaking her. Her hand came up in a half-fist automatically, but there was no need. He bent at the waist, coming back up with her leotard in hand.
"Even if you find yourself in a deadly situation?" he bit out, waving his fingers at her through the tear in the material.
Scully felt her cheeks drain of color at the sight of the large hole in the leotard. Its placement was about waist-high, and judging from the tag sticking up in the crook of Robert's arm, it was most assuredly centered in the lower back. Unconsciously, her hand went behind her to rub at the reddened rug burn she'd discovered while showering. Stretching before the mirror, she'd noticed the tattoo was fiery because of the scrape, sure she'd have a bruise by the morrow. Her heart tripped; had Mulder seen the exposed skin?
Her minute distress was, as she expected, noticed by Robert. Dropping the leotard, he stepped forward, all concern. "Dana, you're not hurt, are you?"
In an instant, she'd calmed, back to her usual, cool, self. Side-stepping him, she walked to the tray of coffee, where, with fingers slightly shaky, she poured herself a cup. As she added milk, she said, "I'm fine, Robert. Just had a little mishap with a tree." And with a man who, in all likelihood, knew she was in town.
She felt rather than saw Robert move to her side. "I don't like this," he growled. "Walter said you were the best. And now this..." He threw the torn clothing to the floor with anger.
"I *am* the best," she stated, straightening to look at him, the steel in her voice matching the determination in her gaze. "With whatever means necessary, I get the job done." She took a drag from the cigarette before killing it in the ashtray by his half-empty cup of coffee. "It's none of your business how I accomplish my goals, now is it?"
"If you're putting yourself in a situation beyond your control, then yes - it is my business." He wasn't backing down. "A rogue agent is not conducive to the success of any operation, you know that, Dana. I'm here to assist you, to back you up, no matter how you feel about it."
He was right. His concern notwithstanding, he knew that teamwork was essential to coming out on top in their business. Scully let her ire fade, meeting his gaze. "I wasn't in any danger, Robert," she explained quietly. "You knew there was a chance we could be separated.
I followed the plan, just as we'd discussed weeks ago, when I first arrived. Did anyone notice I didn't leave with you?"
"A few remarks," he conceded, his anger fading as well. His eyes darkened, sweeping over her face as he sought to dig deep. "I blew it off by acting the spurned suitor. It's not unusual for couples arriving together to leave with different partners, not at this time of year."
A fact which obviously didn't sit well with him, she could see. In the weeks since they'd teamed up, she'd felt him thaw to her by leaps and bounds, something she hadn't encouraged by any means. But it was there still, his friendly overtures speaking of his desire to have her as more than colleague once the operation had ended. She tread carefully, not wanting to lose his expertise with an overt warding off of his subtle advances. More so, she genuinely liked the man, his typically southern attitude toward women aside. He was a good friend, and an even better ally.
Still, she sensed he would have much to say about Mulder's re-appearance in her life, should she mention the encounter last night. He knew as well as she did that personal involvement of any sort - his own behavior included - was not wise. According to Skinner, Robert had no idea what her past was like. But if she was right in her assessment of his abilities, he'd wasted no time in finding out. He probably knew everything about her from her shoe size to the way she fell easily into smoking when she felt restless. Which meant he knew about Mulder.
And that subject that was definitely off-limits.
Scully ignored his probing, walking around him to retrieve what she'd gone after last night.
The wax impression, still safely tucked in her luggage. She handed it to Robert without a word before reaching for another cigarette.
"The first step," he murmured with a sigh, disappointment at her silence edging his voice.
In the next moment, he'd assumed command, his voice tight and cool. "I'll get this done today," he said, speaking of the key. Skinner had insisted on her having complete autonomy over the operation, without any explanation to Robert. Besides acting as escort, he was to assist her with anything she needed. When he'd outlived his usefulness, he would be dismissed.
Something she knew he didn't approve of, but a fact she was grateful for... because that was when the real danger would begin.
Walking to the balcony doors, Scully flung them wide, blowing smoke into the cool morning air.
"Thank you," she said dismissively.
"We're still on for tomorrow night, as far as I know." Robert lingered behind her, telling her things she already knew. "I'll pick you up at eight, okay?"
"Fine." Leave already, she wanted to scream at him. The atmosphere of tension, the cool, humid air, the swirl of smoke... God, she smelled Mulder on herself, even after the cleansing warmth of the shower.
But Robert didn't go. "What are you doing today?" The question held the ever-present tinge of encroachment, of emotional interest.
No, no, she wanted to hiss. You can't take his place. I want *him*. In this city, in this room, in my bed.
"What every other tourist does on Sunday during Mardi Gras," she said, her impatience clipping the words. "Beignets at Cafe du Monde, then I'm going to take in a parade." What business was it of his, her tone demanded.
"Dana -"
"Goodbye, Robert. Bring the key with you when you come tomorrow." Like he would dare forget, or refuse. Her dismissal had the desired effect, and she heard the room door snick shut behind her.
Pulling the robe closer to her overheated skin, she sat on the rain-slick chair to her left, propping her feet up on the iron railing as she watched the sun rise fully. It was tempting to just sit and wait for him to come, much as she'd done years before. This wasn't the same hotel, and neither of them were the same people they were back then... but if she knew him at all, she knew he'd find her. And though her plans for the day had been a placating lie to shove Robert away, the thought of just sitting there all day, waiting for him to come - well, it just wasn't her any longer. She'd come all this way to facilitate her future... *their* future together. But she'd be damned if she'd wait for the inevitable confrontation.
Cafe du Monde was the perfect place to be seen.
Without really being *seen*, of course. Mulder would find her, she was sure of it.
She just didn't feel like making it easy for him. As she re-entered her hotel room, she practiced. It wasn't something she relished on her tongue. As an intelligent woman with no need for superfluous emotion, she'd always found it difficult to say. But say it she did, to the damp air filling with sunlight.
"Fuck you, Mulder."
She said it again, as she dressed. Said it as she applied makeup and perfume, said it as she reached for her sunglasses. It may not be the very first words she'd say to him when she saw him again, but doubtless there would come an opportunity to use what she'd only told him once before.
And this time, her anger surpassed the previous instance. Yes, she'd let him have it. Either that, or she'd shoot him again.
She stopped cold, her door half-open, shaking her head at her bravado. Turning back, she grabbed her gun from its place on the night stand. Rolling her eyes, she winced at her inattention.
He was already upsetting her life again, and she'd yet to really come in contact with him.
Par for the course.
End Chapter Three
Truce
Chapter Four
Disclaimers, etc. in Headers
The milky sunshine didn't do his wan complexion any good; even with the dew on the window acting as a misty buffer, the glass still mirrored his fatigue. Marvin kept throwing looks his way, daggers of displeasure, really. Mulder knew the man was moments away from insisting he get some rest. Just as he himself was seconds from strangling Bombay, who pecked furiously at his laptop. Bombay twittered under Mulder's scrutiny, taking the time to wipe a bead of sweat from his brow.
"One 'n' or two?" he asked, halting Mulder's pacing by the window.
"What?" He must have been more tired than he thought, because he had no idea what Bombay was after.
"Ana, right? You said you were sure she'd use the name. So - one 'n' or two?"
Mulder swallowed, all at once unsure of himself.
God, he should remember this, he thought. Maybe he was bordering on complete exhaustion, because he'd typed out the name in the email he'd sent her long ago, the one summoning her to their final showdown in New Orleans. Had he written Ana or Anna? Suddenly, it came to him, surfacing through his murky mind like a mermaid.
"One. A-n-a."
"Last name?"
"How the hell should *I* know?" he barked, more irritated by the passing second.
Marvin stood, placing himself between Mulder and the object of his growing wrath. "Could be anything," he directed at Bombay shortly, then turned his attention to Mulder. "Fox, calm down. Let the man do his work." He took hold of Mulder's upper arm, half-dragging him to the chair by the window. "Sit. You didn't eat the breakfast I brought you, did you?"
Mulder rolled his eyes at the obvious answer, catching sight of the untouched tray on the bar.
Bringing a hand up, he chewed at his thumbnail, staring off at the watery sunlight on his vast lawn. "What if she's hurt?" he murmured, drawing his eyebrows together.
Though he'd been angry more than worried hours ago, he'd had time to think. Just because he'd seen her lope off into the trees, it didn't mean she was okay. When Marvin had finally come home about an hour ago, Bombay in tow, he'd worried himself into a frenzy. Ignoring Marvin's attempts at calming him - as well as Bombay's huffy blustering for having been pulled from the bed of his latest lover - Mulder immediately lit into the computer expert, demanding he find the woman who meant more to him than life itself.
He'd told Bombay nothing more than he needed to know; which was very little, really. Instinct told him she'd most probably used the same first name alias as in her previous trips to New Orleans, though he seriously doubted she'd let 'Scully' serve as her last name. His gut told him she was probably in a hotel very much like the ones they'd stayed in before. Just picturing her amidst all that old-world, sinful charm had churned his insides to mush especially since he had no idea if she was visiting the city alone.
"We'll find her, Fox," Marvin said softly.
"Don't worry. Please eat something."
Mulder waved him off. "I can't." Yes, it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that she was here with someone else. A new partner, perhaps? No, he'd have heard of any new partner on the scene. It wasn't a lover, that was certain. He kept close enough tabs on her life that he knew she was just as lonely as he was.
No, what really shook his foundation was the fact that he knew what this city meant to her.
Even if she was here on FBI business, she could easily find forgetfulness in a town full of charming, attentive men. He'd seen first-hand what the oppressive, musical air of the French Quarter transformed Scully into - an alluring, sensual, *sexual* being. Unfettered by responsibility, willing to say what she wanted, to take what she needed, to take a man to her and wring every ounce of pleasure from him, to give him whatever he asked in return.
Damn it, he wanted to touch her again. To kiss her and make love to her until they were both weak-kneed with exhaustion. He would *not* let another take his rightful place.
He closed his eyes against his own superior thoughts, feeling as if he'd lost touch with himself in the months spent in this house.
Scully would have his hide if he knew just how territorial he was in his thinking. He had no one to blame but himself if she'd decided to move on. But no, he was sure her purpose in New Orleans was not a romantic one. Though when all was said and done, he wondered if they could ever go back to what they had before. It was going to take a massive effort on his part to make up for his abandonment.
"Fox?"
Opening his eyes to Marvin's concern, he shrugged. "I'm okay," he muttered, unwilling to listen to any more of Marvin's admonishments.
"Got it!"
Bombay's announcement made Mulder jerk up, and he brushed by Marvin to hover over Bombay's shoulder. "What? Where is she?"
"Well, I don't know if it's her, you realize -"
He focused on the screen, but his eyes were so dry and itchy, it was a chore. Something about the 'Maison Blanche', whatever that was.
Information scrolled by at Bombay's touch, tucked away in several frames - corporate contacts, physical attributes of the hotel property, even the hotel's quarterly financial report. The man was good, he had to give him that much. Still, it was so jumbled, Mulder had difficulty finding the list of hotel guests.
"Just tell me, damn it!" he snarled, impatience getting the better of him.
Bombay's slender hand pointed at the screen.
"There's an Ana Petrie registered here - at the Maison Blanche."
Mulder straightened, giving Marvin a firm look.
Petrie. Very French. Very innocuous in these parts. Also very noteworthy because of one distaste-filled remark so long ago. One with a name eerily similar to Bombay's pronunciation.
"Sure thing."
"Hold just a moment, Fox."
Marvin's stern voice usually wasn't enough to stop him, but he found himself on shaky legs, his adrenaline rush waning in a matter of seconds. He paused, leaning against the door.
"What now?"
"You can't just walk up to her and greet her as yourself, you realize."
"Why not? I went out last night, didn't I? And no one recognized me."
"Fortunate, true. But a second venture in as many days? Foolhardy. You should lay low for now. I'll bring her to you."
One last grasp at anger spurred him to reply, "No way. I'm going."
"Look at yourself, man!" Marvin was well and truly angry, for the first time Mulder could remember having seen him so. His voice boomed across the room, and his face was tight, as if his jaw would crack in multiple places should he grind his teeth any further. "You look like hell. One look at you and she'll never want to leave your side again. I thought you'd set yourself apart from her for her own safety, Fox!"
The accuracy of Marvin's reasoning could not be denied. Mulder sagged, knowing if Scully thought he needed her he'd never send her away again. No matter how much he wanted her with him, until it was safe, she couldn't stay. But with her so close... he had to see her.
Just once.
God, the memory of those words, the words she'd made him give promise to that horrible, wonderful night so many years ago... a swift pain pierced him as he realized he was destined to say the same to her when he saw her again.
Just once. If circumstances never changed, possibly the only time he'd ever see her again.
"I know you want to see her, Fox." Marvin's words were sympathetic now, and Mulder couldn't summon the energy to decry he needed sympathy.
"Let me be the go-between, please. I'm so unknown it's pathetic; no one will look twice at me. Or at her, I'll make sure of it."
But she was bound to be startled at Marvin's face, that was certain. With a conciliatory nod, Mulder said, "Just don't scare the daylights out of her, okay?"
A pleased Marvin replaced him at the door, patting him on the back. "Never fear, old boy,"
he beamed. "You clean yourself up, catch a nap.
I'll phone you from the car when we're close."
He turned to Bombay, who'd watched their exchange with open-mouthed fascination. "Come along, lad. I need a driver."
"A driver?" Bombay stood with an offended glare.
"I'm no man's chauffeur, you pompous ass."
To his credit, Marvin didn't miss a beat, hooking his thumbs into his vest pockets as he purred, "Not even in exchange for the use of a limousine? I may be mistaken, but I've heard that something called 'Petronius' is coming up this week. It would be quite a feather in one's cap to arrive in a private limousine, don't you think?"
At the mention of the premiere gay Mardi Gras celebration in New Orleans, Bombay melted, the allure of arriving in Mulder's stately vehicle impossible to pass up. Grabbing the jacket to the tuxedo he'd hastily donned earlier in the night, he smiled, practically purring as stopped before Marvin, his eyes narrow. "I'll drive today... but I'll need a chauffeur myself, you realize." He walked past Mulder and Marvin and out the door, grinning at his victory.
If Mulder hadn't been so bone weary, he'd have laughed at Marvin's horror. Instead, he turned himself, heading for the seldom-used suite of rooms he had on the second floor. "I owe you one, Marvin."
Marvin drew himself up to his full height, retrieving his dignity in an instant.
"Nonsense," he stated. "If I have to drive the little bugger to the ball, so be it. It can't be that bad, can it?"
Knowing that the gay community in New Orleans went all out for Mardi Gras, Mulder kept his mouth shut. He wondered if Marvin had ever even *seen* a drag queen, much less found himself amidst a hundred of them.
"Can it?"
Marvin's voice followed Mulder into the hall, but he didn't acknowledge the question, saying, "Am I going to have to go get her myself?" His face hardened, and he was gratified to see Marvin scurry away.
"I'll have her back here in a thrice."
Somehow, Mulder didn't think she'd be that cooperative. Marvin was in for a skirmish.
Just as he knew he was in for a war.
She'd slept far too late, in her estimation.
But then again - why rush today? This Sunday presented a chance for a breather. Time to sit back and assess the operation with a clear head, one not muddled by the whirling flow of liquor and endless round of parties. Robert wouldn't come around again until tomorrow, to give her the key she'd barely acquired the night before, and escort her to yet another party. He'd better not show his face today, she thought.
She'd had enough of macho posturing.
Sipping at her cafe au lait, she watched the foot traffic on Decatur Street pick up, the tourists vying for space on the small street with the horse-drawn carriages and impatient car drivers. From her vantage point under the outdoor canopy, she could peruse the growing crowd at her leisure, ever on guard for even the slightest threat.
Not that she really expected an overt assault on her person, but it didn't hurt to remain cautious. Skinner had assured her that, though her purpose in New Orleans was not without danger, only he knew of her exact whereabouts.
Kersh was privy to some aspects of the operation; after all, it had been him who'd alerted Skinner to what was about to go down in this city. But he preferred not to know every detail. His involvement basically boiled down to signing her request for extended vacation time due to stress, and denying any knowledge of where she was and what she was doing.
Truth be known, if stress leave was imperative in fact, she would not have picked this place to relax. For all its laid-back attitude, it held too many unpleasant memories for her to totally succumb to its lazy way of life. And now, with Mulder so near, she was more on edge than ever.
He would try to find her, to see her. She was as sure of that as she was that the sun would rise and set each day. For a few minutes in the early hours of the morning, she'd thought of leaving the hotel, of disappearing into the obscurity of Robert's townhouse. But that would have been opening up another can of worms she'd rather not have dealt with.
Instead, she'd brushed off her nervousness and summoned her courage once again... Ana's bravery and determination, which had served her so well in the past. Mulder couldn't very well approach her in broad daylight, couldn't chastise her or insist she leave. He had no real hold over her, especially in light of his own circumstances.
But she knew damn well he was going to work around that; she expected a subtle message to be waiting for her when she returned to her hotel.
It had been hours since they'd had their run-in, and if she knew him at all, she knew he'd been working to find her since then.
Would she go at his call? Would she allow him to chance discovery and come to her instead?
She really didn't know. Part of her wanted to embrace his beloved form and never let go. The other part, the one still pissed from his abandonment, wanted to deny him any semblance of surrender, even though the success of the operation meant they'd be free to be together.
Sighing, she finished the last of her coffee and signaled for the check. The decision was fraught with loopholes, and was not something she wanted to think about today. Time enough to deal with personal wants and needs after the operation was a success. And it would be, she'd see to it.
A slight shadow blocked the midday sun. "Miss Petrie?"
Scully jerked her head up, her sunglasses of no use against the glare that surrounded the man before her. His face and body darkened by the sun streaming directly behind him, she tensed, her hand already reaching for the small pistol in the bag on her lap. A movement he picked up on instantly, as he raised his hands in retreat.
"Begging your pardon, Miss Petrie," he said, his voice breathless with sudden fear. "I'm not here to harm you in any way."
The words, while clipped and definitely British in accent and tone, came to her in a voice familiar, but long gone. Her brow knitted as she whispered, "Frohike?"
Good God, was she seeing the dearly departed, as Mulder had done months ago? She felt the blood drain from her face, and the man before her pulled out the opposite chair, his worry evident as his face caught the light at last.
"No, no," he pleaded, one hand reaching across the table. Inches from touching her own, he drew back, as if he realized the encroachment was beyond the pale. "I'm sorry, Miss Petrie.
I didn't mean to frighten you. Please forgive me."
He sat before her, stiff in his immaculate suit, his hair trimmed neatly, his hands devoid of black, fingerless gloves. Scully pulled herself together at the realization that it didn't fit.
"You're not Frohike." Of course, he could be one of the beings known as shapeshifters, and her hand tightened around the gun in her bag.
"Don't move. I have a gun on you." Little good it would do if she shot him, however. His blood would be toxic to her and the others around her; but maybe it would afford her some chance to escape.
He brought his other hand up, laying it on the table in a gesture of non-aggression. "Please don't use it, Miss Petrie. I assure you that my blood, however non-toxic, would very much like to stay exactly where it is." With a small smile, he added, "And the name is, in fact, Frohike. Marvin Frohike. At your service, dear lady."
Though she didn't loose her hold on the gun, she allowed her chin to drop as she drawled sarcastically, "Marvin. Marvin Frohike." Like she was supposed to believe the outlandish claim. "Other than the fact you could be the double of a dead friend of mine, I see no reason to trust you. Now, I'm going to ask you to remain seated while I -"
"Ana, I was sent to retrieve you," he
interrupted quietly. "By a very dear friend to both of us. Tall, lean fellow, with quite a 'Spooky' air about him." He lowered his voice, leaning over the table to whisper, "He's very worried about you."
"He is, is he?" At the mention of Mulder's nickname, she trembled, her foundation shaky.
"Forgive me if I don't believe you. You're not telling me anything that isn't common knowledge, including my name."
"Is it common knowledge that you attended a ball at Ernest Balfour's last night? Sans evening dress, of course. I doubt it's good fashion sense to drape one's self in black and go skulking about the upstairs rooms."
She was taken aback by his words, her mouth settling into a grim line. "I think you're mistaken, Mr. Frohike - or whoever the hell you are."
"Am I? You gave Fox quite a headache, you know.
As well as a serious case of worry. He watched you disappear into the darkness beyond the house and he hasn't slept since."
"Is he okay?" The second the question was out of her mouth, she cursed herself for her wavering.
She still didn't trust this man fully, but the incident last night, as detailed by him, could only have been passed on by Mulder.
"He's fine." Marvin's hand lifted from the table slightly and he paused at her stiffening, asking, "May I?"
She nodded. "Slowly, if you please."
With deliberate care, Marvin reached into his vest pocket and produced a card. She took it from him, all the while keeping her eyes on his every move. Embossed with heavy black ink, it wasn't hard to pick up the words when she swept her gaze over it once.
Marvin Frohike. Chief Executive Assistant, John Robie Industries, New Orleans.
Handing it back to him, she said, "John Robie?"
"A little indulgence of mine, Miss Petrie. I figured 'George Hale' had outworn its
usefulness."
Feeling more at ease with every moment that passed, Scully chuckled. "He's not a George.
Never was." Slow on the uptake, it hit her that Mulder appeared to have done very well for himself in the months they'd been apart. "John Robie Industries?"
"I can explain all, Miss Petrie, on the ride."
"The ride where?"
"To see Mr. Robie, of course."
Satisfied the little man presented no threat, Scully let the gun slide back into her purse.
The waiter chose that moment to come forward, check in hand. She paid it quickly, standing in the face of Marvin's astonishment. "I'm not going anywhere with you, Mr. Frohike."
"Marvin," he corrected, standing as well, his face full of dismay. "But you must. Fo - Mr.
Robie wants to see you."
"*Mr. Robie* can go to hell." She turned, her bag slung over one shoulder.
"He'll only come after you."
Scully stopped at the quiet statement, fury at their manipulations growing by leaps and bounds.
"He doesn't risk exposure unless necessary,"
Marvin added, "and I do believe he considers you necessary."
Of course he would, she thought. Rather like a prized possession, to be admired from afar but never really loved or needed.
"If he considered me 'necessary', he wouldn't have left me behind."
Marvin blanched at her cold tone, but said nothing. Like the good, honest man she sensed he was, he stood there, holding his tongue against her fury. Scully felt no pleasure in lashing out at Mulder through his friend, and in her next thought, she chastised herself for her anger. Mulder loved her, she knew. So much so that he put her away from him in a misguided burst of chivalry.
Much as she'd done when she sent him away after William's birth. The realization stunned her; after all these months, all this time spent directing silent anger his way, she could honestly say he'd repaid her in kind. With the best of intentions, they'd both done and said things destined for regret.
Taking a deep breath, she faced Marvin again, the corner of her mouth turning up at his obvious distress... and his unfailing loyalty to Mulder. "Let me guess," she said softly.
"Melvin Frohike's twin brother?"
Marvin's face broke into an answering grin. "I can explain everything along the way, Miss Petrie."
"Ana will do, Marvin." She straightened, giving the street beyond a sweeping glance before sitting once again, grateful for the growing bustle of the sidewalks. It helped distract her, set her on edge; behind her overt display of watching the people around her, she could listen to an explanation with cool detachment.
It wouldn't do to show this man an ounce of interest. "And you can explain here."
"Miss Petrie, I'm not all that comfortable -"
"I don't care if you feel like you've been thrown on a funeral pyre, Mr. Frohike. I want some answers." She grabbed the back of the chair once more, her mouth in a firm, implacable line as she leaned over the table. "Now tell me your employer's purpose in this city."
Marvin's obvious good breeding prevented a show of anger, but, as he straightened, Scully saw how miffed he was in the clench of his jaw.
However, he didn't flinch from her demand, instead offering a truce of sorts.
"In the car, Miss Petrie. This is not the place to be speaking of Mr. Robie's business."
Softer, he added, "He's worried about you, about what you're doing here."
"What I'm doing here is none of his concern,"
she pointed out. "In fact, it's best he not know."
"When has he ever done what's best for him?"
True. Scully gave the statement due
consideration, and her lapse in speaking gave Marvin another opening, as he pressed, "He just wants to see you, Miss Petrie. Is that so wrong of him?"
No, it wasn't. It was the inevitable tirade she'd have to endure from Mulder about her purpose in New Orleans that she wasn't looking forward to. But then again - this was her opportunity to give him a few choice words of her own about his disappearance.
She apologized to the puzzled waiter who had returned, waving him off before facing Marvin.
"I assume you have transportation?"
"I do." He smiled and waved a hand at the corner, stepping forward to offer his arm.
Scully felt a subtle warmth suffuse her at the odd little man's gallantry, and she tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. They hadn't gone more than a step of two when a limousine screeched to a halt before them.
"After you," Marvin purred, opening the door.
With wide eyes, Scully peered inside at the luxurious, spacious back seat. "What the hell has he been doing all this time?" she asked, giving Marvin a piercing glance. "Or is this some kind of joke?"
"No joke, my dear. Our dear Mr. Robie can afford it, believe me." He gestured for her to sit, then followed her into the back seat. The door locks slammed into place and they sped away.
As she watched the crowds part to let them through, she growled, "If he thinks this impresses me, he's sadly mistaken."
"He thinks nothing of the kind, Ana." Marvin's face hardened a bit. "All he thinks of is you."
Marvin looked away, his disappointment evident.
"And if I may say so, despite my dearly departed brother's fascination with you - not to mention Fox's rash decision to expose himself this way I really don't see the attraction. From what I've heard, one would have thought you Joan of Arc and Snow White rolled into one. You're quite disappointing."
From a man with the face of one who'd once adored her, the words were a shock. A quick flash of guilt assailed her; Marvin thought very highly of Mulder, that much was evident. And her attitude was abysmal, despite his best efforts to be cordial. No matter what laid between her and Mulder, she had no right to treat his friend with such ill-mannered, overt disdain. A fact she sought to rectify immediately.
"I apologize, Marvin. I'm not usually so..."
"Thoughtless? Confrontational?"
A tinny voice broke through the dark enclosure of the back seat. "I believe the word you want is 'bitchy'."
Scully tensed. "Who the hell is that?"
Marvin reached for a button at his right. "Stop eavesdropping, Bombay."
"Bombay?"
With a wave of his hand, Marvin dismissed the driver and her question. "The help in these parts is insolent in the extreme. Please excuse my driver," he sighed, with stone-faced, angry embarrassment. He flicked off the intercom, killing the huffs of indignation from the front seat. "Are you ready for the details? We have quite a ride ahead of us."
"Ready as I'll ever be," she answered dryly. As surprised as she'd been with the limousine, she realized that nothing Mulder did really had the power to shock her anymore. How outlandish could Marvin's story be?
With the flick of another button, a door opened before them, revealing a minibar. There wasn't a drop of liquor inside, only a carafe, which Marvin picked up along with a delicate china cup. "Coffee?"
Scully sighed, ready for whatever the tale ahead disclosed. "Sure. Creamer please... along with a healthy dose of the truth, if you don't mind."
She grinned, sensing this man would be very happy to spill all about Mulder's life in New Orleans.
Marvin smiled, warming to her effort to drop the prickly facade. "My pleasure, Miss Scully. It all started in Mobile..."
End Chapter Four
Truce
Chapter Five
Disclaimers, etc. in Headers
"My God," she breathed, at the sight of the mansion looming beyond the wrought-iron gates.
"This is where he lives?" Marvin had explained the circumstances of Mulder's wealth with limited detail, and she'd not been really surprised. After all, he came from money. Not by Kennedy standards, but money nonetheless. It was the way it suddenly slapped her in the face that gave her pause.
"We live here, yes," Marvin answered. "It suits our needs, I told you that."
Yes, he'd explained the importance of the magnetite that surrounded the estate, as well as the specially-made vehicle they rode in. But she hadn't expected such grandeur. They'd driven at least an hour from the city, exiting the interstate a while back to travel up the River Road. She'd seen plantations dot the fields of chopped, rotting sugar cane, but she never expected that Mulder had taken residence in a house just like those once owned by Creoles who were masters of all they could see for miles.
Nestled some distance from the road, the house sat at the end of an oak-lined gravel drive, its columns imposing. A veranda encircled the row of patio doors, on the ground floor as well as the upper floor. Scully didn't see anyone walking about, but the grounds were immaculate, something she commented on, curious as to just who lived here with them.
"We have a minimal staff," Marvin explained.
"We contract out for most of our needs, selecting very discreet businesses for landscaping, laundry, maid service, and whatever else we may require. Besides me, we don't employ anyone who needs to live in the house.
Our cook is a local woman; she comes in twice a week to prepare meals for our later consumption.
Not that he eats all that much," he added, with quiet disappointment.
A pang of concern made her catch a jerky breath.
She should have known he wouldn't take good care of himself; he never did before. At least he had a good friend in Marvin, it appeared. From the way he'd spoken of Mulder, he cared a great deal for him.
"Marvin?"
"Yes?" The car slowed to a stop before the huge house.
"Thank you." She took his hand, giving it a light squeeze. "Thank you for taking care of him."
He gave her hand a little shake. "A duty I will never shirk from, my dear. Though I must say I'm more than happy to relinquish some of my responsibilities to you now."
"Umm... Marvin..." But he was already out the door, the early afternoon sun catching her by surprise. In the darkness of the limo, she'd ridden in a cocoon of sorts, listening to Marvin's account of Mulder's life with silent fascination.
"Ana?"
At his call, she swallowed down her sudden trepidation. This was Mulder. Her partner, her lover, her friend. An attack of nerves was foolish and uncalled for; she took Marvin's offered hand and stepped out onto the graveled path.
Mulder paced his study, unable to bring himself to look out the window for the first time in months. Bombay had phoned him over an hour ago, his cryptic message informing Mulder that the package was on the way.
The package. He snorted at Scully's ire, should she know they'd spoken of her in such a mundane, spy-vs.-spy manner. Not to mention her certain disdain at the prospect that she was considered an object, not a person of stellar abilities herself. He knew Marvin thought of her as a capable agent, due to Mulder's insistence that they treat her as such. But he also knew of Melvin Frohike's regard of the woman within...
something he'd surely passed on to his twin over the years. Frohike may have respected her as a professional, but somewhere deep inside, he saw her as a woman to be protected. A natural assumption, given their gender differences. And Marvin, with the typical chivalry of a gentleman, would not shy away from the role of protector.
He couldn't wait to see how Scully reacted to that. Very seldom had he himself seen any sign of vulnerability from her; an occasional wilting of those strong shoulders, a few tears now and then when her thin shell of self-reliance cracked under the strain of the job. The only time he could truly say he'd seen the dam break was their first time in New Orleans. And then, there were no tears, no hysterics. But he could tell from her eyes, her desperate touch, her surrender to booze and cigarettes in a complete about-face of her personality.
Scully was not one to wail and moan about life's injustices, which is why her breakdown back in New Mexico had startled him so. Then, he'd run from it, fooling himself into believing his abandonment was for her own safety. And it was, really. But deep down inside, he knew he couldn't deal with Scully's overt display of sadness. That wasn't like her, it just wasn't.
Instead, when it became too much, she caved inwardly, seeking release in an embrace of practices designed to help bleed away the hurt.
After so many years, he recognized it, even if it took all his energy to deal with it.
Something he still wasn't sure he could do; their last time in New Orleans, he'd had to step carefully around her, approach her with every piece of armor-piercing ammunition he'd had at hand.
She was going to walk in this room in a few moments, all piss and vinegar at the high-handed way he'd summoned her. He welcomed her wrath, as low and dangerous as it was sure to be because he could handle that.
It was the thought that she might not be angry that alarmed him most. Her response to his call could range from total indifference to heartbreaking tears. He just didn't know her anymore; this saddened him most of all.
The door to the study opened behind him. He stilled, straightening as he took a deep breath.
"Who do you think you are, Mulder? And what the hell do you think you're doing?"
Releasing his pent-up breath, he let a grin burst forth. Thank you, Jesus - she was angry.
"According to Marvin, I'm John Robie."
He turned, his grin fading as his gut tightened at the sight of her. Her petite form clothed in jeans and deep green turtleneck, the black leather jacket and sunglasses creating a distant, touch-me-not attitude, he found himself wanting to gather her in his arms. To kiss away the months of yearning and make her stiff form remember what they were to one another.
But that was not yet possible. There was the little matter of a stealthy encounter in Ernest Balfour's upper hall to be settled first - as well as her reasons for being in New Orleans.
Scully didn't move an inch. Hands in her jacket pockets, she replied, "You are most definitely not Cary Grant, Mulder." Her voice became low and steely. "And you didn't answer my question."
"I'm not?" He sought to get past the rush of ill humor with his usual play. "Marvin thought the name was appropriate. My first choice was Howard Hughes, but it seemed a bit too obvious.
Of course, it's too late to change it now.
Coffee... Ana?" He moved to the bar, refilling his cup as he poured one for her.
Expecting her to refuse, to storm out and demand that Marvin take her back to the city, he was gratified to see the way his use of her alias took some of the wind from her sails. Not all of it, as her chin remained defiant. No, her fury was all too evident still, as the blue flash of her eyes appeared when she whipped off the shades.
Pocketing the glasses, she stepped forward, joining him at the bar, though she kept a safe distance. "This was foolish, Mulder. In the extreme."
Their fingers brushed as he handed her the cup of coffee, and they both paused, their gazes locking for several electric seconds. Despite her bravado, she wasn't immune to him. He sure as hell couldn't hide his reaction, either, feeling the warmth within him burning his eyes.
The time had passed long ago for double-talk and hidden emotions; the truth spilled from him. "I had to see you."
For a moment, she allowed herself to wilt; he saw it in the tremble of her lower lip. Then it was gone just as quickly as it had come, as she lowered her eyes, pulling the cup from his fingers. "For what? A convenient fuck, since we both happen to be in town?"
Anger rose within him, but he denied its birth on his lips, clenching his jaw. She knew better than that, but he understood her jab. This was going to be one helluva challenge, more imposing than the one years ago, where he'd finally broken through to her.
"You know that's not why I sent for you."
Scully walked to the veranda doors, her back to him as she sighed, "No, I don't know, Mulder.
You leave with hardly a word, stay away in silence, then suddenly - with a magical wave of your hand - you expect me to just be happy to see you?"
Mulder moved behind her, careful not to get too close, though the scent of her wafted over him, making the knot in his stomach blossom as desire threatened to overtake his good intentions. "I don't expect anything from you, Scully," he said, knowing deep down it was a lie. But there was time for other truths later; at the moment, he wanted nothing but his partner and friend.
"Except an explanation for why you're here in New Orleans."
She chuckled, dropping her head. "Forgive me for pointing out the obvious, Mulder - but I don't have to answer to you."
"No, but if it's why I think it is, then we can help one another."
A deliberate pause and then she replied softly, "You assume we have the same goals."
His throat constricted at the implication that she no longer wanted him in her life. *If* that's what she'd meant by that cryptic comment.
The possibilities for her night flight through Balfour's house and yard were endless; that she was on extended leave from the Bureau opened up a whole world of reasons. Could be she was working undercover. Could be she was a rogue agent on a personal mission.
And the goals of said mission? With all that had gone before between them, fifteen minutes ago he would have said she was doing this for the same reason he was - to enable them to live freely together. Now he wasn't so sure. Maybe she was working with another agenda... the climb up the Bureau ladder, perhaps. No, she wasn't the type, never had been.
Their son? That was a very good probability, one that immediately knifed him with worry.
"Scully? Is it... William?" He found his son's name foreign on his tongue, as if the syllables choked him. He'd never had the chance to know him, and despite his worry, it was like speaking of the recently departed. In hushed, aching terms, guaranteed not to cause more hurt.
"What's wrong?" He took a step forward, intending to touch her. She repelled from him like the positive pole of two magnets brought into close contact, still not raising her head.
"He's fine, as far as I know," she whispered, obviously uncomfortable with the subject. She nodded toward the state-of-the-art computer system on his desk. "You probably know more about him than I do." A fact that only caused her more pain, he could see, from the tense line of her cheek behind the swath of hair.
Mulder *did* know William's every move, his every trip to the park, his preference for riding his tricycle in the dirt of his parents'
chicken yard. He wasn't about to tell her, however. He couldn't bear to try to fill her empty arms with bare sketches of the son she'd lost. Instead, he shifted the conversation to a safer venue, silently promising her she'd have her son back.
"Then what is it? Why are you playing the thief in some of New Orleans' finest homes?"
"Don't you know that, too?" Sarcasm slipped through her whisper. "I think you know everything about me. You sit here in this huge house, keeping tabs on me from a thousand miles away, don't you?"
And he keeps himself away from her, he heard in the hurt-filled words. "Scully," he began, but she kept on, facing him with the anger she'd tried to keep at bay.
"You couldn't be bothered to stick around, could you?"
"I left you a note -" He pushed a shaky hand through his hair, his voice rising as hers did.
The argument had come at last, and he wasn't prepared for it; he needed time to think, to get his thoughts in order. But he was angry, too.
Mad at the world, at her, at himself. And he could no more stop it than he could stop her tirade.
"No! You made the decision for the both of us, without asking me -"
"Like you did when you sent me away after William was born?" His question was cold, slicing through the air, cutting off her words.
And though he knew it would knock her down, he couldn't stop the next jab with the knife of accusation. "Like you did when you gave him away?"
The blood drained from her face. Ashen, she gaped at him, a swift rise of tears clouding her eyes. Wordlessly, she set her coffee cup down on a nearby table and headed for the door.
"Jesus, Scully... I'm sorry." He stumbled after her, cursing himself and his words. But she kept moving, not running, just a slow, steady pace to the study door. "Don't go. Stay.
Please." As her hand curled around the door knob, he cried out, "We can't keep running from each other, damn it!"
He held his breath as she stopped, her back a rigid line. Would she say something? Or keep going? This was not the way he wanted this meeting to go, or to end. They'd come so far since they finally admitted their love to one another, only to face endless separations. His abduction, his pseudo-death, her sending him away - and finally, his abandonment, albeit for her own safety. He was weary of doing without her in his life, and he knew she felt the same.
Pride and duty prohibited her from saying so, but he could see it in the shadows under her eyes, the ones that mirrored his own, speaking of sleepless, empty nights.
"I want to help you," he said, his voice hoarse from lack of sleep. "I want to help *us*.
Whatever it is you're doing, let me help."
I want to come back home, his heart cried. He couldn't step over that line, not yet. But for the first time in a long time, he felt it just beyond the horizon. She had to feel it, too.
Scully sighed, turning to face him. She swiped at the dampness on her cheeks and wavered like a reed in the wind. The torment on her face pierced him, as did her valiant effort to stave it off, to keep herself intact. "I can't deal with *us* right now, Mulder. I have a job to do."
He never meant to bring her to this
uncharacteristic uncertainty. This was only supposed to be a chance meeting, a time to speak in low, hushed tones of love and need. A time to touch fleetingly, and make promises of a future they would probably never have. And if he had to keep it business, he would. Damn it, he originally brought her here with every intention of keeping it business.
"Tell me what's going on, Scully," he pleaded softly. "Let me try to help. That's all I want." A lie, and she knew it. But she also knew he wouldn't push for anything else until she was ready.
A small knock at the door startled them both.
Scully moved away from it, her arms coming up to encircle her waist as she moved past him to the window once again. With a small curse, Mulder stormed to the door, wrenching it open with a growling, "What?"
Marvin stood firm in the face of Mulder's impatience. "Lunch is ready, Fox. Would you like to eat here or in the dining room?" His eyes shifted past Mulder's tense form to the woman at the window, but he said nothing.
Mulder wilted a bit, unsure if Scully was staying. One hand on the door knob, he turned, asking softly, "Scully?"
The seconds ticked by, each one that passed making him more certain she would walk out and never come back. Just as he was about to tell Marvin to bring the car around, her voice broke through the silence.
"What's for lunch?"
Grinning, Mulder faced Marvin again, the question stuck in his throat. Marvin's smile was wide as he replied, "Shrimp gumbo. I recommend the dining room, dear lady. Less of a chance of mishap." He cocked a brow at Mulder, who chuckled at the memory of the many times Marvin had grumbled about the crumbs and food stains on the study's carpet.
"The dining room it is," Mulder stated, his weak happiness held close to himself as Scully brushed past them both into the hall.
She rounded the corner off Marvin's 'after you'
gesture. Mulder eyes followed her beloved form, but he didn't leave immediately, leaning over the man to whisper, "Where the hell's the dining room?"
"Round the corner, third door on the left,"
Marvin murmured in return, grabbing Mulder's arm to stay him for a moment. "No more shouting, Fox. Bad for the digestion." His stern face carried a much more meaningful warning as he headed in the opposite direction.
Mulder smiled. "On my best behavior, Marvin. I swear."
Marvin's snort echoed in the hall; he snapped to a halt, giving Mulder a sharp glance. "I'll return in moments with lunch, Fox. Don't keep the lady waiting."
Mulder, still basking in the knowledge that she stayed, shook his head at Marvin's admonishment and turned to follow Scully.
End Chapter Five
Truce
Chapter Six
Disclaimers, etc. in Headers
For a moment, Scully felt her heart skip a beat; Mulder wasn't behind her. It was as if he'd disappeared into thin air once again, and her legs trembled with the need to backtrack, to find him in the maze of rooms off the central hallway. Then he appeared from around the far corner, his half-smile speaking of his satisfaction at having her stay for the midday meal. Though it was fast approaching three in the afternoon, she hadn't felt hungry at all.
Not for food, anyway.
Mulder stopped a few inches shy of her personal space, his earnest, "I'm glad you're staying,"
rumbling through her body with the caress of a gentle wave. His gaze burned where it touched her face, asking for more than her company at the table, something she knew he wouldn't pursue this afternoon. She wasn't ready, that much was true. But to say she didn't crave his presence would be a downright lie.
Her near breakdown back in the study, combined with the urge to flee all the harsh words, still upset her, and she welcomed the simple distraction of lunch. Even with Mulder's sure questions about the details of the operation, she hoped their next conversation would be much simpler than the near war they'd narrowly averted. Skinner and Kersh would be livid if they knew she'd seen Mulder, much less told him what was going down in New Orleans.
But Mulder wasn't going to sit still while she roamed the city, that much was certain. And it was inevitable that he would want to be involved on every level, professionally and personally.
For someone who'd never so much as cowered before a demanding military father, she had to admit to herself that this dilemma made her anxious.
The complication of their personal lives would have to be neatly tucked away for the duration.
It was going to be difficult; she wasn't sure her heart could stand another separation if things didn't turn out for the best. Keep him at arm's length, she told herself.
But how to do that? Once the details of the operation were made known to him, he was sure to realize that the most important goal for her was to have him back. Knowing Mulder as she did, she knew he'd play on that, worming his way into her heart and bed with just a touch of his hand.
Much as she wanted it - yes, it hadn't taken but a few minutes in his presence for the old yearning to take hold - it was very dangerous for them to succumb to the distraction of sex.
All she had to do was remember the last time they'd done so, in that hotel room in Phoenix.
They'd almost paid the price with their lives that time; she couldn't chance it again.
She'd have to divert him somehow, cool his ardor. She could do it... after all, she'd kept herself from him for years, hadn't she? Even after one taste of sexual bliss that first time in New Orleans, she'd found the strength to forget the slide of his body over hers, the drag of his mouth in places that tingled for hours later. She would be strong, be firm.
Her good intentions lasted all of one second, as he wrapped his fingers around her elbow to guide her along the hall. The frisson of sexual awareness set every nerve afire, his clean scent wafting over her like a warm memory. She should have gently pulled away, but found she could not. Instead, she allowed him to set their slow pace, telling herself it was just this once.
"Are you hungry?" he asked.
It was a mistake to lift her eyes to his; the innocent query in his gaze swiftly turned to something altogether more sensual, as his words took on a deeper meaning. God, she was so hungry for him she doubted that fifty years with him could assuage the need. But she blinked away the contact between them, schooling her voice with as little emotion as possible.
"Not very. I had a late breakfast."
Mulder's eyes darkened and he looked away. She could tell from the way his hand tightened on her arm that he'd misinterpreted her statement.
Before her inner debate ended on whether or not she should clarify - there had been no other but him - he stopped at a heavy, ornate door.
Which happened to lead to a massive room filled with trophy animals and guns of every size and shape locked in ancient cabinets. Mulder sheepishly cocked a brow at Scully, backing them both from the room, backing himself into his usual, deflecting humor. "Uh... would you believe I've never seen that room before?"
"Yes." She embraced his humor, letting her eyes twinkle. Not just from his stumbling, but from her happiness at the way he'd removed the underlying edge from the past few moments.
"Marvin bought the place." A fleeting relief crossed his face when he opened the next door to find the dining room. Escorting her in, he added, "It came furnished. I mostly stay in the study." She let him seat her at the table; as if he sensed her need for a bit of space, he sat in the chair directly opposite, looking away from her briefly to wince at the massive table that easily could seat thirty. Leaning forward, he whispered, "This is really not my style, you know."
At that, she had to chuckle. On one hand, he looked so out of place in this luxurious mansion; on the other, it seemed he fit right in. Mulder, for all his sloppy living habits, carried himself with a grace instilled by years of New England pride. Even at his most disheveled, he couldn't hide the fact he was born into an elite society.
"Don't tell me you haven't skated that polished floor in your socks, because I won't believe it."
He smiled, lowering his voice as a door opened in the corner of the room. "Marvin hates when I do that. Says I'm gonna break my neck one day.
I happen to think I'm way better at it than Tom Cruise ever was." He cleared his throat and sat straight at his friend's approach.
He was way better than Tom Cruise at a lot of things, she thought, fitting her back to the tall chair as Marvin came closer.
"Tom Cruise has the freedom to seek medical attention," Marvin said, rolling the serving tray to a halt at the end of the table. "*You* don't."
Instead of giving in to the gentle reminder of his circumstances, Mulder drew his brows together in a mock frown. "Spoilsport." To Scully, he lifted the corner of his mouth.
"Tell him, Scully. I've survived far worse than a sore ass." He took the bowl of gumbo from Marvin, who passed it along with a skeptical glare.
Scully took her lunch from Marvin with a dry, "Only because I was there to patch him back up and send him on his paranormal way."
They could almost be back to normal, she realized. Bantering like the partners who'd gone through hell many times; living to tell their horrible tales with a touch of relieved humor. She wished it could last forever, this relaxed lunch. Mulder seemed to be making a concerted effort to keep it light for now, and she embraced it as a chance to regain her equilibrium. It didn't promise to last for long, however, and she wasn't finished swallowing her first bite when he eased into the fray.
"So..." he began, soon after Marvin had melted back into the woodwork. "You're undercover.
Skinner sent you down here, didn't he? For what?"
So much for easing into the fray.
"I volunteered." She didn't hesitate to point out that important detail, as she pulled at the French bread that sat on the table between them.
She couldn't get a bite free, and Mulder grabbed the other end, pulling as well. It broke in two easily, and she met his slightly combative gaze for a split second before turning her attention back to the bowl in front of her.
"You volunteered." Underlying the calm statement was a current of reprimand, but she knew Mulder wouldn't pursue it just yet. He'd done far worse, and he knew better than to get into a battle between pot and kettle. "You gonna tell me what exactly you volunteered for?"
Sighing, Scully put her spoon down, preparing for a lengthy explanation.
"A couple of months ago, Skinner came by some information."
Mulder pounced before she could draw another breath. "What kind of information?"
"There's a new Consortium forming, apparently."
At her soft declaration, Mulder put away his utensils as well, bringing his hand up to rub at his bearded face. "Strughold."
She supposed she shouldn't be surprised that he kept tabs on what remained of the Old Guard, what with his unlimited resources. But she had to ask, anyway. "How did you know about -"
"I knew the moment he arrived in New Orleans, Scully. I know he's parading around town, making the circuit. The official line has him angling for a seat on the Port Commission."
This she knew already, as well as the influence and power Strughold stood to gain if he won that seat. What she didn't know, she doubted even Mulder could tell her - why Strughold wanted that seat. The man was a multi-billionaire whose fingers dipped into everything from steel to coffee. Of what use could he have for a voting seat on the New Orleans Port Commission?
A man like that had enough money to buy any vote, anywhere. It made her head ache, the one missing piece of information she knew would tie everything together.
Scully saw the same look of consternation cross Mulder's face. His thinking, as always, paralleled hers, albeit from a slightly different angle. "He's not here to ease the tariffs on steel, Scully. You know it as well as I do."
She nodded, dispensing the only other lead she had with precise detail. "Skinner was told that the Consortium is re-grouping in and around New Orleans. He was given a list of names - parties of interest, his informant said."
"His informant? Just who the hell is his informant?" The old paranoia resurfaced in an instant, and it was with some dread that she told him.
"Kersh. Or so I suspect. My assignment is known only to Skinner and Kersh - who, by the way, prefers to stay way out of the loop on this one."
"Kersh?" Mulder snorted, reaching for his glass of water. "Scully, you know better than to trust Kersh."
"I don't trust anyone, Mulder."
Left unspoken was the implication that she didn't know if she could even trust him anymore.
His confidence flagged before her eyes as he picked up on her meaning, but he didn't address it, carefully putting his glass back on the table. "Then why are you doing this? Skinner could have gotten any number of agents to poke around Strughold. Hell, Doggett has an axe or two to grind against our old friends - he'd have taken the job in a heartbeat."
"Agent Doggett has his own caseload to worry about. I got tired of Quantico. Besides, there is no one as qualified as me to work this operation, and you know it." His eyes narrowed, and she knew what was coming before he said it, cursing herself for presenting him the opportunity in the first place. In an effort to nip his crazy thinking in the bud, she sighed, "No, Mulder."
"Yes, Scully."
"Mulder -"
"I can move just as easily - or with just as much difficulty, as the case may be - in this town as you can," he pointed out. "Neither of us dare to show our true faces. We live behind masks; what better way to work than in the middle of Mardi Gras?"
Watching him sink his teeth into the idea like a dog on a bone created a trickle of familiar warmth in her chest. However, she dismissed it as soon as it had come, anger replacing the slide into almost conciliation. This was so like him; rushing into dangerous territory without thought to his safety. That he'd run from it months ago hadn't occurred to him yet.
Really, what was the difference? He could posture and huff all he wanted about his abandonment ensuring her return to a more normal life, but still, he'd taken the easy way out.
For the first time since she'd known him, he'd copped out. A tactical retreat, to be sure.
But one undertaken without her consult, when she thought they'd finally reached the point in their relationship where decisions were mutual and lives were intertwined fully.
He'd left her. Just like Oregon. Just like that snow-covered grave in Massachusetts. Just like New Orleans, after that first time.
Scully stood, pushing her chair from the table as she dropped her napkin. "Then I guess we have nothing left to discuss," she said, her cool decision made for the both of them, a mirror to his fateful judgment that led them to this point. She wasn't letting him put himself in the line of fire this time.
As she turned to leave, Mulder's words sliced across the room. "What is this, Scully?
Payback?"
The hurt, the muted censure in his voice halted her footsteps, and she wanted nothing more than to lash back and scream at him that yes, she wanted to hurt him as he'd done her. But that tactic would only lead to more dissension, something neither of them needed at this critical junction in their relationship. *If* they still had a relationship.
She was being obstinate, she knew. Her senses reeling from the unexpected meeting with him, she was uncharacteristically terse and distant, when the goal she'd set out with was glimmering on the horizon. Sighing, hands in pockets, she turned with a wary, conciliatory look.
"I'm not being very communicative, Mulder, and I'm sorry." The stark paleness of his face tugged at her heartstrings, and she hastened to clarify her position before he could say anything else. "It's just that I'm doing this because... I don't think I can do it any other way. And if something were to happen -" She broke off, lowering her chin at the unwanted sting of tears. As she heard him approach, she half-turned, her hands leaving her pockets to form a protective wall of arms around her waist.
"No. Don't."
His voice, small and unsure, wavered from beyond her shoulder. "I know I've done things, Scully.
Things to hurt you. But I only did them to keep you safe. I'm working on the same thing you are -"
"Are you?"
He fell silent at the soft question, still as a stifling summer day. She felt him work to answer her, his eyes searching her profile for another truth, one she knew he most wanted to hear. Little white lies came easily to her, as they did to most people. A simple omission of fact, like the time she'd told Mulder she'd never hit a baseball. The difference between a 'yes' and a 'no', in that case, meant the difference between feeling every inch of his body plastered to her back or standing alone out in the cold.
Outright lies, on the other hand, were most uncomfortable. She knew Mulder thought all her instances of "I'm fine" over the years were lies, but they weren't; every time she'd ever said those words, she believed them. The only instance she could recall where she'd actually told him a lie was when she'd taken her little trip with Spender. For Mulder's own good, she could lie with the best of them. Just as she would now. Mulder's reaction could go either way - laughing denial or absorption of the lie into another layer of his never-ending guilt.
This was her chance; using every ounce of courage, every line of defense in her posture and voice, she faced him. It wasn't a lie, so much as an omission of his importance to her.
"My goal is to get my son back, Mulder."
Her words did the trick; Mulder took a step back, his face pale. Scully knew he'd assumed she was doing this for William *and* him. Her definite exclusion of Mulder in the equation reeled him. Sorrow at the way she had to hurt him made her bite her lip over any further explanation; she looked away, waiting for his response, praying he'd been staggered enough to just let her walk away.
"I see."
There was nothing else to say; Scully knew she'd made her point - albeit an arrow she never wanted to shoot into his heart. He would let her go now. At least, temporarily. Like an opponent faced with a new weapon, he would retreat to fight another day, with a new tactic of offense. She had to get out of here before his brilliant mind righted itself and he decided to argue.
As her hand dropped to the door knob, she heard him say, "Let me help you, Scully."
Too late. He'd weighed her words and bounced back in an instant. His determination brought a grimace to her face, one she quickly killed as she said without a trace of emotion, "I don't need your help, Mulder." Turning the doorknob, she sought freedom.
She had barely finished the off-putting statement when she felt heat at her back, one large but delicately-boned hand coming up to slam the door shut. Her lips caught in a gasp as another hand came up, effectively trapping her against the door.
"Sounds familiar, doesn't it?" he whispered.
Anguish squeezed her heart and her eyes closed against the memories. Back then, despite her weak protestations, he offered her release.
With his body, with all the love she saw shining in his dark eyes. That he had that same look now, she had no doubt. His whole stance behind her, encroaching with his solid, warm body and husky words, spoke of his unwillingness to let her set aside the bond they shared. Reinforcing his determination, he leaned closer, his breath tickling her chin.
"I once told you I'd do anything for you, Scully. That still stands."
Another untruth spilled from her lips. "All I want is to leave. Please, Mulder... let me go."
The seconds stretched between them as the silent war of wills raged. Scully knew that all he had to do was touch her, turn her in his arms, and she would be lost. She stood still, praying for the strength to resist his advance. She was a moment away from giving in when she felt a small sigh ruffle the hair at her ear.
"This is not over, Scully. Believe me."
Despair at the sincerity of his words made her voice tremble. "Mulder, don't do this."
"I can do what I damn well want," he insisted, his breath hot on her face. "I don't care anymore, don't you see? I want my freedom back.
I want my son, just like you do. I want -"
"I know what you want." She stopped him before his sure declaration of love and need, one she knew would devastate her and sap every ounce of logic and courage from her body. She knew he was approaching the problem from a different angle, but his goal was the same. It was the other baggage, the personal and emotional issues, that would have to wait. "But don't you see that I can't deal with that right now? If I'm to succeed, Mulder, I have to know you'll be out of harm's way."
"And you have to know I can't just sit here and wait," he ground out, his hand coming up to lift her chin, turning her to face him despite her rigid stance. His eyes narrowed, pinpointing the scrape on her forehead she thought she'd successfully concealed. "Look at your face."
"It's just a scratch," she replied, jerking away as she avoided eyes that had the power to bring her to her knees. "Nothing."
"Nothing, huh?" Exasperation and concern radiated from him. "What if it hadn't been me who'd tripped you up in that hall?"
"I made it out okay." Why she was standing there, justifying herself to him, was beyond her. She should just run away as fast as she could, before she ended up with a bigger problem than sneaking into the homes of the rich and famous... and deadly.
"You need me, Scully." Shaky with emotion, his voice tugged at her heart. "You can't ask me to sit here while you go this alone."
"Yes, I can. You have no choice in the matter."
Hand wrapped around the doorknob, she gave it a quick twist. Another second, and she'd be out of there and back on her way to sanity.
"I'll just follow you."
His firm statement stilled her flight. Eyes shut with frustration, she sighed, "I wish you wouldn't."
"I've had enough of hiding, Scully. We're on to something here, I know it. Don't ask me to keep my distance. I can't. I won't."
Looking into his determined face at last, she felt the beginnings of capitulation stir in her mind. He would get his way, as always. Whether on his own, or protected by the one person he trusted to watch his back. Her. He was on the verge of exploding with the furious need to be free; it was written in the tight line of his shoulders, the clenched fists that shook at his sides. With or without her, he was going to get into trouble, she knew.
The decision was made.
What Robert was going to say about it, she could guess. And it wasn't going to be particularly nice, either. She only hoped she wouldn't have to tell him to fuck off. But if it came to it, she would. Even Skinner himself couldn't dissuade her, once she'd made up her mind.
With a sigh, she murmured, "Well, it seems I have myself a partner."
Mulder's eyes lit up. "Scully, I -"
"But on my terms." She held up a firm hand, stilling his excited surge forward.
Relaxing, he nodded, his hands slipping into his jeans pockets. "Okay." With a small lift of his chin toward the table, he added, "Can we finish lunch while we talk? To tell you the truth, I'm starving."
To her discerning eye, he looked as if he hadn't had a decent meal in months. He was just as muscular and lithe as always, but now there was a honed, lean look about him. A hunter who ate only when the need for sustenance overcame the need for the chase. She suspected he'd been living much as she had these past months.
Spending all his free time searching, not bothering with anything personal but keeping the body fit for the ultimate battle. A flash of sweet concern threatened to consume her at the sight of his obvious loneliness. It matched hers in length and breadth, and she ached for the days of Chinese takeout and the mutant of the week. But this was infinitely more serious, the most important case of their lives. Success meant living; victory meant loving, without any more fear.
The rumble of her stomach in the silence between them made her chuckle. "Seems I'm hungry as well," she said, admitting her earlier statement about a late breakfast was an untruth. Looking beyond Mulder's grinning face, she said with regret, "But I think the gumbo is cold."
"I'll send Marvin out for a pizza." Before she could stop him, he was already out the dining room door, shouting his friend's name.
Scully listened to the exchange in the hall with a rueful smile, hoping she'd made the right choice.
"A pizza?" Marvin's voice was incredulous. "My God, man - you have all manner of delicacies at your disposal and you want pizza?"
"Just do it, Marvin. Scully likes pizza."
Actually, Scully only tolerated pizza. But she loved the company that came with it.
He would have gotten down on his knees, if necessary. Would have thrown away every shred of pride and honor just to keep her with him for another minute. For someone who'd seen him at his worst, had managed to pull every bit of emotion from him possible, she had no clue just how far he would go for her. Even the disaster in New Orleans years ago, when he'd felt his soul crumble to dust from the need to just tell her how he felt... God, it was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do, to walk out of that hotel room in the pre-dawn, just to give her the space she needed.
There was so much unsaid between them, so much they needed to resolve. Even after all these years, they still tip-toed around each other like they were dancing through a minefield. His death, William, their living apart - all potential blowups that awaited just a hair trigger away. For now, though, this would have to be enough. Much as he wanted to break through her re-fortified defenses, he knew it best to meet her on the field of play as a partner. The rest? Well, no matter what her rules, he was a master at subtle encroachment.
Watching her finish her second piece of pizza, he let his lips curl into a small grin. She'd give him hell, all right. But they'd both win in the end.
"What?" She wiped a bit of tomato sauce from her chin with a pristine napkin, as she eyed him warily from across the table. One hand went up to touch her scraped forehead in an unconscious gesture of nervous energy; in the time it had taken for the pizza to arrive, she'd avoided him, telling him she needed a break. At his eagerness to accompany her, she'd waved him off, saying she wanted to take a walk about the veranda. He knew it was a respite for her, a way to fortify herself once again. He'd watched through the windows as he always did, for once enjoying the view.
Startled that she'd caught him staring, he dropped his chin. "Nothing." I just want to jump your bones right here on this mahogany monstrosity, he added silently. But that wasn't to be. Not yet, anyway. Composing himself, he addressed her once again. "Good pizza?"
Every step she'd taken among the burgeoning green background of the immaculate lawn, he lapped up with his gaze like a salivating puppy.
Memorizing her moves once again, feeling himself ache with the need to entrap that small, lithe form in his arms. Who needed food, when one had such a bundle of smart, infuriating sexuality to entice and satisfy any pangs of hunger?
If possible, she was more beautiful than ever.
A bit on the thin side, which gave her face a wistful, angelic quality, especially framed as it was by her still longish hair. Her delicate looks inspired protection in him like they'd never had before. But it wasn't the need to protect that clamored within him at the sight of her red lips and firm, unyielding cheeks. He shifted in his chair, tamping down the urge to reach over and kiss her solemn face into a smile.
She'd surely punch him in the jaw if she knew what he was thinking.
"Not bad." She took a sip of wine; he noticed she was being very careful about the amount she consumed. Always in control, that was Scully.
Placing her napkin on the table, she sat up straight, her hands folded on the table like a cool negotiator. "Ready to hear what I have to say?"
Mulder shoved his plate away, chuckling inwardly at the way she took command. In other times, he'd lounged back, let her comment, then pressed forward with a rebuttal, his nonchalance a ploy he'd used before with success. She expected it, had become accustomed to his cat-and-mouse tactics; his subtle ways drew her into the game of wits time and again, with the goal of opening her mind to infinite possibilities.
He faced her as she did him, mirroring her battle-ready pose, telling himself he really should try to affect a serious mien. But the familiar was too irresistible; he knew the words had the chance to piss her off, but he risked it anyway, drawling, "Bring it on, honey."
Scully lifted one brow in warning, but didn't take issue with his comeback. Instead, he saw her mouth pucker as she began, her cool voice betraying nothing. "Rule number one - I'm in charge. You no longer work for the Bureau, Mulder."
Head tilted to one side, he asked in a mock, horrified tone, "I don't?"
Ignoring him, she continued, "Rule number two you flout rule number one, and I'm gone. Got it?"
"Flout? Is that even a word?"
"Rule number three - "
"All right, I get it," he interrupted, miffed at the way she was barking out demands like a drill sergeant. "What Scully says goes. End of discussion." A smile of satisfaction dawned on her face, one he immediately attacked. "But I've got a few rules of my own."
"Like what? Excuse me, Mulder, but I don't see where you have any room to make rules."
"That's where you're wrong, Scully."
"How so?"
"I told you before - you ditch me, and I'll just follow. My only rule? That you don't run away from me anymore."
In everything, he added silently. Scully missed the unspoken codicil, mainly because in an instant, she'd gone from calm and collected to royally pissed. He braced himself for the acidic reply, could see it coming from her tight lips.
"You're a fine one to put restrictions on me, Mulder. I thought that you'd never leave me again. God, was I wrong."
He deserved her antagonism, but he had to make her understand that he no longer wanted to leave her. Pretty words and declarations of love wouldn't cut it, either. They'd long since passed the point of such trivialities.
Appealing to her rational side was the only way to go.
"Like you've never run from me?" He wiped his face clean of all emotion, though his insides swirled with anxiety at the chance he was taking. "What's in the past has no bearing on this discussion, Scully. We're talking about working together. This is our chance to end the conspiracy once and for all. And if we're to succeed, we have to treat each other with respect. To be open and honest, to watch each other's backs."
It was such a line of bullshit, and he knew it.
Not that it wasn't true, every word of it; but it was just a small portion of what he felt, what he wanted to say and do to her. However, in order to reach the woman within, he had to deal with the agent first. Hell, he'd done it before, though it had taken years. He hoped he wouldn't have to wait another seven years this time. Something told him he wouldn't - Scully was still sexually attracted to him, if nothing else. He felt it from the moment she walked in his study, saw it behind the anger in her eyes.
He had to prove his trustworthiness once again; if he could do that, he'd have her back. The old, familiar greed resurfaced without obstruction. Though he'd had it all for a few short months before his abduction, he'd not had perfection. The end of the alien threat, the return of his son, the peace to live freely these were the missing pieces of his life. Most of all, he wanted Scully. This time, nothing would stop him from winning.
He saw her absorb his statement, saw the moment she let go of her anger to embrace the pull of his professionalism. "We work as partners, nothing more," she murmured. "And I come and go as I please."
Mild shock clenched his gut. On the surface, she remained still as glass, composed and cool to the disrupting touches he threw like pebbles with his eyes. But below, he could see her agitation. In the catch of her lower lip with her teeth, in the way she clutched her jacket closer to her body, her hands slightly shaking.
She was afraid. Up to this point, he hadn't sensed any hint of fear within her. But he'd lay his last dollar on it. And it wasn't fear of him, or of herself.
It was fear of them, he realized. Together.
Was she so scarred by the endless round of unity followed by separation that she'd finally pulled away from him emotionally? It was possible. In fact, it was highly probable. Scully had always played it close to the vest, as far as their relationship was concerned. What better way to protect herself from hurt than to keep him at a personal distance?
Bitter regret rose in his throat; he'd assumed she would be angry at his leaving. He never dreamed his abandonment would, in effect, be the straw that broke the camel's back. He'd seen her rise above so much turmoil in her life, so much strife. And though she claimed to be pursuing this operation with eventual freedom in mind, it didn't mean that freedom would include a life with her and their son.
One step at a time, he told himself. Make her happy with whatever it takes. The rest will come; and if it never does, then so be it.
Reaching a hand across the table, he offered truce, squashing his hopes for reconciliation to the far edges of his mind.
"Partners." The touch of her palm to his was a welcome balm. His lips softened into a small smile at the contact, and he rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, lifting his gaze to hers. He had to make his position clear, despite her trepidation. He would keep his distance, but not give up the fight. "Until you say otherwise," he amended quietly. He made no promises about letting her 'come and go as she pleased', and he waited for her to pick up on his omission.
But she didn't; his touch seemed to rattle her.
For a second, he thought she would snatch her hand back, depriving him of even the most brief communion of bodies. Instead, her reply set up an ache in his soul far worse than any physical rejection had the power to do.
Her fingers tightened around his as if for the last time. "That's just it, Mulder. I may never say otherwise." With a sigh, she slipped her hand from his and shifted in her chair to face the window.
Her despair was palpable, and he found he couldn't stand to look upon her sorrowful face.
Standing, he waved a hand at the door.
"Let's have some coffee in the study, okay?" His voice was hoarse with unshed tears, and he coughed to clear it before continuing, "You can fill me in on what you have so far. Like why you were sneaking around Balfour's."
"I'll know more in a couple of days." She stood as well, walking to the door.
"A couple of days?" He was pushing his luck, but he sensed she had something coming up besides a simple flow of information. Her stance was defensive, and she had trouble meeting his eyes.
"Another clandestine turn in the Catwoman suit?"
Her reticence to face him was short-lived. With an ice blue pierce of her eyes, she said softly, "I come and go as I please, Mulder." He should have known she wouldn't let that important rule slip by without comment. "And right now, I have to get back to the hotel."
It was an innocent comment, totally lacking in emotional undertone. But he recognized the signs - after all, he'd seen them before.
She slipped through the door; he heard her call out to Marvin. When his friend poked his nose in the dining room with a questioning raise of his brow, Mulder nodded, giving his silent permission for Marvin to take her away. Not that it would have mattered if he'd objected; Scully was stubborn enough to walk back to New Orleans, his feelings on the matter be damned.
From the window, he watched the limousine pull around, the last rays of the sun casting it in an eerie orange glow. She walked to the car on stiff legs, as if she wanted to flee as fast as she could. But pride prevented a show of haste, or a hint of fear. Again, he knew it for what it was.
Running was running, no matter how far. Or how agonizingly close.
End Chapter Six
Truce
Chapter Seven
Disclaimers, etc. in Headers
"He says you're ruining his love life."
Marvin's dry comment as he hung up the telephone was intended to break the tension, and Mulder, after a second of anger, took the bait. Marvin was doing his best to restrain him from acting rashly, and he knew he really should try to calm down. Taking a sip of his beer, he gave Marvin a grin.
"I pay Bombay enough for his services, don't you think?" His wink made Marvin bristle, as did his slow addition, "Of course... I could always offer him you."
"I think not," Marvin huffed, straightening his tie. "Taking this plantation life a bit too seriously, aren't we?"
"Hey - don't blame me if I begin to barter like a slave master. You're the one who set me up like this. Went straight to my head." Mulder laughed, the unusual burst of air from his lungs taking him by surprise. It had been so long since he'd allowed himself a bit of joy. He wondered if he was doomed to a life of gloomy existence if he could never get Scully back for good; just speaking with her this afternoon had made him feel more alive than he had in months.
Marvin reacted to Mulder's laughter with a gruff snort, letting his body relax. "Just remember who gave you the means to live as a king, my good man."
Mulder patted him on the back before moving to the window. "Relax, Marv. I'd give away everything I owned before I got rid of you." It was late in the evening, and he could see practically nothing beyond the window but the looming shadows of the gigantic oak trees, the moss clinging to them swaying in the light breeze.
"And for her?"
He should have taken offense at Marvin's gentle prodding, but it was no use denying the man his bit of concern. "Too late, Marvin," he sighed, hanging his head. "Traded my soul for her years ago." Chipped away piece by piece, he thought.
Bargaining with his father for a chip, giving away what he thought was his sister for a partner who, little realized at the time, meant more to him than life... the last piece remaining behind when he left her months ago... if he wasn't triumphant in this last grasp at freedom, he didn't know if he could continue to fight.
"Fox -"
Mulder pasted a grin on his face, deterring Marvin's slide into sympathy, something he never wanted. "Don't mind me, Marv - I get a bit maudlin now and then. So, did Bombay say anything else?"
Backing off, Marvin stood with chin raised, his acceptance of Mulder's wish to change the subject evident in his calm demeanor. "He said it's too late to find out if she's attending a social event this evening."
Nodding, Mulder took a sip of his now-warm beer.
"She stayed long enough to make sure of that," he mused, silently giving her a gold star for her ingenuity. "What about tomorrow night?"
"He's checking into a few possibilities. This time, he thinks he can come up with guest lists.
Upscale Mardi Gras parties are always by invitation only."
Eyeing the stack of embossed envelopes sitting on his desk, Mulder replied, "Was I invited to any for tomorrow night?"
"Already checked," Marvin beamed, obviously pleased at his planning ahead. He walked to the paper-strewn desk and pulled two envelopes from beneath a battered copy of 'Moby Dick', not noticing Mulder's fleeting, wistful look at the novel. "A fellow named Dupont, and another named Lasseigne. Both considered among the 'movers and shakers' of New Orleans business."
The trill of the fax machine interrupted their conversation; Marvin moved to hover over it as Mulder moved to the desk. He picked up the novel, remembering how delighted he'd been to find it among the books that lined the walls of the library. He'd pored over every word that day and well into the sleepless night, picturing her doing the same as a child. Its yellowed pages gave him comfort that first lonely week, as if it were a treasured keepsake - of which he had none, really. He walked away from her with the clothes on his back and little else but guilt.
"Looks like Bombay hit pay dirt," Marvin said with excitement, moving to Mulder's side, a pile of papers in hand. "Guest lists *and* a few photographs he managed to acquire through friends."
Mulder snorted at the pages of publicity snapshots. "We've seen all these in the TimesPicayune."
"These are mostly unused stills, he notes - see?"
Marvin pointed out Bombay's handwriting on the cover sheet. "Said we might find them useful."
Mulder took the photos while Marvin scanned the lists. The small black-and-white copies were crammed onto the sheets of paper edge to edge, some more blurry than others. It was difficult to ascertain identities, but Mulder realized right away the top sheet was a pictorial of the party he attended last night. Balfour's elegant mansion figured prominently in the photographs; with sudden excitement, he walked around his desk to sit, flipping on the lamp as he pulled a magnifying glass from his middle drawer.
"Dupont's bash has a few names on it we know,"
Marvin mused. "Balfour and Strughold. But then again, we already know these men are well known to one another. Could be just coincidence."
"Read 'em off to me," Mulder requested absently, giving most of his attention to the photographs.
"Arcement, Blanchette..." Marvin's voice droned on as Mulder half-listened.
A familiar tilt of a female head caught his eye; he recognized it immediately as Scully, remembering how he thought he'd seen her from Balfour's balcony. It *was* her, he realized.
Masked, certainly, but he'd know the determined line of that jaw anywhere. Heat suffused him as took in the details, including the arm that surrounded her waist. Who the hell was that?
"Charrier, Diaz, Guillory..."
The unknown face in profile was masked as well, but from his expensive evening dress and regal bearing, he was obviously a man of means.
Graying hair, but not too old; Mulder swallowed back a moment of fear as he recalled Daniel Waterston. Scully had as much as admitted she had a thing for older men, and this man fit the mold perfectly.
"Hamilton, Landry, Luquet, McMa-"
"Whoa, back up." Mulder's head snapped up, his mind rapidly intermeshing Marvin's words with recent memory. "Say again?"
"From the beginning?"
"No, just the last few."
"Hamilton, Landry, Luquet -"
"Luquet," Mulder breathed, reaching for his printout of the information Bombay had dug up earlier that day. "Robert Luquet."
Marvin seemed surprised, looking up from the guest list. "Yes, but what -"
"One of the owners of the Maison Blanche, according to the hotel's financial reports."
"Think he's her mysterious escort?" Marvin asked.
Mulder tossed the photograph to Marvin, tensing his jaw. "Get Bombay back on the phone. I want to know if that's Luquet."
"Not going to like this," Marvin mumbled, his words muffled under the pile of papers clutched to his chest as he flailed for the photograph.
"Bombay?" Mulder snorted. "Who the hell cares?"
"That's not who I meant," Marvin warned, finally dumping the papers on Mulder's desk to reach for the telephone.
Mulder sighed, rubbing his grainy eyes; he could just feel Scully's displeasure, though it had yet to occur. "I know," he murmured. "But I can't just trust that this guy is legit, you know?"
Marvin echoed Mulder's soft words. "I know."
Pausing, he gave Mulder a pointed look. "You're not thinking of following her to this shindig, are you?"
Mulder ignored Marvin's concern with an absent, "Of course not," much as he'd always done with Scully's similar queries, dropping his chin. But he knew he was bound to follow, despite her demands to the contrary and Marvin's
protestations. After a few seconds of silence, he looked up, right into Marvin's disbelieving face. "Bombay?" he prodded, raising an eyebrow at the telephone in Marvin's hand.
Cradling the phone in his shoulder, he dialed quickly. "I'll get Bombay right on it. Don't worry, Fox. We'll soon know everything about the fellow. No need for you to go anywhere."
Mulder pressed firm fingers to his temple, trying to dispel the growing headache. Something about this whole business rattled him, like nothing before. He tried to pin it on the fact that Scully was out there alone, but it was more than that. Besides, she wasn't out there alone, according to the photographs.
Maybe that's what bothered him so much.
"Fox."
Marvin's voice shook him from his morose thoughts. "Yeah?"
"Bombay didn't have anything on Luquet at hand, but he'll fax it over as soon as he finds out something."
An unsure note in Marvin's voice, as well as a hint of trepidation on his face, made Mulder sit upright. "What?" There was more to the short phone call, and Marvin was hesitating to reveal the bad news. "What is it?"
"Just a rumor, Fox," his friend began.
"Spill it, already."
"This party of Dupont's?"
"What about it?"
"Let's just say that Bombay may know nothing yet on Luquet, but he's heard an earful about Dupont..."
As Mulder listened, he knew he'd have to go, no matter what Marvin said.
"You have it?"
Robert leaned down, capturing her gaze with concern. They'd been through this in the car, and she was beginning to think he was the worst sort of mother hen.
"Yes, Robert," she purred, letting her lashes lower with mock coyness. They'd gotten a big break, courtesy of Skinner's connections. This time, she knew what she was after, and they'd prepared ahead of time. A simple switch, and Dupont would never be the wiser.
"I don't feel comfortable about this," her escort muttered over his glass of champagne. "What if we get separated again?"
Scully smiled at Robert, lifting her glass of champagne in a small toast. "Same as before, Robert," she reminded him. "We get separated, we just meet later. I'm a big girl, you know."
They were openly discussing the operation amidst the crowd, albeit in veiled snatches of conversation. It was best not to appear suspicious; whispering and avoiding glances were guaranteed to make someone want to listen in.
Robert understood this just as she did, though his eyes weren't as complacent as hers as he leaned in close to answer, "Just try to keep your lovely dress in one piece. Don't make me have to come find you." His censure was typical of a man used to giving orders, but it was edged with concern atypical of simple military superiority.
She turned her head, averting her gaze with displeasure. Not because his attitude bred guilt - no, she wasn't sure if she could resist the urge to smack him. No one pulled that territorial bullshit with her. Not even Mulder, though she had to admit to some unwanted distress the few times he'd tried. Her thoughts drifted back to her clandestine trip with Cancerman long ago, and Mulder's angry reaction. Distress? She was kidding herself with that tame word; she'd practically fallen to pieces in that hotel room once she'd caught up with him.
Not anymore. She wouldn't let Mulder get to her that way, and she most definitely wouldn't let Robert get away with even a hint of manipulation.
Times had changed, though her visit with Mulder the day before almost tore down her carefully constructed walls. But she'd had enough space today to re-fortify her defenses and get back on track as far as the plan was concerned.
Efficient work was the way to succeed, Robert's *and* Mulder's worries be damned.
"I'm going to powder my nose," she stated with haughty, loud firmness, giving Robert her glass.
Her whole demeanor spoke of a lover's tiff, as it had been designed to do - but it wasn't difficult to harden her face with anger at Robert's attitude. "Do what you want - I don't care."
She moved away under his pinched glare, knowing the others around them had fallen for the apparent argument between the two of them.
Having a few guests witness a quarrel was a good way to explain her drifting apart from Robert; they'd decided to take this tack in the car on the way over to Dupont's party. The rich older man trying to keep his young, pretty mistress to heel - perfect fodder to explain her temporary absence and Robert's reaction, should she not return.
Dupont's home was similar in style to Balfour's, very Creole in design. But the party tonight was definitely different, confirming the rumors they'd heard; while Balfour's was trendy and almost staid in nature, Dupont's spoke of varied personal tastes. For one thing, the lights were dimmed and the decorations were bordering on poor taste. It was a celebration of the more pagan aspects of Mardi Gras, with statues of the gods and goddesses around every corner, most engaged in barely disguised sexual acts. Candles sputtered in every corner and lusty, Carribean music pounded out of hidden speakers. While a respected member of New Orleans society, Dupont apparently had limited the guest list to his more gregarious friends, who embraced the easy flow of liquor and women with open arms. Several couples were groping each other already on the dance floor. Scully had commented on the wildness of the party to Robert when they'd discussed the next objective, wondering just how he warranted an invitation. At her raised brow, he'd growled that he'd never before attended a Dupont Mardi Gras ball - *she* was obviously the one their host was interested in, as his invitation had included a personal note from Dupont almost demanding that Robert bring her along.
She'd have to avoid Dupont; not that she was worried she couldn't handle any overture made toward her. But having one smitten swain on hand was quite enough, thank you. Already, as she moved through the half-drunk crowd, she felt Robert's oppressive presence fall from her shoulders.
Her freedom was short-lived, however, as a warm hand stilled her flight, grabbing her elbow. The words were husky and laced with the smell of expensive brandy.
"Going somewhere, Ana?"
He drew her stiff form into his arms and pulled her to the dance floor, ignoring the angry fire of her gaze as it flashed up behind her mask.
"What? No kiss hello?" he asked, feeling her fingers curl into his hand like talons.
Her silent fury quickly gave way to cold derision as she kept up her pretense, relaxing into his hold slightly. But he knew it was all for show, especially the smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Mr. Robie. How nice to see you again," she purred, as if they were old friends. Or new lovers, as her body moved sinuously against his.
Swallowing back the burst of desire, Mulder took advantage of her wanton behavior, splaying his hand over her bare back. What the hell kind of dress was this, anyway? Did she know what she was walking into by coming here tonight?
He'd noticed her speaking with Luquet from the moment he walked in, taking in her plain black evening gown, gratified its demure lines covered her from neck to wrist, falling from her waist in a soft flare to her feet. Now, with hands-on inspection, he found it was just the opposite on the flip side, the gaping hole where the back of it should have been ending just above her ass.
If he cared to drop his pinky another inch, to brush beneath the soft fabric, he would feel the line where the delicious, round globes met. He was tempted to fluster her a bit by doing just that, sneaking in under the light satin; maybe he'd save that for later. Who knows what he would need in the way of tactical moves once she decided not to play along anymore - which she was certain to do shortly, if her annoyance was anything to go by.
Under the safety of his mask, he smiled, lending it a seductive quality as was the apparent theme of the party. "*Abandoning* your escort already, Miss Petrie?" he asked, his emphasis on the word that was so familiar to them both, in so many contexts, bringing a renewed burst of anger to her eyes. "Lucky me... I get you all to myself."
Actually, he figured she would string him along for a while yet, so he was surprised when she let her anger get the better of her. "Let me go,"
she hissed at his chin. "I have something to do."
"Alone? Why, I would have thought you'd take Luquet with you." He looked around at the couples practically making out on the dance floor.
"Seems this party has a definite purpose, Ana...
one not meant to be pursued alone. If I could offer my services to you?"
At that, her gaze snapped up, and her whisper was pleading, "Robert and I have this all worked out - and you're only getting in the way." He knew she didn't want to make a scene by drawing unnecessary attention to him, or she would have left him on the dance floor immediately. Leaving her escort to find another dalliance was one thing; spurning Luquet had hardly raised a brow.
But brushing off two men in as many minutes spoke of a purpose besides finding a bit of eager sport for the night, and she couldn't risk it. All the more reason for him to jump on the opportunity to have her to himself.
"Robert? Oh, you mean Luquet," he murmured.
"Good friend of yours?" He moved her in time with the slow beat of R&B bleeding from a hidden sound system.
"He's a trusted ally," she bit back, suddenly a bit more distant, in voice and in body, pulling away slightly.
"What do you know about him?" Mulder pressed, keeping her with him with slight pressure. She resisted still, and he considered his pinky once again. But not yet, he decided. Instead, he traced the ridges of her spine with his thumb, feeling her shiver beneath him.
"Stop that."
"Stop what?" His thumbnail scraped across her skin, following an imaginary line to her tattoo a trek he'd made so many times he knew it by heart. "Do you realize your tattoo is showing?"
Her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip and her eyes darkened. "The only person here who would recognize me by that is you... and its exposure fits with tonight's revelry, don't you think?"
She'd switched from angry rejection to cool baiting in a matter of moments. God, she was amazing, he thought for the millionth time.
Still, he didn't rise to the bait - not mentally, anyway.
Damn it.
Ignoring his body's betrayal, he pursued his former line of conversation. "Luquet isn't to be trusted, Ana." To her pique, he noted immediately, as she steeled her voice.
"He's a close friend of Walter's - *John*."
"So? How much do you know about him?"
Lowering her voice, she countered, "He's retired Army Intelligence. Very well trained and reliable, from what I understand."
"And you know this how?"
"I don't have to know everything." She was growing more peeved with every pointed question of his; her voice was steady, but underlying anger rippled beneath it. "He's a good man."
Mulder tamped down his own growing wrath. "Then how come I can't find out a God damned thing about him?"
He saw how his statement rattled her, but she recovered quickly. "You're not going to find out a lot about a man in his business."
Frustration clenched his teeth and he whispered, "What the hell ever happened to 'trust no one', Ana?"
"I didn't tell you?" she whispered back, giving him a taste of his own medicine. "I changed it to 'screw everyone'."
The way she flung a parody of his own words back to him was dazzling; chin lifted, her eyes sparkled with defiance. Against his better judgment, he rose to the bait this time, snapping, "That includes Mr. Luquet?" Her face fell and remorse at the callous remark made him whisper, "I'm sorry. I'm just being..." God, he didn't know how to explain. How to tell her that standing at the sidelines made him want to howl with frustration, because he wanted to be there with her, to share the journey like they used to in days past.
"An ass?" she finished for him, back in cool command. "So what's new?"
"Was I really?" Her casual comment sparked an interest, something he desperately wanted to resolve. "Back then - before all this - was I really that unbearable?"
"God, Mul - no... no," she said quietly, the truth plain in her liquid gaze. "You were just being you." Pulling away, she added, "Now, I have somewhere to be. Please don't follow me."
Though he wanted to keep hold of her, he thought better of it. "You need me, I'll be here. Don't forget that."
He watched her walk away, his body tense with the need to go after her. Hands in pockets, he took one step forward, then was stopped by a firm grip on his arm.
"Mr. Robie? Can I have a word with you?"
Looking to his left, he came face to face with a sore subject. Hell, if he couldn't walk beside her, he'd make damned sure no one else would.
Gesturing toward the bar, he replied, "After you, Mr. Luquet," filling his invitation with all the venom his life had acquired the past few months.
This was going to feel really good, he thought.
End Chapter Seven
Truce
Chapter Eight
Disclaimers, etc., in Headers
"Let her do what she has to, Robie," Luquet said, waving for the bartender.
They stood apart from the mass at the front of the bar, instead lingering at the end, with a good view of all corners of the room, as well as the exit Scully had taken. Mulder kept a good eye on the doors she'd walked through as he addressed her companion. He wanted to scream, "Even if it gets her killed?", then decided the statement was too extreme and revealing. He knew his love for Scully was obvious, and he didn't trust this man not to make use of that knowledge in the future; even if Luquet was legitimate and ultimately trustworthy, Mulder had seen the way he looked at Scully. He wanted her as more than a partner. Time would tell if Luquet was prepared to back off or take advantage of Mulder's weaknesses as far as Scully was concerned. But Mulder didn't intend to give him an ounce of edge in the fight for Scully's attentions.
Instead, he attacked head-on, wishing to be away from this potential snake in the grass. "Just who the hell are you, really?"
Luquet ordered two whiskeys, then faced Mulder, leaning on the bar with what appeared to be nonchalance. But Mulder knew better - Luquet's whole stance was designed to deceive. His words were quiet, but firm, letting Mulder know he had the temporary upper hand. "I'm a friend of Walter Skinner's. Of Ana's. Of *yours*. Surely you know this... Spooky."
It was much more difficult to know what laid behind the man's mask than it was to gauge Scully's feelings in similar garb. He was a dangerous enigma, and Mulder had learned long ago that the world he lived in was not black and white. It was gray, with men like Deep Throat handing out lies as easily as they did truths.
Scully might give - if not her total trust, her partnership - to Luquet, but he himself had no intention of succumbing to claims of friendship by Skinner proxy.
And it didn't surprise him one bit that Luquet knew who he was - even with the mask obscuring his features, and the beard beneath completing the ruse. Taking his drink from the bartender, he leaned close. "You're no friend of mine," he muttered, the man's subtle impudence driving him to anger. "Or hers."
"Believe what you will," Luquet answered, his narrowed gaze reflecting Mulder's anger back in a steely look. "You always do, don't you?"
The slam barely made a ripple in Mulder's ire; he was used to being mocked in his search for the truth. If Luquet thought one more dig would make him lose it, he was mistaken. "I believe you aren't who you say you are."
Luquet's impassive face hardly showed surprise, but it was there in the lift of his eyebrow.
"Really? Perhaps you'd like to speak to Walter we go way back, he and I. I think he would know better than anyone who I am."
"The military and I go way back as well, Luquet,"
Mulder said, all the times he'd had a brush with death at their hands coming back to lace his voice with sarcastic venom. "Forgive me if I don't quite embrace you with enthusiasm."
"I no longer work for the government, Mr. Robie.
I'm doing this as a favor to Walter." Something in Luquet's stare told Mulder he knew all about the military's involvement in the conspiracy; it was confirmed when he added, "I haven't seen the inside of the Pentagon in years, but I still hear things. Things maybe my former friends wish I didn't know about."
Mulder pondered the admission for a moment; it was possible Luquet had parted on bad terms with his superiors, hence the noted lack of information about his background and work for the military. "Are you saying there's no love lost between you and the Pentagon?"
"I'm not saying anything, other than the fact that I am who I say I am."
"I didn't say you weren't Robert Luquet," Mulder clarified. "Former master military spy, respected businessman, avid golfer. It's not your identity in question here - it's your motives."
"My motives have no bearing on this operation, Mr. Robie. I know very little about Ana's purpose in New Orleans; she tells me nothing.
I'm just an errand boy to her."
An errand boy? A man like Luquet wouldn't sit still while he watched a woman like Scully do all the work. Something in the hard line of Luquet's jaw told Mulder he wasn't too happy in the role, and Mulder suspected he was snooping around on his own. About Scully, about the mysterious Mr.
Robie - who he apparently could see through like glass already. Marvin had been very careful to erase all traces of Fox Mulder before presenting him as John Robie. But this man had known who he was long before he set foot in New Orleans, possibly had known about the X-Files from the beginning. But why?
"No matter what you do for her, you know more than she thinks you do. Why she trusts you is beyond my comprehension."
Luquet's jaw tightened, the first real sign of his agitation with Mulder's questioning. "Ana trusts no one, Mr. Robie, haven't you figured that out by now? Seems to me if anyone can earn her trust, it won't be *you*." He pulled the mask from his face, letting it dangle from his fingers. "I'm not hiding, Mr. Robie. I learned long ago the best way to make your opponent tip his hand is to show him one of your own cards."
The barb was well-timed and deadly. Was Luquet speaking of Strughold? Or of Mulder himself? He didn't feel any better about Luquet now than he had when the conversation began - in fact, his anxiety had tripled in light of the man's selfassurance and veiled comments.
Time to back off, Mulder knew. It wouldn't do to press him when the man was just as adept at doing the same. But he wasn't leaving without a warning, which he delivered with soft
deliberation.
"I'm watching you." Tossing the whiskey down in one fiery gulp, he set his shot glass down on the bar. "She gets hurt in this, you'll answer to me. Understand?"
"I'm only doing what you're incapable of at this moment, Robie. Watching her back." Luquet finished his drink with equal defiance, giving Mulder one last glare of arrogance before walking away.
He was too glib, too polished, Mulder thought, as he watched Luquet stroll through the ballroom doors. And no amount of protest on his part could make Scully see that. Not now, anyway, with her hurt and anger temporarily blinding her to any question of Luquet's motives by him.
The bartender approached once again, but Mulder waved him away, lost in his thoughts. He was tempted to follow the man; hell, he was even more anxious to know where Scully had gone to. Was Luquet seeking her out now? Regaling her with the tale of his encounter with her former partner, the reckless, impatient fool? She knew better than to believe a wild story - after all, he'd done far worse in their history at the Bureau, and anything Luquet told her she'd probably laugh off as typical. Either that, or she'd waste no time telling Mulder to butt out.
He felt as though he were hanging by a thread in her good graces, poised to fall forever from her life should he take one false step.
He'd never lived his life in such fear of failure. This feeling had nothing to do with the endless journey to triumph over the Consortium's plans; despite his depression during and after his so-called "trial", he'd not given up hope, mostly due to Scully's insistence they would prevail. No, it was the sense that she would eventually abandon him that ate at his confidence. A most unusual circumstance, he had to admit. One that made him want to throw caution to the wind and gamble with one final deal of the deck.
"Hell," he muttered, giving in to the urge to do something - *anything* but stand around while she put herself in danger. He moved from the bar, following Luquet's path. If nothing else, he could keep an eye on the man.
He didn't have to go far; a flash of the tall, broad-shouldered figure caught his eye. Luquet stood at the far end of the entrance hall, almost obscured in the shadows beneath the staircase.
His back to Mulder, he seemed engrossed in conversation with a woman. A very elegant woman, dressed all in black. Her face was masked, but something about her statuesque profile and dark hair struck Mulder with an instant of
recognition, though he couldn't place her. He sucked in a gasp - Diana? Could it be possible?
He'd seen the dead before, as ghosts, and resurrected, whole bodies, courtesy of the old "faked" death syndrome. An advantage he himself had indulged in once; it was a specialty of his adversaries, he realized long ago.
This time, there was no way he was standing by.
He had to know who the woman was, and he took a step forward, confrontation on his mind.
A sudden flurry of activity near the mansion's entrance made him look over the crowd. Mulder's gut clenched at the sight of several people flying by in the hallway; had she been discovered? Shouts of dismay and confusion blossomed around him, and the disturbance quickly filtered into the ballroom, as many took up the call to leave in a swarm from the doors behind him. His head whipping around back to Luquet, he noticed the man coming quickly forward, the woman he'd been talking to nowhere in sight. Clenching his jaw over his disappointment, he knew there was something going on that demanded his attention more than Luquet's shadowy friends.
Scully. He had to get to her.
"Where is she? Where did she go?" he ground out, grabbing Luquet's arm with tense belligerence.
The man had better cooperate, and fast.
But Luquet was already poised for flight, stopped only by Mulder's restraining grasp. "I don't know. She's not free with details." Shrugging off Mulder's hand, he added, "I'll find her."
"Not if I find her first," Mulder growled, taking off after Luquet.
"Back off, Spooky," Luquet said, turning to face him. "You'll only cause trouble if you interfere."
"Wouldn't be the first time," Mulder replied softly, sidestepping Luquet and his muttered curses. He didn't like the idea of her leaving with Luquet, but at the moment, getting her out was his first priority, no matter who she left with. "You take downstairs, I'll take upstairs.
First one to find her gets her the hell out of here. If she's been nabbed, we'll know it shortly."
They didn't run, not wanting to attract more attention to themselves than needed. Mulder turned a deaf ear to Luquet's protests of his involvement, swearing to himself he was going to win this particular race.
Depressing the microphone tucked in his jacket lapel, he barked, "Marvin?"
"Already coming 'round, boss," came the harried reply, the tiny receiver tucked in his ear almost buzzing with Marvin's excitement. "Almost there."
"You see anything?"
"The police have arrived - why, I can't yet ascertain. Dupont is greeting them at the end of the drive."
Why would the police show up at Dupont's bash?
Drugs? As he took the stairs two at a time, dodging the exiting crowd, he felt a bit more at ease, but not much. "Hold until you hear from me again." Unless it turned out to be a bust of some sort, he wasn't about to haul ass without Scully.
"Right-o. Fox, I see -" A biting crunch of static broke through Marvin's words.
"Marvin?" Nothing. He tried again, but to no avail. They'd been cut off. Some kind of interference? Natural or designed? This wasn't looking good at all.
As he reached the top of the stairs, he hoped like hell it *was* a simple bust. Marvin kept telling him he had enough money and influence to buy anything. Sticky situations he could get out of; it was a pity all the money in the world made no difference to Scully. Her wont to brave any danger was doubly staunch and immovable.
Like he expected anything else; with any luck, he wouldn't have to carry her out of there like a caveman. With the *best* luck, she'd leave with him willingly.
"Yeah, right," he muttered, hitting the second floor landing at a run.
Scully stumbled down the dark hallway, cursing her stiletto heels, as well as her ineptitude in tripping a silent alarm. She didn't understand why she suddenly fumbled about like a green agent; she could blame it on Mulder's bulldog act at the party tonight, but she'd learned long ago not to let a small upset like that shake her to the point where she made such a colossal mistake.
If it indeed, turned out that badly. Hopefully, she'd recognized the signals in the yard below early enough to avoid the possible consequences.
The warning of an intruder - if that's what the ruckus was about - hadn't been raised until she'd been in the safe for half a minute or more, a delayed reaction of sorts. She'd disabled the security system with her pass key, so why the sudden furor from Dupont's men? The only outward sign of trouble was the glare of flashing red lights from the windows beyond. She knew what she was doing, damn it, and she *hadn't* tripped an alarm.
It was no use whining about it now. No matter how treacherous her exit seemed, she had to make it out. She'd gotten what she came for, and it was tucked away in her purse. If she could only find a way to circumvent the guards sure to come running, she'd be home safe. A muffled thump of running feet came from around the corner and she melted into a dark alcove at the end of the hall.
She held her breath while the figures ran past, the muted flash of badges alerting her to their possible identities as policemen. A span of two seconds later, she sidled away... only to be brought up short by a pair of strong arms, a hand coming up to silence her gasp. The whisper in her ear was urgent, but typically flippant.
"We seem to be meeting in dark hallways these days, don't we? People will begin to talk."
Mulder. At her sag of relief, he let his hand fall away, and he pulled her with him in the direction of the staircase. But she nearly ran into his back when he froze, tense and alert.
The sound of more men thumping up the stairs made her heart leap, and she wondered if this was the moment they'd finally bite the bullet. It was inevitable that she and Mulder would face death together - very appropriate.
But no... in the next second, she was dragged through the closest door and into more darkness.
The smell of starch and bleach tickled her nose, telling her they'd hidden in the linen closet.
She didn't reach for the light switch and neither did Mulder; it was unsafe to allow even a smattering of light to bleed under the door. The cramped quarters made her breathe a bit heavier, especially when Mulder's hands came up to settle on her arms.
"You okay?" he whispered, the smell of whiskey on his words almost intoxicating.
Adrenaline still pumped through her veins, and his proximity contributed to her unsettled nerves. She tried her best to calm down, knowing a cool head in this situation was tantamount.
But her shakiness ruled unconsciously, her hands coming up to grab at his waist in an effort to regain control. She felt him stiffen instantly, and she kept her voice low as she answered, "I'm fine," hoping she hadn't given him a reason to lash out with her simple gesture of needing comfort. She really was all right, and, after a second or two of allowing his warmth to steady her, she began to pull away.
"Stay still," he ordered softly, keeping a firm grasp on her through the satin. His hands felt like red-hot brands on the fabric, and her body reacted, jerking to escape the contact. "Don't move," he insisted again. "We'll have to stay here for a while, Scully."
It was no use arguing; he had a good point. It was best to wait until the clamor in the house quieted. They could avoid most of it if they just waited it out. "What's happening?" she asked, wondering if he had any more insight into the sudden alarm than she did.
"Marvin saw cops outside. Did you trip an alarm?"
"No!" She hushed her burst of fury, lowering her voice. "I was on my way out of the study when all hell broke loose."
She felt Mulder's gaze pinpoint her in the dimness. "Did you get what you came for?"
Should she tell him? She hadn't yet told him about the key, but then again, she'd only gotten it from Robert a couple of hours ago, in the limo on the way to Dupont's. It was burning a hole in her purse, along with what she'd snatched from Dupont's safe. Actually, the second item excited her more than the key did, and she couldn't help the satisfaction that colored her voice as she said with a grin, "Yeah. I have to find Robert and get out of here."
"Don't trust him, Scully."
Something in Mulder's voice told her his plea wasn't just based on jealous posturing. "Why?
Mulder, if you know something -"
"I'll explain later," he interrupted. "Just don't leave with him, okay?"
The warning in his words was sincere, sending a chill of apprehension through her scantily clad body. Mulder never was the type to fabricate fear - in fact, his instincts had always been much better than hers. If he sensed something dubious about Robert's trustworthiness, he was probably right. She herself had found Robert a bit too possessive lately.
She had no qualms about leaving the party alone; Robert wouldn't question her decision, not openly, anyway. With the ruckus outside however, she was likely to be detained, and she had to get her prizes outside Dupont's perimeter. Her excitement dwindled at the realization that what she carried could get her into big trouble very quickly, if discovered.
"Mulder?"
"What?"
"If I don't make it out of here, take my purse."
To insure his cooperation, she let go of him, slipping the purse from her shoulder to tuck it into his coat pocket. "You'll know why once you open it, okay?"
His hand grabbed hers, the palm slightly damp.
"No, Scully," he rasped, protest at what she knew could be her capture raw and laced with alarm.
"You're gonna make it out of here. With me."
The music beyond the closet door came to an abrupt halt. Muffled shouts replaced the previous sounds of revelry, and it was obvious Dupont's party had screeched to a dead stop.
Something had happened, and she had an awful feeling she was somehow responsible - and that she was moments away from arrest. She wondered how long she'd stay in lockup before conveniently disappearing. It seemed Mulder thought the same thing; she didn't have to see his face to feel his fear. She chuckled, squeezing his hand, trying to force some levity into what looked like an increasingly dire circumstance. "C'mon, Mulder. You might be the almighty Mr. Robie, but you can't stop these men if they find out what I was doing here - and what I'm carrying."
He hesitated, as if some inner battle raged. She heard his ragged breathing, felt his frustration waft over her. Suddenly, she was in his embrace, crushed to him as he muttered against her lips, "Scully."
That one word held more meaning than any he'd spoken - he knew as well as she did there may not be another time to kiss, another moment to speak of regrets or hopes for the future. He waited, his breath warming her cold lips, his hesitation one of hope she wouldn't deny him.
It wasn't fair, or wise, or any of the thoughts borne of a thwarted goal that screamed out for life in her mind. She lifted her face to his, tears burning the back of her throat. Her hands came up, pulling his head down in a silent, urgent plea for understanding. A sharp exhale brushed her chin as he took her advance to be an invitation to kiss - but she offered not her lips, but her cheek. His jaw stiffened under her hands, and she bemoaned the instant he realized she wouldn't give him that much intimacy.
Mulder's hands came up, making quick work of her mask and his. Scully heard them hit the floor with a barely-there crunch, felt the cool rush of air on her face quickly replaced by the heat of Mulder's angry face looming before hers. His hands tilted her face up; though it was dark in the closet, she saw a sheen of glittering fury in his eyes at her refusal to kiss him.
But she couldn't, not even in the face of their discovery. What he was asking of her threatened to make her lose what little control she had left - couldn't he see that?
The hands that trapped her face moved, and she knew his reply to her rebuff when he dragged her resistant form closer, his mouth not taking the friendly offering of her cheek. Instead, he opened his mouth over the vulnerable skin over her racing pulse, a tactic designed to invade and overcome her resolve.
It worked, at least as far as making her body tremble and her courage waver. She sucked in a surprised gasp at the feel of his tongue, its rough texture darting and retreating, his lips dry and firm as they created a turmoil within her. Her head succumbed to his subtle pressure, falling back as she let him make forays into her carefully constructed self-denial.
His short beard tickled her chin and she couldn't decide if she liked it or not... then, in the next instant, all thought flew from her head but the realization that she had him back. He smelled the same, that familiar hint of sweatlaced desperation on him that he'd always had when making love to her, as if every time was to be the last. Through the dressing of unfamiliar clothes, his body wrapped around her like a seductive, ensnaring rope, a whipcord of hungry, lean power bent on taking what she now freely offered.
Kiss me, she cried silently. But he didn't, avoiding her attempts to face him once again so their mouths could meet. It was punishment, she realized sadly, the opportunity for forgiveness lost.
That they should be careful never crossed her mind. She twisted with him in the confines of the closet, their panting breaths mingling with the shouts from outside. The sharp edge of the shelving met her bare back; she sucked in a breath of pain and found a hand slide between her and the hard wood. One manipulation of her body after the other, in which she could barely come up for air, followed his rejection of her kiss.
She couldn't see, but she could feel... and her blindness heightened the wave of lust that grew in her. Leaning back, she let him mold her form to his.
A soft moan punctuated each devouring slide of his lips over her neck and face, breathed into the humid air between them. They came from her, not him, she knew. He silently seduced her with an anger that she felt fading with every second that passed. He was not unmoved by the acceptance she displayed, but he was adamant in his control of the situation now. With his hypnotic touches, he called to her, and she gave in to his pull, letting him insinuate himself between her legs. Their contact was broken briefly as he dropped a bit, but he came back, bold as ever, his free hand already sliding along her bare leg under her dress, the slinky material offering no resistance to his sexual inroads.
Scully shook herself from drugged obedience and took up his silent challenge, nipping at his neck while she dropped her hands. One curled around his hips, her nails scraping under his jacket to pull and grasp at his butt; the other, made greedy despite the definite inappropriateness of their location, rubbed at the bulge between his legs.
"Scully," he moaned in her ear, that one word demanding she say what her body was most willing to declare already.
"Yes," she breathed, at his insistence, bringing her knee up in a slow slide of her leg along his.
Mulder reacted as she knew he would, his pelvis grinding into hers. She freed her hand, now using them both to anchor his ass as she reciprocated, arching the cradle of her hips to accept the simulation of the sex act, her mouth dragging over his jaw in a relentless journey to the pulse that hammered in his neck. Her lips and tongue tasted of his skin, and she felt him reciprocate, his mouth latching on to the softness beneath her ear with greedy, slippery suction.
It had been so long, and she was ready to leave all good sense behind. Dimly, she knew it was a mistake... but she could no more stop it from happening than she could the earth from spinning.
Mulder was her mate, would always be - and, as animalistic as this was, it was right.
Light burst behind her closed eyelids as his fingers slipped beneath the skimpy thong underwear. She jerked at his hot, rough touch...
he followed, pursuing, pushing in -
"What the fuck is going on in here?"
The hiss broke through the haze surrounding them, and Scully, after blinking away her surprise, faced the intruder. Her hands automatically came up to turn Mulder's face away from the black figure standing in the half-open door. He resisted, but she was firm, pulling away from him as she placed herself between him and
recognition, her chin high and defiant. "Do you mind?" she barked out, hoping her voice held enough outrage to convince their unexpected interloper that he'd interrupted a clandestine tryst.
Really, he had. She admitted it to herself freely, though she didn't care to delve any deeper into herself for motive - not while they were moments away from capture.
The man, cast in obscure shades of black, stiffened, straightening as he ground out, "This is very stupid of you... Ana."
A contemptible familiarity accompanied the reprimand, and her reply was equal in disdain, ignoring his personal encroachment to put the situation back on professional footing. "Robert.
What's happening downstairs?" She felt Mulder step forward behind her, his animosity bristling; reaching behind her, she put a hand on his arm to hopefully calm him.
Robert hesitated a moment, as if he wanted to continue arguing, then thought better of it as he said, "Some idiot knocked over a candle - caught the living room curtains on fire. Dupont's security system automatically called the fire department and shut the place down. C'mon, we've got to get out of here before they turn the lights back on."
Mulder hadn't said a word since they were so rudely interrupted, and Scully wondered if he would. If possible, the arm beneath her hand tensed up even more, but still, he said nothing, only reached up with his other hand to grasp her waist in a gesture of possession.
The challenge was issued silently - he was asking her to choose.
Anger burst forth anew; how dare he make this into such a personal matter? She stepped out of the closet, Mulder close behind, his hand still holding her. She knew he was staring down Robert, who faced Mulder with equal intent to fight.
She had to do something to diffuse the situation, and fast. But she was reluctant to let go of Mulder, and she made it known, her fingers tightening around his arm. "Is there another way out besides the main stairs?"
Robert held out his hand. "This way. Around the corner - back stairs to the kitchen."
Scully ignored his outstretched hand and walked quickly toward their escape route, Mulder close behind. "Let's go." From the corner of her eye, she saw Robert follow.
As they gingerly but rapidly made it down the stairs, Mulder released her waist, only to grab hold of her hand. She let him, his presence and touch lending her a sense of security she sorely needed, and was hard pressed to muster. The almost discovery in the study, followed by Robert's censure, had shaken her a bit. She wasn't embarrassed by anything she'd done with Mulder in the closet; she was more worried than anything else at the moment - for Mulder. The way Mulder had spoken of Robert, his quiet insistence the man was untrustworthy, gave her some pause. She could take care of herself, but she wasn't about to let Mulder walk out of this house alone. She wanted him safely in Marvin's clutches before doing anything else.
As they went out the rear entrance, the night air came up to caress the hot flesh of her cheek and neck, which stung a bit from the rasp of Mulder's beard.
Their masks! Tugging at his hand, she forced him to stop, her hand coming up to touch her face.
She saw him catch on instantly as he followed the path of her fingers with his gaze; he quickly pulled her away from the lights and onto the slippery grass, avoiding the press of party guests milling about the paved walkways leading to the house. They gained access to the back lawn without any trouble, and Scully was thankful for the near darkness of the night, though the emergency floodlights at the corners of the house were a bit too revealing for her tastes. Between the two men, they ushered her out of sight of the lights; they stopped some distance down the sloping yard, looking back at the dying clamor around the house. Guests were lining up in the drive to await their cars, and she saw Dupont frantically flit from one couple to the next, could hear him plea for them not leave, that the party was just getting started. Several people passed them on their way to the line, their faces curious at the obvious romantic triangle playing out on the back lawn.
"Our car is waiting for us on the drive," Luquet said, giving the curious few a 'mind your own business' look. "Ana?"
Before Scully could reply, the roar of an engine bearing down on them made Mulder catch her close.
They both looked up to see a limousine approach, its tires spinning in the dewy lawn. With a foot or so to spare, it slid to a halt before them, and Marvin got out, a pleased grin on his face as he leaned on his door.
"Need a lift?"
Beside her, Mulder spoke, the first and only word he'd said since being in the closet. It sounded just as husky and seductive as it had back there, subtly tinged with need, though it wasn't the name she really wanted to hear. "Ana?"
She looked from Mulder to Robert, who'd walked a few hurried steps to the drive, impatience etched on his face. Her escort jerked his head, almost demanding she accompany him to their waiting car.
A dozen thoughts sped through her mind, each one coming back to the decision at hand. There was more at stake here than Mulder's pride, and she hoped he realized why she was doing what she was about to do. She looked down at their clasped hands, then back up to the muted yearning shining from Mulder's eyes, feeling as if her whole world slipped away from her as she slowly pulled her hand free. He held on for a span of heartbeats, unwilling to let her go, the grip of his thumb and fingertips recalling a similar scene of years past. As it was on her deathbed years ago, she felt her existence dim, wondering if this parting would eventually rival the finality they thought it heralded back then.
No, she wouldn't let it. Surely Mulder could see this decision was for the best? Please understand, she begged him silently, keeping her face expressionless in the shadow of Robert's unceasing stare.
The instant hurt on Mulder's face caught her breath; his gaze turned frosty, icing over his emotions quickly as he half-turned, hands withdrawing to seek the protection of his pockets. It was too much to bear; with as much dignity as she could muster, she turned her back on him and walked to Robert's side. A few moments later, Mulder's limousine whisked by, throwing grass everywhere, the whoosh of its departure stirring her hair. Robert took her hand; his dry, cool palm no match for the warm, damp, vitality of the hand she left behind.
Mulder felt Marvin's indecision behind him, could hear it in the shuffle of his feet against the expensive rug that covered the study floor.
Pulling at his tie, he half-turned. "Marvin, would you get a fire going, please? It's cold in here."
"Sure," Marvin replied, relief flooding his voice.
The hour was late, and he'd ignored Marvin's attempts at conversation in the car on the way out of the city. He was pretty sure his friend had an idea what went on at the party, especially in light of Scully's silent, but pointed departure. But Marvin would never come right out and ask, or throw around insinuating barbs in an effort to satisfy his curiosity - he was too polite. One thing he wasn't, however, was a pushover. He'd made himself Mulder's protector, a job he took very seriously.
Mulder's calm demeanor had to have rattled him a bit, and truthfully, Mulder was angry at the way she'd left him standing on that lawn. But he was determined not to show it, especially in front of Marvin, who would use any show of rash behavior as an excuse to keep Mulder locked in this fortress.
He kept telling himself she'd done it because Luquet was there. That had to be it. She'd accepted what he'd said about Luquet and was putting him off because she was naturally reserved in front of an unknown, possible enemy.
That she'd denied him a kiss back in the closet, he wasn't yet prepared to think about. One stumbling block at a time, he decided.
"Fox, I tried to tell you about the firemen arriving on the scene, but the radio went out."
Marvin, acting on a misguided notion that he was somehow to blame for their failed communications, seemed bent on shouldering part of the blame for the almost catastrophe.
"I know. Don't sweat it, Marv." He walked to the bar and poured himself a stiff drink, reaching for the first bottle his fingers touched. He really should watch it, he thought, or he'd become the lush his father - Bill Mulder - had been at the end. But tonight, he brushed aside those concerns, feeling the need for a bit of numbing alcohol.
Scully's abandonment of him had hurt. It was really no more than he deserved, he supposed, but it pierced him like a knife through the heart, anyway.
Warmth filled the room from the fire in the fireplace, but Mulder was still chilled. He moved to join a watchful Marvin before the orange flames, bringing the tumbler to his lips before sighing, "Go on. Say it."
"Say what?" Marvin stood in profile, his hands in his pockets, though his gaze skittered over Mulder, lingering a bit with distaste on the liquor in his hand. "That you drink too much?"
Mulder chuckled, dropping his chin. "Actually, that wasn't what I thought you'd say."
"But it's the truth."
"It is," Mulder conceded, handing Marvin the half empty glass. He faced his friend, lifting his shoulders from their defeated slump, drawing strength from Marvin's subtle admonishment.
"Would you make some coffee?"
Marvin took the false courage from Mulder's hand, throwing it into the fire. The vodka went up in a cleansing ball of fire in an instant, leaving the fire strong and hot. He grinned, his faith in Mulder apparent in his satisfied face. "Of course. But at this late hour, I think it should be decaf. You've had a long day." He walked away toward the study door.
"And it's about to get longer," Mulder murmured, turning as he craned his neck to and fro, stretching the muscles on his weary, stiff torso.
"I think you'd better sideline the unleaded tonight. I'm gonna need all the caffeine I can get."
Wary surprise made Marvin turn around, his hand resting on a wing-backed chair as he struck a curious pose, his eyes narrowing. "We're not thinking of braving the streets again, are we, Fox? Because I have to tell you I think it's foolhardy, not to mention hazardous after tonight's -"
"We're not going anywhere, Marvin," Mulder interrupted softly. Grinning at Marvin's confusion, he reached into his pocket. The slinky purse dangled from his fingers as he watched Marvin's consternation dissolve into an admiring lift of his chin. "This time, the mountain will come to Mohammed. Or John Robie, as the case may be."
"I'll prepare a tray for two," Marvin said, his smile contained, but cautious. "In case the lady wishes for a light repast. *If* she comes."
He scurried out the door, his excitement palpable in the way his usual smooth walk deteriorated into a scramble for the kitchen.
Mulder watched him leave, shaking his head at the way Scully managed to throw everyone off-kilter, even the usually implacable Marvin. Back at Dupont's, Mulder had lost his head as well, giving in to her allure while danger lurked outside the closet walls. But not now. He had something she wanted - and the negotiations were just beginning. So she didn't want personal issues to cloud her investigation, did she?
That was too damned bad.
"Oh, she'll come, Marvin." Mulder weighed the bag in his hand, feeling its contents poke through the flimsy satin and sequins. "Who knows? Maybe she'll stay."
End Chapter Eight
Truce
Chapter Nine
Disclaimers, etc. in Headers
If she made a habit of cursing, she would let loose with the vehemence of a sailor, learned at an early age by snooping on her father's trials with a reluctant lawnmower. Her mother would blanch at the stream of vulgarities flowing through her mind right now... all because she was forced to confront a lover she most desperately wanted to keep at arms' length for the time being.
Damn him and his unceasing flair for butting in where he had no business, she fumed, as she stopped her rental car before the massive iron gates. In the light of the full moon, the oak trees lining the drive created a dark tunnel, the mansion at its end glowing eerily white and ethereal. Her partner, her lover, waited within its ghostly walls, his superiority in this situation almost making her turn tail and run.
But she couldn't - first and foremost, she was not about to cringe before Mulder. Secondly, she had to find a way to heal the sure breach between them created by her abandonment. Not with an eye toward resuming their love relationship, but with the goal of at least communing in friendship and trust. Didn't mean she had to like what she had to do, but her mother had not raised cowards for children. And her father's temper lived and breathed in those same children, as she felt Mulder's perfidy at keeping her purse grate on her nerves. Of course, if she hadn't been so off-kilter at the time, she'd have remembered to ask for it.
Off-kilter? More like drowning in lust.
"Damn," she muttered, anger at her own stupidity growing apace with her ire at Mulder. Would she ever be immune to his touch? Would she ever want to be, that was the better question.
She sighed, wondering if she'd have to buzz in, rolling her window down to do just that when she saw the red glow of a camera settle on her from its perch at the top corner of the gates. As she lifted her arm to depress the intercom, the gates slowly opened, silently beckoning her to proceed.
Again, she cursed his arrogance, picturing him sitting in his study, watching her approach with a satisfied smirk. He knew she would have avoided him like the plague after that incident in the closet... if not for the fact he had her purse. A simple little thing containing what she'd busted her ass to get since she'd been in New Orleans, it infuriated her that she'd been so caught up in Mulder's sexual advances she'd forgotten to get it back from him.
She told herself she was just going to get it and leave. Nothing he could say or do would have the power to sway her like that again.
After she parked the car, she walked to the front door, straightening her jacket. She'd already gotten an earful from Robert about the night's activities, until she'd finally told him to basically 'shut the hell up'. Ignoring him the rest of the drive back to her hotel, she'd hoped he would remain aloof and continue his stare out the limousine window - she didn't want him to notice her missing evening bag. Her silence apparently worked, and she'd left him as soon as they arrived at the hotel, not even giving him an inkling of when they'd meet again. He didn't ask, and she didn't offer. With Mulder's reservations about Robert's purpose in the operation, she knew that from now on, the less she had to do with him, the better. His inattention wouldn't last long, however - she fully expected him to contact her in the morning, via the telephone or a personal visit. And she wasn't quite sure yet what to do about him. She had to get that bag back first.
The moment her boot hit the top step of the veranda, the front door clicked open. The omniscience Mulder enjoyed ratcheted up her ire, but she tamped it down, stepping into the lamplit foyer. He obviously trusted her enough to let her enter unmolested, and in giving of that trust, set a tone for their meeting that spoke of some conciliation. But she knew the bargaining for that purse was liable to be heady and unrelenting, and she was glad she'd taken the time at the hotel to change out of the revealing dress and into her black-on-black jeans and sweater. Her attire lent her posture the normalcy and steadfastness it so desperately needed, if she was to come through this meeting still in possession of her dignity.
The lock clicked into place behind her, and she walked a familiar route to the study, noting Marvin's absence with a feeling of dread. Had this been simply a business meeting, the little man would have been hovering, ushering her into Mulder's lair like the unfailing employee she sensed him to be. His dismissal for the evening was a sure sign of the more personal battle about to be waged.
Sighing, she opened the study door; inside, the fire glowed brightly, the only source of light in an otherwise dark room. Where was he? She was about to backtrack and yell for Marvin when a shuffle came from the tall chair facing the fireplace. A beaded bag slipped from an almost relaxed hand, glinting in the red-orange light from the fire.
"I'd keep it, but I really don't think it's my style. Too... effeminate. What do you think, Scully?"
This was her chance. Run up behind him, snatch the bag and be gone. Even if he tried to trap her by denying her exit from the gates, she could scale the iron fence in no time.
"Don't even *think* about it," he warned, twisting his hand to wrap the slender chain of the purse around his fist.
Defensively, she stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets, swallowing at the hint of hurt in his voice. "I wasn't," she lied, her words shaky in their betrayal.
"Like hell you weren't." Purse now firmly clasped in his hand, his face peeked around the wing of the chair, one eyebrow lifted. The shadows of fatigue etched on his cheeks tugged at her heart, but she remained unmoving in the fierceness of his glare. "Have a seat, Scully.
There's coffee at the bar - unless you'd like something stronger." His head disappeared in the depths of the chair once again, the purse vanishing as well as he tucked it away. "I have a feeling you're gonna need it."
In a bid to take back some control, she took her time with the coffee, adding creamer and sugar to make a boosting brew that fortified her body with just one sip. Head held high, she took a seat on the couch opposite his chair, unblinking as she brought the cup to her lips again and again, waiting for him to begin.
He watched her as she did him, and she couldn't deny he made a very fetching sight, with his bowtie hanging from the collar of his wrinkled shirt, his tuxedo jacket just as rumpled but still elegant. Slouched in the chair, his long legs spread out, he was the epitome of rich, uncaring decadence, his gaze heavy-lidded as it touched her from head to toe. But she knew better. The mind behind those sexy, glittering eyes worked on, cataloging the right approach, the correct parry, the sure way to victory in the battle of wills.
The proof of her assessment wasn't long in coming, as he took a deep breath, his fingers curling around the purse.
"So tell me, Scully... what's in this bag? I have a feeling it's more than a compact and a driver's license."
Surprise at his admission stiffened her. "You haven't looked?"
Dropping his chin, he said softly, "No."
He wanted her to tell him, she realized. To share her bounty as a true partner should; it was a move designed to test her trust. To do so didn't mean he'd give her the purse without more in the way of accommodation - Mulder was too locked in to the operation now to just sit by and wait. What she feared most was what exactly that 'accommodation' would be. But she had to admire his strength in not giving in to his curiosity; that alone told her how serious he was about staying in her good graces.
In her reflection, she didn't notice the quick withdrawal of his lazy legs until he spoke again, this time so quietly it lent an alarming resonance to his question.
"When did you lose faith in me, Scully?"
Her head snapped up, noting the way he sat with both hands cradling the purse between his knees.
His chin lowered, he gazed at her with a guarded expression, the way he'd closed in on himself defensive in both body and voice.
"Mulder," she sighed, picking her way carefully lest she revealed too much, "you know I've always trusted and respected you, as well as..."
"Loved me?" he finished at her pause, one eyebrow raised. "Yeah, you've said it... not a lot, but I know it's there. I didn't ask you if you still loved me, Scully. Or if you ever trusted me. I want to know when you lost faith in me."
Since she'd all but told him she no longer trusted him at their first meeting two days ago, she shouldn't be surprised at his question.
Still, it rattled her that he'd managed to take her seriously - when, in fact, she hadn't known herself until now that she would never deny him her trust. A matter of faith, on the other hand....
"Mulder, that's ridiculous." She finished her coffee in one gulp, desperately trying for control in a rapidly disintegrating situation.
"I trust you. That's most important, don't you think?"
"Is it? I've known for a long time you trusted me, Scully. But I don't think you believe in me anymore."
He was so steadfast in his complaint that she found herself at a loss for a rebuttal. She knew what he was getting at - his words were, for once, straightforward. With Mulder, one never really had a handle on his sometimes cryptic comments and unusual methods of getting to the bottom of things. A man who would cheerfully walk into danger if he thought it nudged him one inch closer to his elusive 'truth' was so hard to understand sometimes. Especially when he continued to put himself in hazardous, uncontrollable situations after they'd basically committed to one another as life mates. She'd lost count of the times she'd wanted to rant and rave at his near misses, but hesitated because she didn't want to appear smothering.
This time, he laid it all out. And this time, she had no such qualms about speaking her mind, though she doubted what she had to say would make him very happy.
"At this moment, I don't know what I feel, Mulder. Your refusal to give me the purse is childish and doesn't exactly inspire faith. If anything, it inspires suspicion."
"You didn't ask for it," he pointed out, rolling it over his fingers like a little beanbag.
"All right, I'm asking now."
"And I'm refusing. For now."
"Mulder..." she growled, impatience furrowing her brow.
"Go on," he prodded gently, infuriating her even more. "You're just dying to let me have it, aren't you, Scully? So what are you waiting for?"
Another manipulation, one easily recognized by her as an old tactic Mulder excelled at. His words, his whole demeanor, was designed to provoke her into losing control. And damn him, it was working. She knew she was vulnerable to it, but was powerless to defend against it. In opening himself to her wrath, he'd basically asked for it.
She stood, all the fury of the past lonely months - the last few years - spilling forth in her trembling voice. "You bastard," she hissed, feeling hot color steal up her cheeks.
"There's been some doubt as to my paternity for years now, Scully. Tell me something new."
His quip, delivered in a dry voice, served to raise her ire to colossal levels. Holding her coffee cup in white-knuckled fingers, she jabbed at his confidence with unprecedented precision.
She wasn't one to get so personal, but the time had passed for professionalism. Time to get down and dirty. "How's this for honesty, Mulder you're right. My faith these past months has been tested, more so in the last week. Not because you won't give me what's rightfully mine -" Her gaze darted to the purse before ccoming back up to challenge him. "Not because you're too sure of yourself, or too free with your criticisms of my actions when you hide yourself in this gold-plated palace, not even because you can still make me forget everything but the way you taste with just a crook of your little finger. No, my faith in you took a beating the day you left me."
She stalked away from him to the bar, while silence loomed in the dim study. Mulder was satisfied, but the price he paid could prove to be too much. Pocketing the sequined bone of contention, he rose from his chair with a sigh, intending to comfort her and take the edge off a revelation he knew pained her.
"You know why I left you, Scully. It was too dangerous for you," he began to explain, but she cut him off, her coffee cup hitting the bar with a pop.
"You left me long before that, Mulder."
With her back to him, he couldn't see her expression, but the soft accusation in her voice told him he didn't have to see her face to understand her hurt and sense of betrayal. More puzzling was the fact he had no idea what she was talking about, and he said so. "I never left you before then, Scully. Not by my own choice, that's for damned sure."
"Yes, you did."
In the span of two seconds, her anger became his.
"When?"
Slowly she turned, her face composed but her eyes shimmering with pain. "When you found out you were dying."
The shot out of the blue almost staggered him.
"What?"
"Do you know what it was like... do you have *any* idea... how much it hurt me when I found out what you so callously kept from me?"
He'd never seen her so emotional. In her own way, of course, without tears or cries of anger not even a curse laid upon his head. She was as beautifully composed as she ever was, but it was that which spoke of the awesome hurt she felt.
Not a muscle moved in the line of her jaw, and her high color of moments ago had faded to a paleness almost alarming in its intensity. He started forward, intent on taking some of her pain upon himself, but was brought up short by her continuance.
"I had to sit in a room full of agents, not to mention Skinner and Doggett. You'd been missing only a day... a day," she chuckled mirthlessly, her hands fisting at her sides. "It was like pulling teeth to get them to do anything to find you. Skinner's hands were tied, and Agent Doggett - well, let's just say he didn't know at the time whose bidding he was doing."
Kersh. Scully had never spoken in detail of her life while he was gone, and truthfully, the pregnancy had taken center stage once he returned. But her words now, combined with the way she stood before him wound tight as a top, told him what she'd kept from him. Mulder sighed, wanting to stop her monotone, but curious just the same. He said nothing, knowing she needed to say those things. Communication of a more personal nature had never been their forte, even after they'd become lovers. Now, he saw that he should have told her of his condition.
As a partner, if nothing else. She deserved better.
"Do you know what they paraded in front of me? A headstone. I felt the bottom drop out of my world when I saw that, Mulder."
"I'm sorry, Scully," he murmured. It sounded so trite, but he said it again, unable to think of anything to say. "I'm sorry."
"You knew, didn't you? When we were in New Orleans that last time, you knew."
The word choked him. "Yes."
"Yet you said nothing." Arms crossed now, she half-turned, slowly shaking her head like she'd awakened from a years-long sleep. "That's why you consented to the in vitro, isn't it? Because you wanted to leave me with someone to replace you? Did you think I'd thank you for that at your grave side? 'So long, Mulder - thanks for the kid.'"
"No!" What he did, what he neglected to tell her, had been wrong, he saw that now. But what was in the past what just that - over and done. He'd apologized, though he knew she would be hurt over it for a long time. But he'd be damned if he'd let it come between them now. Moving closer to her, he raised his voice, determined to disabuse her notions of heaping all the blame upon his head. "I consented to the in vitro because I loved you, Scully. Yes, I was surprised by your request. Making the decision to bring a child into our world took some thought. But not once did I look at it as a goodbye. I considered it an honor to father your child..." His voice broke as he took one step closer - a final step toward reconciliation, in his mind. "It nearly broke me when we found out it hadn't worked; one look at you and I knew I couldn't burden you with the news of my impending death. You'd had enough sorrow in your life."
He still wasn't all that sure William was a product of natural conception, and he doubted he would ever bring up that subject again. No matter what he felt, that boy was theirs. All he wished for now was the peace to live with William and his mother, for however long they had left.
Scully looked up, and the defeat on her face slammed into him like a punch to the gut.
"You'll always leave me, Mulder, don't you see that?" she whispered. "This is not about choices made by either one of us. I've pushed you away many times, I admit it."
He knew she was speaking of her request after William's birth, that he leave for his own safety. Knowing he could pounce on it, he refused to give in to the urge, sensing their relationship was about to take a major turn. For good or bad, he didn't know. But he had to take the chance - somehow, he knew another wouldn't be forthcoming.
"But you've done the same to me, Mulder," she continued. "And I don't know if I can weather another loss. Giving up William nearly killed me, and your abandonment just made me realize that no matter what I do, I can't have you both."
"Scully," he said quietly, unused to seeing her so confused and caught up in misery. She was the most resilient person he'd ever known; of course, everyone had a breaking point.
"I told you back in Roswell that I'd never accept defeat. And I won't... but I have accepted that I can't let you hurt me again. I want my son.
No matter what path in life he takes, he will always be a part of me. My faith in him will never waver."
Saying now he wanted their child as much as she had would fall on deaf ears. He hadn't shown a great deal of personal interest in her pregnancy upon his 'rise from the dead', other than volunteering to attend Lamaze classes with her.
Truth be known, he'd walked around in those months after his resurrection in a daze of sorts, too angry at the faceless people who still manipulated their lives to give Scully any reassurances. How could he, when he hadn't been all that sure her baby wasn't a product of some horrific lab experiment? How could he hold her and say everything was going to be all right when some mornings he woke up in a cold sweat just from the confining presence of a sheet over his body?
As a psychologist, he knew he'd suffered from some manifestation of post-traumatic stress, though to admit it at the time would have meant allowing his guard to drop as he sought treatment and/or resolution by introspection. To stop searching for the truth for even a minute would have opened his mind to the horror he'd wanted to bury forever. He couldn't stop, not with Scully burdened by an advanced pregnancy and with Doggett and Skinner restrained by an enemyfilled, collaborating Bureau.
"And if I told you I'd never leave you again?"
A rueful, teary smile graced her features, as she sadly shook her head. "You can't promise that."
With the shadow of death following his every move, he knew what he'd offered could vanish in an instant. But he also knew he'd never again leave her by choice, something she had to realize.
"No, I can't. I can't say anything other than I'm sorry, Scully. If I'd known we'd reach this impasse, I'd have done things differently. One thing I've never lied about is *my* faith in you, and my love for you and our son." Face set in hard, uncompromising lines, he continued, "But I can promise that I will fight from now on. No more running. No more hiding. We can get William back, Scully. I *will* get him back for you. Where we go from there, that's up to you. I promise to stay or leave... at your command."
"And if I ask you to leave?"
He could have pointed out that by doing so, she would be fulfilling her own low expectations of his future behavior. But he couldn't do it, couldn't let the conversation continue on in a negative direction. He met her pain-filled gaze, feeling as if - like her - his whole world slipped away as he gave her a promise. One that would kill him if he had to make it come true.
"Then I'll go."
Surprise made her jaw drop slightly, and she looked as if she hadn't expected him to agree.
He wondered if she knew exactly what she asked him to consider, if she knew how much it would kill him to have to leave her when all was said and done. She sputtered a bit, lowering her lashes as she searched for an answer to his soft, heartfelt vow. "Mulder..."
But he didn't want her to feel obligated to reply. Rubbing a hand over his weary nape, he hung his head, suddenly exhausted. He reached into his pocket for the purse, handing it over without looking at her. "Look, it's getting late. You need to get back to New Orleans."
Before Luquet came looking for her, he added silently. He hated to see her rush back to that man, but as he saw it, there was little he could do to prevent it. Her hurt was not something he was ever going to triumph over, certainly not at four o'clock in the morning over a cup of cold coffee. His suspicions of Luquet would have to wait - he was tired of arguing.
"A key."
Her soft admission startled him. Hand outstretched, he froze in place, searching her eyes for what he hoped to find. It was there, a simple concession that warmed his heart. While not gaining all that much ground, he'd pacified her enough with his acceptance of her wishes to revive their tenuous partnership. It would do, for now.
"Scully," he breathed, happiness at clearing a very high hurdle taking his breath away.
"A key from Balfour's... and a computer disc from Dupont's." Suddenly, she seemed to sway before his steady regard. "Naturally, I haven't had a chance..."
He caught her before she fell, cursing himself for putting her through the last hour when she obviously hadn't been up to it. If he'd bothered to look past her pale, stoic face, he'd have seen the smudges beneath her eyes that closer inspection now revealed. Her lashes drooped as she put up a flimsy fight to his encroachment, her hands pressing against his chest. "I'm fine, Mulder."
"You're not," he answered, picking her up in his arms. She squirmed for a moment, then quieted, already half asleep. "Just stay for a couple of hours, okay?" He settled her on the sofa, pulling a throw from its sloped back to cover her.
"Not long," she murmured. "Don't let me sleep too long."
"I won't," he said, knowing this promise was one he wasn't going to keep. She was here with him, and he couldn't deny himself the chance to be with her for however long she let him, even if it involved a little subterfuge on his part. She hadn't really specified a wake-up time, he told himself by way of absolution.
Though he knew he wouldn't be getting much rest while she slept; with the permission she'd just given him, he opened the purse. He had an opportunity to prove his worth to her as a partner, and he damn well was going to take advantage of it.
End Chapter Nine
Truce
Chapter Ten
Disclaimer, etc. in Headers
Scully took a deep, cleansing breath, one typical of wakening from a restful sleep. Eyes closed, she snuggled under the light blanket, drifting in and out of sleep, the smoke-tinged air tickling her nose. Somewhere, there was a fireplace - the faint smell of charcoal and the pop of cinders made her wonder if she was back home.
But when she cracked open one eye, she saw she wasn't, unless she'd gone nuts during the night and raided the set of "Hush, Hush, Sweet Charlotte". The room around her was dark and heavy with wood molding, the sofa on which she laid overstuffed and smelling of old, slightly musty material, its tapestry covering assaulting her one open eye with a flash of red-orange swirls. She sat up with a jerky breath, the navy blue blanket falling away, afraid she'd seen Olivia de Havilland hovering over her with a sinister smile.
"You're awake. Good."
Relief made her sag; she wasn't trapped in an old horror movie, after all. Bright sunlight streamed through the windows, and she strove to harden her sleep-roughened voice in a reprimand at his letting her sleep so long. "Mulder..."
Sitting behind his desk, his glasses reflecting light at an angle which made it impossible to ascertain his mood, he looked up from his laptop.
"Gillis W. Long Center," he stated, holding up something that glittered in the morning light.
"What?" It was no use arguing about how he'd let her sleep half the day away; from the tone of his voice, he'd latched on to another subject, one which obviously piqued his interest. She stood, rubbing her eyes with stiff fingers.
"Coffee's on the bar. You look like you could use some," he offered, his confidence threatening to overflow as he almost squirmed in his seat with excitement.
"I do, do I?" she drawled, miffed at the apparent advantage in the investigation he'd gained while she slept - and a bit ticked at his slam on her appearance. She resisted the urge to smooth her hair, heading for the bar. "Thanks *so* much."
"It's a good look, actually. G-woman, stakeout, I-need-a-bed sexy."
"Mulder." The hand holding the carafe stopped midway to her cup as she sliced a warning look his way.
"Sorry," he murmured, "felt like old times there for a sec."
It did, and she lamented the loss of the easy banter they used to enjoy, dropping her chin as she searched for the right thing to say. But Mulder, thank goodness, ran right by the bump in the road, with his usual, only slightly awkward panache. Clearing his throat, he straightened from his slump in the chair, dangling the key between thumb and forefinger. "GWL108. You didn't notice the inscription?"
Scully leaned against the bar, answering dryly, "All I had until last night was a wax impression, Mulder. And I didn't have time - or the opportunity -" she fixed him with a pointed look, "to inspect the real thing."
Mulder didn't rise to her bait, instead watching the key roll over his knuckles like a quarter about to disappear behind his hand. "Good thing you made an impression of the engraved side. I doubt the other side had any identifying marks at all."
"Even in the dark, I could feel what I was doing," she remarked with a lift of her chin.
"You always were good at that."
This time, his name came from deep in her throat, a final warning growl. "Mulderrrr."
"Okay, okay." Tossing his glasses to the desk, he stood, and she noticed for the first time that he still wore his evening clothes from the night before, sans jacket, of course. "So, are you still fuzzy-brained, or did you hear what I said earlier?" He walked to where she stood; too close, in fact, his jaunty grin a complement to his disheveled, but debonair attire. He had the mojo going, and he knew she was clamoring within to keep up with his rapid-fire leaps in the investigation. Added to his excitement about the key was a definite layer of happiness he tried to tamp down, as his grin faded a bit at her glare. She was grateful he made the effort, knowing how much her presence meant to him. But she refused to acknowledge it, trying her best to keep things impersonal. He wouldn't dare press her, not after last night's argument. It didn't mean, however, that he'd stop poking at her resolve, and she knew she'd better be ready for it.
"Gillis W. Long Center. I heard." She reached up to take the key, but Mulder passed the key from one fist to another before producing it from behind her ear. The slight of hand was so familiar, bringing to mind the case of the decapitated magician so long ago. Scully's chest ached at the memory, and she grabbed the key from him, avoiding his gaze. She wished he weren't so... Mulder. "So? I guess you're about to tell me what else you know. Let's hear it."
The huskiness of his voice told her he'd picked up on her sad thoughts. "Don't know all that much - just found it a few minutes ago after looking all night."
She tilted her chin up. He'd not slept? Of course not. A shiver of apprehension slipped up her spine - had he watched her sleep?
The corners of his eyes crinkled as he said softly, "You still drool, you know."
Yep, he'd watched her, damn him. She felt vulnerable enough without Mulder watching over her like... a partner. Suddenly, she felt better. Despite the almost hidden glow of unpartnerlike feelings skirting the edges of his eyes, she saw something familiar and safe. An assurance that had always been there, one which warmed her cold, insecure bones.
Mulder's face stilled to a solemn pause at her silence; before she could accept his gentle teasing with a grin of her own, he spoke again.
"Actually, it's a Louisiana National Guard camp, home to the Youth Challenge Program. Not all that far away from this gold-plated palace of mine."
She ignored the jibe, feeling it for what it was - based on humor rather than anger. "I've heard of those type programs," she said, sipping at her coffee. "They take teenagers - troubled teens - and put them through a boot camp of sorts.
Teaches discipline and respect."
Mulder nodded. "From what I gather on the 'net, the camp has a great success rate in turning those kids around. After a five-month stay, most obtain a GED, return to their neighborhoods and are assimilated back into society, with the help of a mentoring program. Some end up liking the rigid discipline so much they enlist in the armed services. Many of them never get in trouble again."
"And those who do? Jail time?"
"One of the prerequisites for acceptance into the program is that the kids have no criminal record.
But most are just a hair's breadth away from jail, anyway. This place is a weigh station of sorts; you pass, you go home. You fail, you're back on the streets. Which usually means jail, eventually. The parents have essentially given up all hope of turning the kids around by the time they're sent to the Center."
Confusion mottled her still sleepy brain. "Just what would Balfour be doing with a key to that place in his upstairs safe?"
"Good question."
The trill of her cell phone interrupted Mulder's enthusiastic reply. He clamped his jaw down over his displeasure at the way she held a hand up, using her other to dig in her pocket for the phone.
"Scully."
"Where the hell are you?"
She tensed, turning away from Mulder to put some distance between herself and his glower. He knew who it was already, and he wasn't happy.
"Good morning to you too, Robert," she murmured, anger at his intrusion giving her voice a snide tone. She felt a looming presence at her right elbow, and looked up to find a stiff, tight-jawed Mulder listening in. At the moment, she didn't know who she was more angry with - Robert, for his high-handed grilling, or Mulder, for his territorial sniffing. "I'm okay."
"I called the hotel this morning and you weren't there." Robert, though softer of voice, still sounded like a thwarted child.
Her anger grew as she realized the lengths he'd gone to in order to find her; she'd never given him her cell phone number. "How did you get this number?" she bit out, avoiding Mulder's glare.
"Skinner. Though you should have given it to me from day one, Dana."
"You're not my partner, Robert. And I don't have to answer to you 24/7."
A huff came over the line; Robert's frustration was palpable, especially when she heard another voice behind the black void of their
conversation. Robert murmured a few words to his visitor, apparently covering the phone with his hand. Scully couldn't make out what was said, but the voice was definitely feminine. His secretary? She knew he had an office downtown, where he kept tabs on his many investments and properties. For ex-military, he'd done well for himself; of course, he'd told her once he came from old money.
"Look Robert," she interrupted, tired of waiting while he conducted business elsewhere. "I'll call you when I get back into town. Otherwise, don't call me on this line again."
She hung up on his sputtering, then took off her phone completely. She understood his concern, even if she didn't have to feel comfortable with it. Robert knew she'd gotten what she needed from Balfour and Dupont, as well as the danger possession of those items exposed her to. "He's just doing his job," she said softly to Mulder, who stood at her side, definitely ticked at the interruption.
Hands on hips, he attacked, just as she figured he would. "I told you he wasn't to be trusted, Scully."
Pocketing her cell phone, she flashed Mulder a seething look. "Excuse me, Mulder, but I think I'm capable of determining that for myself. And I think there's more behind your groundless accusations than partnerly concern."
"This is not based on jealousy, Scully - though I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted to wipe the floor with his smug face. I hate to see him touch you. There. Are you satisfied?" Mulder turned, heading for the desk, where he picked up the telephone.
She listened to him bark a few instructions to Marvin, waiting with crossed arms. He'd admitted his jealousy, but something in his posture and voice spoke of his very real fear about her association with Robert. As soon as he'd hung up, she walked up behind him, concentrating for now on his fears. "Tell me why you don't trust him."
With a sigh, Mulder faced her again, his face still tight with emotional upheaval. But in a matter of seconds, he'd relaxed, saying, "We had a little run-in last night." He hung his head, scratching his beard as he avoided her gaze.
Realization struck her at what he was saying.
"Oh, no," she muttered, "tell me you didn't do what I think you did."
He had the good sense to appear sheepish, though he still defended his actions by replying, "I talked to him, Scully. Actually, he stopped *me*."
"From following *me*, I suppose."
"All right, yes." A knock at the study door interrupted Mulder, but he kept speaking as he opened it. "I won't apologize for that, Scully.
I won't stop watching your back... especially when I get to see - and pinky feel - as much of it as I did last night." He had the audacity to wink before he faced a shocked Marvin.
"Your... um, your..." Marvin, for once, seemed ruffled around the edges at what he'd heard.
Scully suppressed her grin even as she wondered why such a harmless little quip had the power to fluster him so. Marvin thrust the bundle he carried into Mulder's arms, saying, "clothes.
Breakfast should be ready shortly." In another instant, he was gone, his quick footsteps tapping down the hallway.
"What's gotten into him?" Mulder muttered, dropping his clothes on the sofa.
"I don't care what's gotten into Marvin," Scully said, impatient with Mulder's diversion attempts.
"What did you tell Robert?"
"It's not what I told him, it's what he told me."
Mulder pulled at the buttons of his shirt as he toed off his black, shiny shoes.
"Which was?"
"Nothing. That's just it. I can't find out a God damned thing about the man, Scully."
"He *was* in intelligence, you know. It's not like his military service is public record."
"Why not?" Mulder's shirt came off, and he bunched it in his hands before tossing it at the other end of the sofa. Bare-chested, he faced her, hands on hips. "I should be able to at least find out what unit he served in, shouldn't I? It's like he's been erased from existence until just a few years ago. How the hell does Skinner know him, anyway?"
The sight of Mulder's bare skin after so long without made her mouth dry. Mulder stood oblivious to her sudden agitation, waiting for her answer. Think, she reminded herself. Don't let him get to you - and for God's sake, don't let him *see* that he gets to you. But he had a point; she didn't really know the details of Skinner's friendship with Robert, but Skinner wouldn't have let a threat to her or Mulder into their sphere. "Skinner trusts him, Mulder. That should be good enough."
"Well, *I* don't," Mulder huffed, reaching for his belt. At the way she half-turned, his voice became soft. "Come on, Scully. You've seen me in much less than this."
She refused to rise to the bait, instead listening to the rustle of fabric as she walked to the window. "You just don't like him, Mulder.
Admit it. You don't want him around me because you're -"
"Jealous? I've already said so, Scully. But there's something else about him... the way he handles himself. Too arrogant, too bold. Almost as if he's leading you into a trap."
At that, she faced him. Her eyes dropped to the half-open fly of his jeans, skittering over the expanse of flat, muscular skin above. She amended her assessment of his physical fitness from the 'lean' and 'hungry' she's decided on a couple of days ago to 'toned' and 'tight'. He looked better than he ever had; to her starving eyes, he was dinner *and* dessert, with a hot cup of cappuccino on the side.
"No one leads me anywhere, Mulder," she pointed out, raising her chin to meet his amused gaze.
"Please put your clothes on."
Laughing openly now, Mulder zipped up his jeans and reached for his pullover. "Now you know how I felt last night," he said, his words muffled by his light sweater. A tousled head peeked through the collar, still smiling. "Don't ever wear that dress again, Scully. Not unless you want me to take you up on the offer."
Miffed that she'd let him gain the upper hand, she steeled her voice. "Don't change the subject."
"You're the one who brought up my clothes... and lack thereof." He sat on the sofa, pulling on first one sneaker then the other. At her angry silence, he conceded, "All right, all right. I just have one more thing to say about Luquet."
"Just one? Somehow I doubt that."
Tying his shoestrings, he gave her a lopsided grin before becoming serious. "That alarm wasn't tripped by you, Scully. And I don't care what we heard, I didn't smell smoke in the house.
Someone deliberately set it off." He stood, looking more powerful in his casual dress than he did in evening clothes. His navy blue sweater hugged his body in all the right places, as did his worn jeans. Toned and tight, indeed. "Right before it went off, I saw Luquet speaking to someone in the downstairs hall. A woman. Looked right cozy to me."
"Robert knows a lot of people, Mulder." But even as she spoke, she felt a tingle of trepidation at Mulder's revelation. Robert knew a lot of people, yes. But he'd never spoken one-on-one with anyone at the parties she'd attended with him; they always conversed with couples. Of course, he may have just run into an old friend...
"This woman, Scully... she reminded me of someone."
Scully's eyes snapped up from their fascinated perusal of Mulder's form. "You knew her?"
"I didn't say that. Her back was turned to me, and she stood very close to Luquet, as if they didn't want to be overheard. No, I can't say I got a good look at her, other than the fact she was tall and thin, with long, dark hair and a very regal bearing." It was Mulder's turn to look away, as if he dreaded what her response would be. "She reminded me of Diana."
Scully wasn't upset at the mention of his expartner. She'd long ago come to terms with Diana's motives, as well as the woman's part in rescuing Mulder from certain death at Spender's hands. But Mulder's inclination to think that he'd seen Diana gave Scully some pause; why couldn't he let it go? His distrust of Robert was one thing, but to convince himself he'd seen Robert talking to the dead? She sighed, stating the obvious. "Mulder, Diana's dead."
"I know, I know. But it wouldn't be the first time either of us had seen the dead, would it Scully?" He began to pace before her, lost in thought.
She felt herself grow cold, thinking of Mulder's visions during and after his trial. She became more anxious when she recalled the case many years ago in Washington, one where she'd seen one of the victims as well as Harold Spuller - after they were already dead.
Those who were dying themselves, Mulder had implied with his words. At the time, she'd pushed his reasoning away, scared of her own sickness and impending death. Coupled with the fresh pain of their doomed tryst in New Orleans, she hadn't been able to speak to Mulder about much of anything, much less a death omen she didn't want to believe in. Now, he'd seen the dead... again. Not long ago, she'd accepted the reality of extreme possibilities. Was she ready to embrace this one?
No. He hadn't meant his observation in that way.
She could see it in his eyes, in the way they darted about when he thought he was on to something. Something more than an iffy supernatural explanation - this time, she knew he was mulling over another possibility. "You're saying she faked her death?" She would never believe the other, could never let herself even entertain such thoughts again.
Mulder stilled, waving a hand for emphasis.
"We've seen it happen. Hell, I've even done it myself."
Scully swallowed, unsure she should tell Mulder the details of Diana's death. Then again, he'd probably read them himself in the case file from the D.C. Police. "I didn't do the autopsy, Mulder. But I saw the results. Single gunshot wound to the head. She was executed, plain and simple. I believe they found out she'd helped me get you out, and they killed her for it."
"Look, Scully, I didn't say it *was* her. I said this person reminded me of Diana. For all we know, it could have been a clone, or a shape shifter."
That possibility she agreed with. "True."
Despite not knowing exactly who the mysterious woman was, the fact remained she had been whispering with Robert. It unsettled Mulder enough to where he'd had to tell her, risking her wrath at his meeting with Robert. "You didn't hear what they were saying?"
"Whatever it was, it wasn't small talk. The alarm went off, I looked away for a second, then when I looked back, she was gone." Mulder stepped closer, holding her gaze with his own.
"Luquet knows I saw him with this woman, Scully.
He knows all about me and you. He practically pisses a circle around you every time you're together. I have a feeling he's bad news, Scully. Believe me on this one."
She could have pointed out that Mulder had his own territorial moments, but didn't. Though not concrete in fact, Mulder's objections to Luquet's presence in their lives did have *one* very strong basis for possible truth - Mulder's instincts, which had proven to be right on the money time and again.
"Okay," she said after a moment's pause. "I have to admit I'm not too comfortable with him." She held up a hand. "But only because he *is* getting a bit personal. And I can't very well break all ties with him because I think he's a conceited asshole with a tendency to stand too close."
Mulder's face darkened. "Has he -"
"No. I've made it clear I'm not here for that, so he's wasting his time. No, he just makes me antsy sometimes."
"See? You're picking up on the same thing I am."
Was she? Basically, Robert was the touchy/feely type who hadn't yet learned that a man simply couldn't be that friendly anymore. Another leftover of the southern upbringing, she supposed. Any female was fair game. She wondered if he ever got busted in the military for such behavior. Funny how she never minded Mulder's encroachment or his light touches, even when they barely knew one another. There was something vastly different, however, about a man who gave you the creeps doing the same.
"Do you have to play Catwoman again?" Mulder was fishing, and she gladly gave him what he needed to hear.
"I don't think so. I think I'm past that point.
Depends on what we find on the disc." Eyes wide, she realized he hadn't said anything about the disc.
"Relax, it's in my safe," he said, picking up on her frantic change of face. "I've got a call in to Bombay. If anyone can crack the encryption, it's him."
"Bombay?"
"Think Langly in drag."
Langly in drag? Had Mulder surrounded himself with clones of the Gunmen? Any second now, she expected to find out his gardener was a dead ringer for John Byers.
Mulder, impatient to pick up their previous subject, ignored her confusion and repeated, "So, no more clandestine turns in the halls of the rich and famous?"
She shook off the mental image of the long lost, blond, computer geek in a dress and replied, "Probably not."
"Good. That means you won't have to see Luquet socially anymore. And if you have to see him for anything else, I want to be there."
"Mulder -"
"No, Scully. This one I insist upon. I pick up on some bad vibes when I'm around him, and he knows it. I can at least watch and try to gain some insight into who he really is and what he's up to."
She couldn't deny that having Mulder around made her more confident. And if he was successful in figuring out Robert's motives, then she wouldn't stop him. "Watching, no butting in. Got it?"
"Scout's Honor."
"Mulder, you weren't a Boy Scout."
"But I *was* an Indian Guide." He reached for her hand. "C'mon, let's take a little canoe trip."
"Mulder, I can't just - where are we going?"
They were already halfway to the front door.
"Hurry, Scully - before Marvin gets back."
"Mulder, can I at least brush my teeth?"
Startled by the implications of that revelation, he stopped at the door, one eyebrow raised. "You brought a toothbrush?"
He still had the touch, he admitted to himself with a tad of pride as he maneuvered Scully's rental car up over the levee. It hadn't taken more than a tug on her hand to get her to come with him. Now, if he only had the right place; he grimaced at the beat-up green sign they passed on the way up the hill, cursing its mangled letters. He knew there was one around here somewhere...
"Mulder, do you know what you're doing?" It was the first thing she'd said to him since they'd pulled out from the gas station ten minutes ago *after* she'd made him stop so she could brush her teeth. He hadn't quite let himself hope she'd brought along that bag in the trunk for overnight purposes; Scully was the type to go everywhere prepared. Still, he couldn't stop his good mood from pervading his whole outlook. Just having her near was a stroke of luck he hadn't expected, and he was damn well going to take advantage of it.
"Catching a ferry." He smiled at the sight that greeted them at the top of the levee. A big, brown swathe of water, the flatboat approaching loaded with cars. Yep. He still had the *other* touch, too. With a little help from online mapping; he figured that little blue boat in the middle of the river was a ferry. It was gratifying to know he was right.
"No, I mean, you shouldn't be out here.
Unprotected."
He tried to divert her concern, squinting against the mirrored sunshine on the muddy water. He dug around in his jacket pocket, sighing his thanks when his hand closed over his sunglasses. "UV protection, Scully. Left my sunscreen at home, though." Donning them, he turned to face her as he ground to a halt in the waiting line of traffic. "Amazing how close this place is to my house, isn't it?"
"Amazing," she answered dryly, averting her face to watch the ferry pull into place at the dock.
"You can die practically in your own back yard."
He noticed the tense line of her profile, and said softly, "I'm not gonna die out here, Scully.
And the limo would've attracted too much attention. Besides, with my shades and beard, no one could possibly know who I am."
Her own sunglasses-shaded face turned to him.
"Robert knew."
"Sweetheart, Robert knew who we both were before we ever set foot in New Orleans years ago. I'd lay money on it."
"Don't call me sweetheart, you ass."
"Honeybunch? Kitten? Angel?" At the purse of her lips, he smiled. "Partner?"
She was silent for a moment, then she shifted in her seat, scanning the few people milling about their parked cars. "I hate it," she muttered.
She hated being called his partner? A dull pain caught his breath before he realized she wasn't speaking of his words - she was truly worried for him. "Scully, don't worry. We'll be back before you know it -"
"The beard. I hate the beard."
Taken aback by her attempt to lighten the conversation, he chuckled. "I think it's kind of cool."
"Makes your mouth look like -" She broke off, coloring.
"Like what?" he pressed, putting the car in gear at the signaling blast of the tug's horn to load up.
He could almost hear her teeth gritting from just a foot away. "Like a certain part of the female anatomy which shall remain nameless."
Amidst his laughter, he circled the car around the ferry, coming to a stop at the far end, where he killed the motor. "Can't bring yourself to say pu-"
"Shut up, Mulder."
"It's just a word, Scully."
"It's vulgar."
"Just go with it. We have a nice boat ride ahead of us; let's spend it calling each other dirty names." He lifted an eyebrow in a leer. Just having her with him again had brightened his dull world to a magnificent brilliance. He couldn't help the innuendo spilling from him like bubbling champagne from a dusty, long-forgotten bottle.
Her lips twitched in the beginnings of a grin.
"Pervert."
"Weenie."
She unbuckled her seatbelt, flashing him a snide grin. "Oh yeah? I'm not the one who gets seasick, Mulder." She slammed the car door on his suddenly clammy face.
He swallowed, feeling the tug pull away from the dock. He could do this. Wrenching open his door, he climbed out, following Scully to the railing.
If he hadn't felt like puking already, he would appreciate her cheery smile as she leaned against the railing. "You really need a bit of sun, Mulder," she drawled. "You're looking a bit pale."
"Bitch," he grumbled, staggering to the railing, where he practically hung over the side. The smell of diesel from the belching engine below made his mouth water in anticipation of the bilelaced backwash moving up his throat.
"Wussy," she said. At the flash of his irritated glance, she innocently added, "Not dirty enough?"
"I dare you to say it," he grumbled, watching the water below crest with little whitecaps as the ferry pulled away from the dock. "Consider it a dying request, Scully."
She turned her face to the stiff wind coming off the river, the humor in her voice easily heard over the roar of the boat. "Suck it up, Mulder."
Even though he felt like shit, he managed a suggestive smirk. "Scully, it would be my pleasure to do so... just say the word."
Instead of walloping him, she stood by his side.
Angling her face in his direction, she brushed away her hair with a cool, calm hand. Beneath her sunglasses, he imagined her eyes brimming with mischief. He knew he wasn't far off the mark, despite her shuttered face.
Leaning close, she brushed her lips over his ear.
"You're such a pussy...cat, Mulder," she whispered.
He turned his head; she didn't move away, he noted with satisfaction. His lips inches from hers, he swallowed in a valiant effort, wanting so badly to kiss her it nearly overwhelmed him.
The quip about ears and cats and would she please rub there and make him feel better... quickly died in a wave of nausea. All he could eek out was, "Scully, I think I'm gonna -" He gulped, seeking purchase for a body that suddenly faltered like a reed in the wind. His hands grabbed her shoulders, and he was seconds away from making a run for the - God, he hoped there was a toilet somewhere on the boat, otherwise it was humiliation time before the woman he loved.
Until he felt her fingers slide over his wrists.
Her voice, a soothing mixture of creamy coffee and fresh mint, drifted over his chin. Slight pressure pinched at the pulse just under the skin, her thumbs warm. "Better?"
His stomach, seconds before rolling and pitching with the movement of the ferry, quieted to almost calm. Nowhere near as sick, he still couldn't do what he most desperately wanted - kiss her. But he *could* move without wanting to puke. Sliding his hands up to her neck, her fingers still massaging his wrists, he lowered his forehead to touch hers, closing his eyes in blessed relief.
"Meow," he purred, thoroughly content.
End Chapter Ten
Truce
Chapter Eleven
Disclaimer, etc. in Headers
"You enjoyed that, didn't you?"
"The boat ride?" Scully carefully wound her way over the levee, smiling as she watched Mulder gulp in air. "Of course I did. I love being out on the water."
Even though the ride lasted no more than five minutes, she knew Mulder had felt queasy from the moment she'd mentioned his proclivity for seasickness. What spurred her to give him such close comfort, she didn't want to think about.
It certainly wasn't guilt at pointing out exactly where he was. But he'd relaxed at the subtle pressure she'd applied to his wrists... and she couldn't deny their closeness had affected her in other ways. She may have used her fingers to temporarily ease his malady, but in doing so, she'd opened *herself* up to a nervous stomach.
"That's not what I meant," he growled, tilting his face out the passenger window to breathe deep of the fresher air away from the water.
"You didn't throw up," she pointed out, grinning a bit at his obstinance.
"Close enough. You love seeing me suffer, don't you, Scully?"
"If by that do you mean I love to see you knocked down a peg or two - then yes. Sometimes you're much too cocky for your own good."
"Cocky?" He opened his eyes, rapidly regaining his color as he slanted a look her way. "Did you say cocky?"
"Yes, cocky. Sure of yourself, arrogant, whatever you want to call it."
"Cocky."
"Cocky."
Mulder leaned back into the car, his grin slowly warming the air between them. "Say it again," he purred. He'd taken off his sunglasses when they got back into the car, and his eyes danced dangerously close with mischief and daring.
Scully shoved at his encroaching form, ticked at his entrapment. "Go suck an egg, Mulder."
"Another Scully vulgarity. I'm shocked," he chuckled with mock disappointment. Lowering his voice to a purr the likes of which made her shiver back at the boat railing, he added, "Actually, I enjoyed the ride more than you."
Giving him a sly, sidelong glance, she admitted, "I had a feeling you did."
"What was that move, anyway?" He waved his hands, looking at his wrists like they contained the secrets of the medical world.
"Acupressure. Light pressure on what's called the 'inner gate' helps relieve motion sickness.
It's the principle behind those wrist bands people use for seasickness."
"Ah. Ancient Chinese secret, huh? Got any other finger moves I should know about?"
In answer, she held up three fingers, almost stuffing them knuckle-first into his face.
"What's that?" Mulder asked, jerking back.
"Read between the lines. Ancient Scully flip off."
His laughter was infectious, and she found herself unsuccessfully suppressing a smile. What the hell had gotten into him? It was almost as if being outside the mansion's gates, free from Marvin's watchful presence, he'd suddenly...
That was it. Even when he'd fought against nausea on the ferry, he'd managed to smile at her once or twice. He was like a kid playing hooky from school; giddy in his escape. For that matter, what the hell had gotten into *her*? She was playing off his humor like she'd walked back in time a few years, countering his quips with a lightning quickness she'd thought she'd lost months ago. It felt good. It felt right. It would never be the same with anyone else, a fact she resigned herself to with a sigh.
Sobering, she pulled out onto the highway, carefully keeping one eye on the road as she asked, "Is it just as bad for you?"
She bit her lip over the implication she'd suffered just as much as he had without his presence by her side, but it was no longer any use denying they were both different people when together. They completed one another; it didn't take a genius to figure that one out. Mulder's laughter faded as he became serious in face and form; his steady look made her face burn with awareness.
"Worse," he said softly, putting his sunglasses on once again before he looked away. "I've never been so alone in my life."
Scully cursed herself at ruining his humorous mood. She opened her mouth to attempt a return to lighter conversation when Mulder cut her off, his hand coming up. "There it is."
Slowing, she caught sight of a road leading off to the right, as well as the guardhouse and fence surrounding the property. Taking the shoulder, she shifted to neutral and faced Mulder. "Now what?"
"You have your ID?"
"Yes, but I doubt that will do any good. Who will I say *you* are?"
"Your gigolo?" Off her slanted look, he reached into an inner pocket, pulling out a familiar black wallet, his grin welcome after the last few somber moments. "Just follow my lead."
His Bureau ID. How in the hell had he managed that? She knew he had to give it up when he was booted from the FBI. "Mulder -"
"Kersh gave it to me for my last birthday," he remarked. Though her mouth pinched at his flippancy, beneath her shades, her eyes glowed with mirth. She really liked this Mulder, had missed him so much. Chuckling now, he amended, "Frohike knew a girl in Property Control. He didn't just show up at the office to grovel at *your* feet, you know."
She didn't know what upset her more - the fact that Mulder could get into serious trouble for impersonating a federal officer, or the startling realization that she wasn't the only recipient of Frohike's undying worship.
"She had nothing on *you*, Scully." Mulder nodded for her to continue down the road. "Frohike remained faithful to you 'til the end. You were his hero."
Ridiculously happy at Mulder's statement, she pulled back onto the highway, suddenly missing Melvin and his adoring glances. "He was a good man," she whispered, choking up a bit at the nip of sorrow in her chest.
"He was," Mulder agreed. "I'm lucky to have Marvin. In all the ways that count, he's just like his brother."
Scully nodded, knowing Marvin's loyalty and friendship were unwavering, just as Frohike's had been. She was glad Mulder hadn't spent the last few months totally alone. If anything, *she* had been more alone than Mulder. By design, she rarely saw her mother anymore; Maggie, with typical motherly concern, tried too hard to draw her daughter back into what she considered a "normal" life. It hadn't taken long for Scully to decline the constant stream of invitations to teas, dinners, and other social activities.
Sitting around gossiping about the neighborhood couples and distant relatives had never been her thing, and it hadn't taken Maggie long to stop asking once Scully made it clear she had no use for such frivolities.
With the Gunmen gone, and Doggett and Reyes up to their necks in X-files, she'd also distanced herself from that side of her work.
Occasionally, she was called upon by John or Monica to give some assistance, but her heart just wasn't in it anymore. She hated standing on the sidelines, so she eventually left the stadium. The playing field now - thanks to Skinner's timely intervention - consisted of this rogue assignment, something she embraced with relish. Alone, she could forget just how truly *alone* she was. No sympathetic looks from colleagues and friends, no gentle pushing to talk from her mother.
She was alone, and she was lonely. Just like Mulder.
"Pull in here," Mulder instructed, "nice and slow. And smile. Remember, I'm your gigolo.
What's not to smile about?"
Her smile wasn't false, thanks to Mulder. The open gate beckoned with gaping ease and she rolled down her window when a man approached.
The muted roar of a lawnmower greeted her ears, and she brought her eyebrows together with a frown. He didn't look like any military guard she'd ever dealt with; flashing a look at Mulder, she could see he agreed, as he shrugged his shoulders with confusion.
"Can I help you?" their pseudo-guard asked, peering through at Mulder, who eagerly flashed his badge.
His fingers flipped it open like a pro, strategically placed to cover most everything but his face. A very young, different face, but his just the same. "Agents Hale and Petrie, Department of Health and Hospitals."
Scully did the same with a wan smile, saying nothing. Just as Mulder did, she quickly stuffed the folded ID back in her jacket pocket, holding her breath when the man squinted down at them.
"Department of what?"
"Health and Hospitals," Mulder said again.
"We're here to -"
"Hold on a sec," the man interrupted, walking quickly back to the opposite side of the guardhouse. The lawnmower noise ceased, and he came back, rubbing the sweat from his brow with a faded handkerchief. "Sorry 'bout that. Health department, you say? Y'all are here to see Harold and the others, ain't ya?" he asked.
"They been wondering when y'all would get around to checking on 'em. Go on in, it's the last few houses at the end of the drive. Keep left off the main road." He waved them on, moving back to his mower.
Scully gave Mulder a surprised look; he sat back in his seat, not acknowledging her. By his silence, he quietly commanded she move the car forward, so she did, easing through the open gate. The 'guardhouse' wasn't a checkpoint, obviously. It may have been at one time, but no longer. Apparently, the need for military security was non-existent.
When they were far enough away from the groundskeeper, she murmured out the side of her mouth, "Harold and the others?"
"Beats me," Mulder answered. "I was going to tell the guy we were here to inspect the Infirmary... Dr. Petrie."
They passed several white buildings, all of which looked like turn-of-the-century structures, complete with huge pillars set on clapboard porches. The grounds were immaculate, the oak trees massive, and overall, the facility was laden with old southern charm, as if they were driving through a long lost sugar plantation.
Scully hadn't seen any sign of the National Guard since they entered the complex, but the camp appeared to be huge, spread out over hundreds of acres of farmland. But she knew the military was there - the fence lining the main highway spoke of the need to keep intruders out while keeping someone in.
At the end of the main drive, two identical roads branched off. A huge building loomed before them, caught in the crossroads. Two metal poles stuck up from the mottled green grass, as if lost without the apparently missing sign between.
Scully felt a nagging familiarity with this place, but couldn't quite put her finger on why its dilapidated look tugged at her memory. It was just an old plantation like all the others that dotted the river in those parts, but still...
"Hold on a sec, Scully," Mulder said, nodding at the buildings to their right. "See what I see?"
She did; the buildings off the right side of the 'Y' in the road were better maintained, stark white in the sunshine. Blocks of green-garbed teens marched in stiff-legged precision, all of them carrying school books. Off in the distance, a bell rang, and within a minute, the swarm of students had disappeared into the largest of the buildings nearest the road. Mulder glanced at his watch.
"Must be lunch time. I understand '108' has the best chipped beef and mashed potatoes this side of the river." His lips twisted in a devious smirk. "We can get it to go."
"Not yet," she disagreed, daring him to make a fuss. "Something about this place... it's not what it seems."
Mulder bit his lip, looking wistfully at the military half of the facility, as if he wanted nothing more than to dive into the deep end of the pool. "What do you mean?"
She knew it took a massive effort on his part not to insist they run headlong into the fray; though his instincts were good, sometimes hers were better. And this was one of those times. "I think we should speak to 'Harold and the others', Mulder."
Looking back at her serious face, he paused, then sighed. "We may not have time for anything else, Scully." Like getting to the nitty-gritty, he implied.
"So we'll come back," she urged. "From the looks of the abandoned guardhouse and the fence, it should be easy to get in after dark, even if they do lock the gate. I didn't see any other signs of security. No sentries, no cameras."
"Me either," Mulder mused. "It *is* a voluntary program, you know. They're not keeping those kids here against their will."
The key to 108 burned a hole in her pocket.
Still, something just as pressing lurked in those old buildings, she could feel it. Looking at the more weathered buildings to her left, she noticed the marked difference in the structures. They weren't falling down, but neither were they as immaculate as those the military occupied. A few elderly people moved about in the groomed yards, and she felt a renewed need to speak to Harold, whoever he was.
"We'll come back if we have to, Mulder.
Tonight." Her statement was decisive. "For now, I say we go left."
Off his nod of assent, she turned slowly in the direction of the older buildings. She was almost to the first when she heard him murmur, "Tonight, huh? Good thing you brought an overnight bag, Scully."
Ignoring the pleased tone of his deceptively casual observation, she pulled into the first driveway and killed the motor. They garnered a few curious, wary looks from the people milling about as they left the car. An old woman knelt in the nearest of the weed-filled flowerbeds, slowly tending the dark, rich soil. Mulder approached her, and she glanced up when his shadow blocked out the sun, her gnarled hand tossing away what looked like briar vines. It wasn't her place, but Scully so wanted to suggest the woman use gloves. The paper-thin skin of the elderly was very susceptible to infection from minor cuts.
"Yes?" she asked, wiping her twisted hands on her apron, her face half-hidden under a floppy straw hat tied beneath her chin. She struggled to rise, jerking quickly away from Mulder's helping hand.
Scully stepped quickly forward, sensing the woman's mistrust of Mulder's towering figure.
"We're looking for Harold."
"You kin?"
"Yes ma'am," Mulder answered softly, his smile disarming. "We'd like to speak to him, if it's possible."
Scully flashed Mulder a disapproving look for his lie, but she felt the sudden tenseness that surrounded them. It wafted on the humid air, the suspicion and fear palpable in the midday sun.
They'd dealt with enough locals over the years to realize that strangers almost never got the redcarpet treatment, especially in small, country environments. Kinfolk, on the other hand...
"And you're his..." the old lady murmured.
"Nephew," Mulder supplied.
"Funny, but Harold never said nothin' 'bout no nephew. 'Course, him bein' an only child might have somethin' to do with that." She crossed her arms, defiant despite her fear, her French accent more pronounced as she gained her mental footing.
As Mulder groped for a way out of the mess he'd brought upon them, Scully stepped up. "Look, Mrs. -"
"It's Miss, petite chou," she interrupted, more confident with every second that passed. "Miss Elise."
"Miss Elise," Scully conceded. "My name is Dr.
Dana Scully, and this is my partner, Fox Mulder."
The normal way of revealing themselves fell from her tongue before she could think to use their aliases. She really should be more careful, but something about the fear of this woman, and of the others, spoke of an isolation she had no doubt would protect them from discovery, even with a national guard unit stationed just hundreds of yards away.
"Doctor, you say?" She brightened at Scully's explanation, stepping closer.
"Yes, ma'am. We're not here to harm any of you.
We just want to speak to Harold, that's all."
"Harold's not been feelin' all that good lately.
Good thing you came. We keep tellin' the Colonel to call them people over at the hospital but he says they say Harold's regular visit isn't for another month. And his prescription's almost out." Miss Elise gestured for them to follow her. "Come on. He's in the last house over there."
Mulder mouthed, "Prescription?" Scully's way as he walked beside her, and she mimicked his shrug of a few moments past. She had no idea what Miss Elise spoke of, but it sounded dire. The old woman's gait was awkward but sure, and they shortly found themselves walking up the steps of Harold's front porch.
"In here," Miss Elise said, waving them through the screen door to a parlor. "Harold? Doctor's here to see you."
In the dimness of the parlor, it was hard to make out the slight form that sat in the recliner.
The blinds blocked out the sun, and there wasn't a light on in the house. "Harold?" Scully left Mulder's side, moving to peer down at the old man.
"Did you bring me my stuff?" Harold's accent wasn't slow and sure Cajun like the old woman's; it was southern, however, a sharp twang that almost grated on the ears.
Stuff? "Sir, I don't understand -"
"My dapsone, gal." Scully could barely make out the turn of Harold's head, as he directed his next question to Miss Elise. "Thought you said this woman was a doctor. My skin is deader'n a doornail and you bring me a gal as green as grass. Shit."
"Your skin isn't any deader'n mine, vieux," Miss Elise huffed. "Now shut up and let her look at you."
Scully tuned out Harold's weak tirade, his first words echoing in her head. Dapsone, dapsone. A flicker of recognition came to life in her brain, and she caught her breath.
"Harold? May I turn on a lamp?"
"Hurts my eyes."
"Just for a moment, Harold. Please?"
She took his silence as assent and reached over to the lamp beside the recliner. Harold flinched at the intrusion of the soft light, bringing a swollen, reddened hand to his face. "Seen enough, missy?" he snarled.
Scully looked up at Mulder, who faced her with equal, open-mouthed surprise. The pieces began to fall into place, and she turned to Miss Elise for confirmation.
"Miss Elise, where are we, exactly?"
"What you talkin' about, petite? Don't you know this place?"
"There's no sign at the big house up the drive.
Please, the name?"
"They renovatin' the museum out front - guess the sign isn't up yet." Miss Elise paused, her brow creasing. "Honey, y'all in Carville."
Carville. Dapsone. Skin lesions and eye pain.
Hansen's Disease. Otherwise known as leprosy.
Mulder hung up on Marvin's protests, eyeing the clouds moving in from the south. So much for a day of sunshine. He'd long since discovered living so close to the Gulf of Mexico meant one had to put up with almost tropical weather, even in the winter. Rain, rain, and more rain. Just because a cold front passed through during the night didn't mean it would keep going; weather systems had a very bad habit of doing a reverse at the drop of a hat in this part of the country.
He'd managed to quiet his friend's angry tirade for a good fifteen minutes while Marvin had complied with his request. But as soon as Marvin had disconnected from the Internet, he'd lit into Mulder for his vanishing act.
Scully stepped out onto the porch, pulling her medical bag closed. "My guess is Harold suffers from multibacillary leprosy, with Erythema Nodosum Leprosum reaction. That would account for his eye sensitivity."
"Well, that explains it," he remarked dryly, lost in the medical jargon. It remained to be seen if the patients here had anything at all to do with their investigation; at face value, it appeared they were just unfortunate people who had no where else to go. He cut off any further explanation with a wave of his hand, saying, "I take it that's bad?"
"One of the worst forms of the disease."
"Should he be hospitalized?"
"What he needs is his medication. He says it's not unusual for the doctor to come through at the last minute. Typical government medical attention, according to him... with more colorful language, naturally."
"No more so than Marvin's, probably. I haven't heard curse words like that since Oxford."
"I knew there was something weird about this place." Scully, lost in thought, looked over the expanse of the camp. "Miss Elise, Harold... I doubt that's even their real names. People long ago came to this place with assumed names, their families ashamed or horrified to be associated with lepers. And her hands - no wonder she didn't feel those briars. Mycobacterium leprae attacks the nerves in the cooler parts of the body, the hands, the feet..."
Mulder waved a hand in front of her face.
"Hello? Earth to Scully."
Finally, she looked at him. "What?"
"Scully, this place has been here for a hundred years or more. I doubt these people know anything about what we're looking for. Now, that camp over there..." he prodded gently, eager to get going.
"Mulder, that Hansen's Disease facility in West Virginia, all those years ago -"
"Which wasn't a leper colony after all, Scully.
You saw those people back then... they weren't lepers. They were being experimented on with alien DNA."
Sighing, she scratched her shoe against a rusty nail on the porch. "I'm reaching, aren't I?"
"No, you're just being you. And for once, I'm being you, too." He ran his thumb over her downcast chin. "Don't make me play the skeptic too often, Scully. Gives me a wedgie."
Mouth lifting in a grin, she peered up at him.
"Well, we can't have that. C'mon, let's get you home."
"Speaking of..." Mulder pocketed his cell phone, giving her a chagrined smile. "I think I may have a bit of a problem when I get home."
"Marvin?"
He nodded, chuckling. "Got room for one more in that hotel room, Scully?"
She snorted softly, tossing back her head, her eyes narrow with humorous reproach. "You're asking for help from the wrong person, Mulder."
"You wouldn't help me escape?"
"I'd throw away the key." She smiled shortly at his grin of agreement, then stepped off the porch, heading for the car. "We're in the right place, aren't we?"
His grin quickly melted into a sobering stare as he followed, watching her toss her medical bag into the trunk. "Yeah. According to Marvin, this is a former leper colony. It's been around since the late nineteenth century. A couple of years ago, the federal government sold it back to the state, who turned it into the juvenile program it is today."
"The federal government? I thought this had always been state property."
"The state sold it to the US government back in the twenties; actually, it's been called many things since then. At one time, it was the United States Marine Hospital Number 66." His eyes told her not to go there. "It's also been a sugar plantation and an armadillo farm."
"Armadillo farm?"
"They used them for research. Apparently, armadillos are a good source of the leprosy bacterium."
"And Harold and the others?"
"When the National Guard took over, the patients were moved to an LSU-run outpatient clinic in Baton Rouge. A few petitioned to stay; they considered this place home."
Scully moved to the side of the car, absently looking out over the grounds. "Harold told me he was born in Georgia. He's been living here since he was six." She turned, mild distress marring her brow. "Mulder, someone should be taking care of these people, but they're not. Harold said he hadn't seen his doctor in over a month. I did what I could for him, but his prescriptions are fast running out. He needs his monthly injection of rifampicin."
"I thought leprosy was curable now?"
"It is, if it's caught early. These people have obviously not had that luxury. They've been living here for decades, Mulder. It's only fairly recently that medical science has come up with the right cocktail. Administered correctly, the patient is no longer infectious and can lead a normal life." Her face darkened to a scowl.
"But from what I'm seeing, either Harold hasn't been getting his medicine for a while, or someone's been giving him the wrong thing."
A placebo? Mulder felt a chill run over his skin. That would mean someone deliberately wanted Harold to remain infectious with the bacterium. Maybe there *was* a connection.
Slim, but worth pursuing.
From the way Scully bristled, however, she'd now latched on to the idea of helping Harold, something he totally understood. But at the moment, they couldn't intervene without exposure of their real purpose on the grounds.
"Did you happen to ask where Building 108 is?"
He had an awful feeling the cause of Harold's progressive illness was somewhere in the mysterious '108'.
"On the other side," she replied, her voice dry, as if they expected anything else. "This place may look open and friendly, but Harold and Elise say there are sentries roaming the perimeter of the camp over there. No one is allowed in or out without permission."
A burst of noise from the camp at the end of the far road signaled an end to their leisurely trip.
He glanced at his watch, noting the time as the swarms of teenagers exited the school buildings.
It wasn't wise to remain; already the kids were spreading out on the grounds in pursuit of afterschool activities. Anyone could approach them at any second and demand to know the nature of their business. He'd bet his bottom dollar that strangers weren't all that welcome in their ranks, for the obvious reasons.
"Looks like all this - '108' as well as Harold will have to wait, Scully. I don't want to draw attention to us." Turning his sympathetic gaze to hers, he silently vowed they would come back to the little forgotten community on this side.
Especially since he could see how Harold's condition had upset her so.
She moved to his side, lowering her voice as she crossed her arms, her gaze steady on the camp beyond. "I'm not letting this go, you know," she murmured.
"I expect no less. Actually, I have a hankering to snoop into this a bit more myself now."
"Really? The wedgie bother you that much?"
"I lied. I'm not wearing underwear. Faked you out."
Laughing openly now, she doubled over a bit.
"Oh, Mulder... I've missed you."
"I've missed you, too."
She sobered at his soft, yearning agreement, standing resolute in the waning sunlight. She was so proud and determined an ache rose within him to tell her just what the day had meant to him. More than that, the sudden urge to say what he'd wanted to say since he saw her for the first time two days ago was strong and undeniable.
"Scully?"
"Yes?"
Leaning down, he took her hand in his, feeling a goofy smile take shape on his face. Despite the way his clumsy paw engulfed her delicate fingers, he basked in the strength he found there. "In case I forget to tell you later... I had a good time today."
His admission, though it seemed to startle her, made her smile in return. Squeezing his hand, she replied softly, "So did I."
Oh, Jesus, he thought. Here it comes. He could no more stop it than he could dam up the Mississippi River. "Stay."
"What?"
Giving her hand a shake, he said it again, stronger this time. "Stay. Call the hotel, have your things brought up. Stay with me, Scully."
Speechless, she stared at him for a moment before dropping her chin. "Mulder -"
"Think about it, okay?" He backed off, sensing her quick refusal. He had the long trip back to the mansion to convince her it was the right thing to do. For the investigation, for him, *and* for herself. A cloud of dust from the far end of the road caught his eye; a Jeep was fast approaching from the other side of the property.
Quickly, he reinforced his request with a shaky smile. "Stay. I'll even shave off my beard if you do."
She gave the Jeep a quick glance as she chuckled, "You're making it hard for me to say no, Mulder."
Her face was relaxed, but still there was a lingering trepidation in her eyes. She wasn't letting herself say yes, not yet.
"Then don't." He grimaced at the Jeep, releasing her hand. It was time to leave off the personal and concentrate on business. Already reaching for the car keys, he gave her a quick smile before stepping around the end of the car, an idea taking shape in his mind. "Feel like doing Brennan's? Or Mulate's?"
Since he'd finally broken free of his confinement - and spoken what was in his lonely heart - he was itching for further exploration of the world beyond his mansion. He felt like he could tackle the world, especially with funds at his disposal and Scully at his side. Scully took the opposite route to the passenger side, her eyes pleading for an end to the day trip. "I think we should call it a day, Mulder."
Guess he wouldn't get what he wanted today - at least *one* of the things he wanted. But he'd gladly forgo a four-star meal if it meant he could eat popcorn with Scully later.
"Okay," he conceded, quickly moving to the driver's side door. In moments, they were barreling down the drive, deftly reaching the 'Y'
before the Jeep could cut them off.
The glares of the two uniformed men were ominous, but as Mulder left them behind, he noticed in the rear view mirror that the Jeep wasn't following.
It screeched to a halt within yards of them, just sitting as if glued to the road. "Is this car a rental? Or is it one of Luquet's?"
"It's a rental." She swivelled in her seat.
"They're not following - why?"
"Beats me. Just keep an eye out, we're heading back." Before turning on to the highway, he spared another glance in the mirror. The Jeep idly made a u-turn, going back the way it came.
Very peaceful, very unusual - in light of the fact that moments ago, it was poised to intercept them. Mulder turned onto the highway, and sped up, bypassing the ferry launch.
"No ferry ride?"
"Takes too much time. I'll take the Sunshine Bridge a bit farther downriver."
She settled back in her seat. As she kept one eye on the mirror outside her door, she asked softly, "You thought they didn't follow because you figured the car belonged to Robert, didn't you?"
The thunderclouds gathering to the south had nothing on her pissed look. "In case you didn't know it Scully, Luquet owns quite a bit in New Orleans. Including that hotel you're staying in."
"*Part* owner, Mulder. That's common knowledge."
"He owns ninety percent interest, Scully. The other ten is shared by the employees. I'd say that means the hotel is his."
Her mouth, once pinched with anger, fell open.
"I didn't exactly rent this car," she said softly, swallowing as she looked his way. "I had the front desk contact a rental agency yesterday.
It was waiting for me when I got back from the party last night."
Mulder pursed his lips; he wondered why Scully drove around in a luxury vehicle. The Cadillac was a bit too showy to be a common rental.
Besides, Scully wasn't the ostentatious type.
She never would have requested such a car, even for comfort's sake. "Registration," he bit out, feeling as if a thousand eyes followed their progress down the highway. Was the car bugged?
Tagged and traced by satellite? If it was, it was too damned late to do anything about it.
Scully had literally led Luquet to Mulder's front door last night.
Scully rummaged through the glove box, her face pale. With trembling fingers, she pulled out a sheaf of papers. Chin lowered, she whispered, "It belongs to the hotel. Robert's name is listed as primary driver on the insurance card."
"This doesn't mean he's dirty, Mulder."
Behind him, her voice sounded hollow and distant.
Of course, he'd not said another word to her since they'd found out the car belonged to Luquet almost an hour ago. He stayed silent on the ride home, partly because the damned car had a flat halfway home. He was drenched, he was tired, and he was angry. But his silence after his tirechanging rain dance was mostly because he hadn't trusted himself not to go off on a tirade of monstrous proportions. He wasn't angry at *her*, he was furious at the way she'd tried to reason away the way Luquet's name seemed to pop up at every turn.
He's well-known in the area, she'd argued. So what if I'm driving one of his cars? So what if he owns the hotel? So what if he spoke to a woman at the party? You're the one who's reaching now, Mulder.
In other words, you're a jealous bastard who's seeing connections where there are none.
Oh, he was a jealous bastard all right. But he wasn't wrong about Luquet, he could feel it.
Those military types at the facility had braked immediately when they took note of the car, as if they were well acquainted with its sleek, expensive lines.
Mulder left the onslaught of fat raindrops behind as he walked through the front door of his house.
He heard Scully's car door slam, heard her huff as she ran to follow. In the growing dark, he winced at the sudden glare of the lights flanking the massive door. Marvin's stony-faced form filled the doorway, and Mulder threw up an impatient hand.
"Don't say a word," he warned, almost running over the little man in search of his study and a warm drink.
He had the carafe poised over a cup when Scully's voice penetrated his frustration.
"It's obvious we've reached an impasse, Mulder.
I'm leaving. The disc, please."
The cup in his hand shook. She was cutting him off because of *this*? No matter who Luquet was to them, friend or foe, his presence in the investigation - hell, in their lives - was of little consequence. He thought that today had proven they could still work as a team, if nothing else. That Scully could trust him to hold his rash impulses in check and take it slow and easy.
Yes, he'd let his personal happiness - and a smidgen of jealousy - burst forth at times. But she'd gone along for the ride without much complaint other than a warning shot over his bow now and then. Damn, the way she'd touched him back on the ferry had almost made him melt with longing. As soon as the trip had ended, he'd had to force his legs to move his body away from her warmth before he made a total fool of himself by dropping to his knees like a soothed tiger tamed by the simple pressure of her fingers. And he'd thought she'd gotten past her issues of trust and abandonment; she'd opened up more in the last eight hours than he'd ever hoped for. Until the specter of Luquet had raised its ugly head a while back, he'd been sure she'd accept his offer to spend the duration of the assignment with him in the mansion. He'd had it all planned, with arguments designed to work on the logistics she couldn't deny and whispers designed to work on the desire for his touch he knew still lived within her.
Slowly, he lowered the carafe, his taste for coffee gone. He raised his head from its stiff droop, taking a deep breath. The business with Luquet was just an excuse; she felt herself surrendering to the pull of deeper water, and this argument was the perfect lifeline to save her from drowning.
He could override her resistence. With just a touch, or a kiss, or a pleading word of capitulation, he could gain back the ground he'd lost in a matter of moments. Or he could simply lock her in this house and make her admit she was fucking scared of getting too close to him again.
Neither of those options would work in the long run, however. Besides, they both left a bad taste in his mouth. He wasn't comfortable with forcing his will on her, just as he wasn't used to begging.
"It's in the safe," he murmured at last, not facing her. "Behind the mirror just inside the door over there." The level tone he employed in giving her the combination afforded him little satisfaction. She was leaving. All he could do now was hope for his dignity to survive until she left. After that, he was cracking open the booze again. So much for his self-control with the alcohol; it stood on a par with restraint over his jealousy.
He heard her fumble with the safe; in a minute, she'd be gone. "Scully?"
"Yes?"
He pictured her standing in the open door, a calm, immovable form so far removed from him now she'd never let him near ever again. He wanted to tell her to get the hell out. He wanted to beg her to stay. He wanted to tell her he loved her, but wasn't sure she'd accept or return it.
He did none of that, saying the one truth remaining between them.
"I'm not the one running this time... for whatever reason. You need me, I'll be here."
The only response was the soft clicking of the closing door.
End Chapter Eleven
Truce
Chapter Twelve
Disclaimer, etc., in Headers
The windshield, slick from the humidity, refused to clear with the swipe of her fingers. She flipped the defroster on high, then quickly cut it down a notch, the stifling feeling of heat making her skin clammy. It wasn't enough the weather refused to cooperate; she was so furious she felt like steam rose from her body, contributing to her frustration.
How dare he? They'd made progress, *good* progress on the investigation today, not to mention enjoyed a bit of a break in the tension between them. For a minute there, she'd actually considered taking him up on his offer to stay. God knew it wouldn't have been the most sane decision of her life, but the Mulder today was the man she'd missed for years now. Since way before his abduction, really. Upon his return from the abyss of near-death, he hadn't been the same. The quips were hard-edged, his kisses desperate, his attitude relentless.
This Mulder was the man she'd fallen in love with so long ago. Still keen on the quest, still sharp and in focus, but so gentle and carefree when let loose to do what he loved most. He genuinely cared about people, wanted to fight the good fight.
And most of all, he wanted her. Teased and respected in the same breath, looked at her like she was goddess and sex kitten combined, treated her as friend and lover. Valued her judgment above all others...
Except where Robert was concerned. Damn him for acting like a jealous fool.
After the second whiskey, he decided to do it.
Whether by some foolish notion she'd return or by a vague sense of regaining his own identity, he grabbed the whiskey decanter, avoiding Marvin's silent admonishments as his friend picked up the uneaten dinner he'd served to Mulder a half hour ago. Without a word to Marvin, he trudged up the stairs, false courage in hand, and began a holy mission to find the man he used to be.
Robert wasn't what Mulder thought he was, despite his arrogance. She wasn't certain of her conclusion, but if she looked at it in an analytical fashion, then there was little doubt.
Robert came with Skinner's trust and reliance; if nothing else, she knew Skinner had good judgment.
Robert *was* ex-intelligence, so he was bound to play it close to the vest. If Robert was working against them, then why were they getting so close to the truth? And they were close, she could feel it. It was just a matter of putting the pieces together. If Robert was put in their path to thwart them, he'd surely have done so by now.
Of course, every analytical equation started out with a hypothesis. Hers began on the assumption Robert was ultimately trustworthy. Mulder's didn't. And Mulder's relied on variables only he put any weight into - a conversation laced with macho preening, the lack of information on Robert's career with the military, and her use of a car belonging to the man, which could amount to no more than a favor. She trusted Mulder's instincts, but speculation and imagination only went so far, in her opinion.
"Let's just say Mulder's right," she said aloud to herself in the car. "What then?"
For the first time, she allowed herself to see Mulder's side of things. Didn't mean she was willing to accept his blind conclusion, but for argument's sake...
"Fox? Are you all right in there?"
"So this is where my clothes live," Mulder mused softly, standing before the open closet in the master bedroom. Marvin always laid them out, or, on the days Mulder camped out in the study, brought them to him. He heard the door open, and he faced a worried Marvin, a humorless grin on his face, the suits and expensive sweaters he'd flung to the floor in a pile at his feet. "You sort them according to color and fabric? Do you put starch in my shorts, too?"
"As I'm not the laundress, I can't answer that question." Marvin walked into the room, his nose so high in the air it looked red from cold. Or maybe that was the way it looked through bloodshot eyes, Mulder thought. "And if I *were* the lucky woman, I wouldn't bother with starch... though I might be tempted to line them with poison ivy."
Marvin had huffed around him since Scully left, wanting so badly to rant and rave at him that Mulder heard his dismay in every short word, saw it in every stilted gesture. "All right, let's have it," he bit out, bringing his glass up.
"What you did was very foolish, Fox. I'm very disappointed in you."
"Yeah well, you're not the only one." He turned back to the closet, avoiding Marvin's piercing stare. "And I don't think you have to worry about me bugging out on you again."
"She... Miss Scully... is she coming back?"
His silence gave Marvin all the answer he needed; he felt his friend's deflating attitude from where he stood, and hurried to forestall any show of sympathy. He'd much rather anger than pity.
"Where the hell are my old sweats?"
"Do you really think you should be drinking so much, my good man?"
Mulder half-turned, his glass raised in a toast.
"Yes, I should," he said with a twist of his lips.
"Now, my old sweats, my little man." He downed the whiskey and poured another finger, ignoring Marvin's instant rush of hot color.
Marvin sniffed, straightening to his full height of five foot something. "You have no 'old sweats', Fox."
Ignoring Marvin's displeased frown, Mulder dropped to his knees, swaying a bit. He hadn't drunk all that much, really, he thought. However, he *was* flirting with exhaustion, a malady he was near to succumbing to at this point. But he was determined to complete the evening on the right track, Marvin be damned.
"I know I have some in here somewhere - ha!" His fingers closed around something soft and warm.
With a broad smile, he pulled them out. The pants were dark grey and woefully old; an itch of remembrance tugged at his brain. One of staggering on a dock in Gulf Shores, liquor making him think of nothing more than seeking the oblivion of the cold ocean water below. His smile faded into a sober drop of his chin.
It was fitting he donned his old armor once again.
But first...
He rose up unsteadily, brushing aside Marvin's hushed statement of concern.
"What's wrong, Fox?"
"What's wrong?" he chuckled derisively, bringing his glass to his lips. He drained it in one gulp before heading for the bathroom. "Nothing a little grooming can't cure."
'What then' turned out to be bad news. Very bad news, if Mulder was correct in his assumptions.
Robert was in a perfect position to watch her every move, and what's more, to keep tabs on a hunted Mulder who had the means and the geography to virtually isolate himself from possible harm while he aided and abetted her cause. Robert wouldn't have to step in and subdue, just report to the powers above. *If* he even worked for Strughold.
The old Consortium crony had yet to show his face in New Orleans, despite the rumors that flew fast and furious of his arrival.
What if, like the proverbial bait, Strughold's name had been used to lure her away from Washington? To lure Mulder out of hiding? Skinner swore by Robert's friendship and assured her of his integrity, but even Skinner could be fooled by an old friend turned bad. It was mighty convenient to have Robert live so close, to have Strughold's presence leaked to Kersh; moves designed to shake Scully from her ennui and tempt her with the return of her child to her empty arms. More so, it just so happened Mulder lived around the very city destined to soon become a beehive of lies and subterfuge.
Coincidence?
"Just sit still," Marvin commanded, "and no more whiskey for you." He took the decanter from Mulder's hand amidst his grunt.
"I can shave myself, Marv." Mulder slumped on the toilet seat, his voice muffled as Marvin pulled his wet sweater over his head. "I can do a lot for myself. I'm good at doing things alone."
Morosely, he stared at the elaborate tile on the bathroom floor, wondering how the hell he'd come to this. Half-drunk, half-alive. He picked up the sweatpants from his lap and clutched them to his chest, absurdly warmed by the familiar soft feel.
It wasn't a fraction of *her* warmth, but it made him feel better.
"Look up."
Mulder did so, his eyes narrowing on his reflection in Marvin's glasses. He really did look ridiculous with that frivolous beard. No wonder Luquet knew who he was right off the bat; it didn't hide much of his face. Scully was right... it did look like a -
"Hold still." Marvin lathered Mulder's face, then rinsed his hands before reaching for the razor.
"Are you sure you want to do this, Fox?"
Razor poised above his cheek, Mulder nodded. "She doesn't like it."
"It's not a matter of what Miss Scully likes, Fox."
"It is."
"She won't..." Breaking off, Marvin began to shave away Mulder's new identity.
But Mulder knew what his friend had been about to say. She wouldn't care what he looked like. She wouldn't care if he was John Robie or Fox Mulder.
She wouldn't come back, anyway.
"I know she won't," Mulder muttered, closing his eyes as Marvin worked quickly and efficiently.
"Just take it off."
The rain, slacking a few moments ago, picked up.
Pounding against the car as if fighting against her will to get back to the safety of New Orleans. She noted this absently, her thoughts a-whirl with methods, modes and madness.
She sighed, reaching into her pocket for the cell phone she'd cut off hours ago. She had to talk to someone; maybe Skinner could shed some light on Mulder's misgivings about Robert. Naturally, she'd have to whitewash them in Scully tact - Skinner would almost certainly disapprove if he knew Mulder was anywhere near her, much less sniffing about the investigation. Disapprove? She snorted as she hit the 'Power' button... go up in flames was more like it.
A subtle beep alerted her to voice mail. Several of them, in fact. All from Robert.
Shoving second-hand information aside for the moment, she decided to go straight to the source.
Robert picked up after the first ring, his voice vehement.
"Where the fuck have you been?"
Startled by his use of profanity, Scully bit back, "I thought I'd let you know I'm on my way back.
Goodbye, Robert."
"Wait - Dana?"
Seething at his attitude, she almost hung up on him. But his instant retreat, combined with his furious question of moments ago, aroused her curiosity. "Yes?"
"Change in plans."
"What change in plans?" She'd thought her association with Robert basically over, thought she'd only have to see him if she needed him. And first thing in the morning, she was handing back the car *and* the hotel room. If she had to spend the rest of her time in the local homeless shelter, she would. He might prove trustworthy, but she'd had enough of his omniscient, overbearing eye.
"I caught wind of a party Thursday night, one I think you'd want to attend. As my guest, of course."
"I thought we were through with the parties for now," she said softly, more suspicious with every passing second.
"Someone will be there... someone I think you should meet."
Strughold? But Robert didn't even know who she'd come to New Orleans to find... or did he?
"Who?"
"An old friend of mine. The hostess, actually.
She's had business with Balfour and Dupont in the past; maybe she can offer you some useful information."
A woman? "She's a friend of yours?"
"We go way back. I think you'll find you have a lot in common with her."
Something in his voice... that slow, confident drawl... layered his words with more meaning than the usual. A shiver of awareness raced up her spine; she forced a calm to her voice, when all she really wanted to do was accuse him of duplicity.
"Call me tomorrow afternoon, Robert. I'll let you know then."
"Any word on what you've gathered so far?"
He was deceptively casual, and she gave back the same. "Not yet. I'll sleep in tomorrow and catch a few of the sights... you know, kill a bit of time. Maybe I'll have more by the time I talk to you tomorrow."
"Sure. Sleep well, Dana." Before she could hang up, he added, "And I'm sorry for getting so angry.
I was worried."
"I'm fine, Robert. Good night."
She was reading more into a simple offer of help than was necessary, she told herself. Robert was doing what Skinner had asked him to - offer assistance, when and where he could. That's all it was.
She craned her neck to and fro, trying to ease the tension there. She thumbed the radio on and then immediately off, hating the sudden blare of noise.
She tapped her fingers against the steering wheel, watching the traffic grow as she got closer to New Orleans. She made note of the sign telling her the I-310 entrance was a mile away; she'd be in New Orleans and in her bed before long, thank goodness.
She pulled into the next driveway she saw and put the car in reverse.
"Here." A short, stubby arm, complete with fisted toothbrush, thrust into the shower around the folds of the curtain. The thick toothpaste wrapped round the bristles turned Mulder's stomach.
"I'm not getting laid, Marv," he growled, grabbing it with one hand while he steadied himself with the other.
"Your breath smells like a distillery. It offends."
Mulder, toothbrush in his mouth, sneered at Marvin, mocking his words with a caustic mutter. "'It offends' - what a tight-ass."
"I heard that."
Marvin's verbal slap came from the bedroom; Mulder could just picture him cleaning up. Quickly, he rinsed off, then stepped out of the shower. As he toweled off, he yelled, "Don't touch anything!"
Pulling on the sweatpants, he grimaced at the way they sagged low, wondering if Marvin had destroyed the elastic on purpose. He flung wide the open bathroom door, piercing Marvin with an angry glare.
"What the hell did you do to my sweats?"
Pausing in the act of re-hanging Mulder's clothes, Marvin narrowed his gaze, his haughtiness reaching for the clouds. "*I* didn't do anything to that awful excuse for a pair of pants. *You* don't eat enough, apparently."
Pinching the waistband together in an effort at modesty, Mulder clenched his jaw, swooping down on Marvin. "Get out." He pulled the crumpled, twohundred-dollar shirt from Marvin's hands and threw it on top of the pile on the floor before searching down his whiskey.
"Fox -"
"I don't want to hear it, Marvin. I said, get out."
Chastised, Marvin straightened his vest and nodded.
He walked stiffly to the bedroom door before turning.
"This won't do any good, you know."
Mulder knew it wouldn't. He knew his loneliness and guilt couldn't be drowned in a glass of whiskey. He stared at the drink he'd poured himself before taking a small sip. It was vile, and he didn't know why he chose that particular bottle downstairs. Probably because it was the first he'd touched in his fury. It was his father's - Bill Mulder's - poison of choice, and it tasted like shit. Everything was shit. Now, with Marvin's censure and his own fatigue, he was tired of battling the truth.
Nothing he could do would bring her back.
"I just want to sleep," he said softly, gripping his glass like a lifeline. "Can I just sleep?"
"Your bed is ready, Fox." Marvin killed the bedroom light, then walked to the bathroom door, where he slowly closed it until the soft glow coming from the crack beneath acted as a night light. Mulder, once again reminded just how much Marvin cared about him, dropped his chin.
"Marvin?"
"Yes?"
"Thanks."
"You're welcome, Fox. Sleep well." He left, closing the bedroom door softly behind him.
In the almost non-existent light from the bathroom, Mulder could barely see the huge four-poster waiting on the other side of the room, the covers turned down. He stood still, looking at the bed across the wide expanse of carpet with no small amount of dread. He'd slept in it maybe a handful of times in the past months, finally giving up on its promise of comfort to seek out the more familiar oblivion the couch offered.
It was very similar to the bed he and Scully had shared that first time in New Orleans, the dark wood intricately designed and crafted, the mattress high and so stuffed that to fall upon it was like sinking into a cloud. Even now, he wondered if he could possibly lie in it and not think of her, of how she looked in similar depths, all pale and wounded, yet begging for his touch. He really should haul his sorry ass to the couch once again, and leave all the memories behind. To torture himself by inviting the dreams the bed summoned was foolish and threatened to obliterate what little sanity he still possessed.
Fuck it, he thought, tossing back the last of the liquor before climbing between the sheets.
Did she really look all that bad? Marvin stared at her like she'd grown another head. Hastily patting down her frizzy hair, she gave him a small smile.
"I... the weather is awful. Do you mind if I -?"
"Certainly! Do come in, dear lady!" Marvin, roused from his stupor, flashed a smile so reminiscent of his brother's easy, yet bashful grin she almost cried right then and there. Swinging the door open wide, he took her bag from her icy fingers and ushered her in. "Absolutely dreadful weather, I agree. These roads at night are no place for a lady traveling alone."
"I'm perfectly capable of driving a car, Marvin,"
she murmured in a last grasp at her dignity.
Admitting she was wrong, that she possibly needed a warm presence, had never been her forte, and she suddenly felt uneasy about returning.
He guided her into the foyer. "Of course you are.
But please permit me a moment of concern, would you? I'm from the old school."
She had to chuckle at that. "You most certainly are." She shook the raindrops off her jacket, flashing Marvin an apologetic look. "Is Mulder still up?" She didn't feel like facing him just yet, but sooner or later he was bound to realize she'd returned, and now was as good a time as any to eat her words about Robert.
And admit that Robert wasn't the catalyst behind her departure. Or her return.
"Already asleep, my dear," Marvin answered, his words sadly quiet. "I fear he imbibed a bit too much after you left."
Mulder had never been a big drinker; was Marvin saying he had a drinking problem? She paused, the question on her face apparent.
"No, Miss Scully," he said softly, "he was just a bit down after you left, that's all. I'm so glad you've returned."
"Oh." Suddenly embarrassed in the face of Marvin's beaming pleasure, she took her bag from him and shrugged its weight to her left hand as she stepped back from Marvin's probing gaze. "Is there anywhere I can shower and sleep, then? I won't disturb you any further."
"Are you sure you wouldn't like a late supper?
There's some shrimp gumbo in the refrigerator."
It was already approaching midnight, and though she was hungry, she was more tired. Besides, beneath Marvin's smile was a definite shadow of fatigue, and she hesitated to put him to any more trouble.
His worry over Mulder's vanishing act today was bound to have made him weary.
"No, thank you. Just point the way. I'll be fine."
Marvin stepped back from her, pausing in speech.
In the dim part of the hallway by the staircase, she couldn't see his features clearly. But after only a second's delay, she heard him reply, "Up the stairs, the door at the end. It's the only bed with linens, I'm afraid. Besides mine, of course I sleep downstairs. If you'd like, you can have the use of mine... but my pillows aren't nearly as comfortable as those in the master suite. Made of goose down, you know. Bad for my allergies."
"Of course," she interrupted absently, wondering why the hell Marvin was rambling so. Seemed her sudden intrusion had thrown him off-balance somewhat; it was understandable, given the type of perfectionist rule he maintained over the household. "I'll take the bed upstairs, Marvin.
That'll be fine."
"I sincerely hope you find it acceptable." He quickly moved past her to lock the front door; she heard him set the alarm as she eyed the study door.
Remembering her sleep the night before on Mulder's couch, she assumed he was in the study, out cold beneath the navy blanket. It didn't take a genius to see he still disdained a bed.
Giving the study door one last, wistful glance, she headed for the stairs. "Thank you, Marvin."
"Good night, Miss Scully. Pleasant dreams."
The good humor in his voice trailed up the stairs, but it didn't serve to buoy her weary steps.
Thankfully, Marvin left the upper hall lights on as she made her way to the last room. If not, she surely would have stumbled and alerted Mulder to her return with a clumsy fall. After the treacherous ride back - Marvin was right, the winding road along the river was not a safe place to drive in a midnight rainstorm - her body was stiff with tension. A hot shower would feel damned good, and she hurried the last few steps to the door, pushing it open with a sigh.
The room was immense and mostly dark except for the trickle of light that bled from under a door at the opposite end. The bathroom, she assumed, letting her bag fall from limp fingers. It beckoned like a siren, and she walked to it in a daze, not bothering to turn on the overhead light as she began to shed her topclothes.
Everything in the bathroom smelled of him. The soap, the shampoo, even the warm, clear water that sluiced down her body. A flood of tears clogged her throat; she'd been masquerading for so long as someone she hated, especially with him. She was tired of being strong, tired of disagreeing and refusing to admit she needed him in her life.
Tomorrow, that would change. She vowed it as if it were a bedtime prayer, silently asking the heavens above for strength. For if she took that step towards him, there was no going back. Successful in the investigation or not, she knew she'd never leave his side again.
Renewed in spirit but still weary in body, she left the warmth of the shower and dried off. Naked, she doused the bathroom light, seeking blessed darkness for her slumber. A few moments of adjustment, and she saw the posts of the bed beyond illuminated in the flash of lightning from the sheer-curtained windows. There laid blissful oblivion, for the hours ahead, anyway. She slowly walked forward, feeling her way in the dark.
A rustle of fabric caught her toes; bending down, she picked up the garment. At once, his scent assaulted her senses. The tears, safely lost in the spray of the shower, threatened to re-emerge.
But she wouldn't give them life, instead rejoicing in the fact that this time, the owner of the shirt was within her grasp. For now, she wrapped herself in its comforting embrace and sought the haven of sleep.
Approaching the stately, huge bed, she cursed softly as she stubbed a toe on one of his shoes.
As she rubbed the smarting flesh, a heavy breath floated from the depths ahead. She stilled, raising her head with a breathy, "Mulder?"
"Mmm." She knew that rumbled sigh. And the snore that followed it.
Marvin. She was going to kill him.
In the morning, of course. Right now, that pillow Marvin was allergic to was calling her name. That wonderful, sexy, obviously dead-to-the-world pillow.
Ah, this time it was a good dream. He knew it even as he dreamt on, smiled as he heard her voice and smelled the freshness of her skin.
Scully?
"Sleep," she whispered.
Her head fit into the hollow of his shoulder like it always had, her knee slid between his, and her hand settled on his chest.
No leaving him this time. A good dream, indeed.
She woke to the distant sound of thunder. Soft, tapping rain complimented the drifting departure of the storm, nipping against the windows like small pebbles. She shifted under the comforter, all warm from sleep.
And from the body moving over her, slowly wrapping itself around her small form like an extra-warm blanket.
She didn't open her eyes, didn't jerk away. Dull from lingering exhaustion, her mind refused to connect to the pride she'd stashed away hours ago.
This wasn't what she'd returned for... but God, she couldn't resist his touch. Limp with need, her traitorous body reacted as it always had, clinging to him and the sure joy he sought to bring.
The heavier beat of his heart drowned out the rain, his deepening, liquor-laced breaths mingling with the rustle of fabric and friction. His mouth moved over the pulse in her neck, and she bit her lip over her cry of pleasure, not wanting to shatter the moment with words or sounds. Though she knew his mind muddled somewhat with spirits and sleep, she couldn't deny his easy encroachment. She knew who it was, knew what he wanted, and words wouldn't make a difference. Their communion needed no sounds of seduction or urging, silent in simplicity, truthful in equal desire.
Alert now, she allowed one moment of hesitation...
should she disturb the fragile bubble that held them together to ask about protection? They were taking a big risk, one which had already resulted in a son lost to them. She hadn't expected pregnancy back then, and really, she still didn't know exactly how it had happened. But it had, without warning but certainly received with joy.
The happiness she felt now overruled her doubts, and she let them slide away with the pressure of his fingers and lips, opening her arms to pull him close.
Legs falling open as well, she received him like the lover he was, feeling the insistence of his clothed erection push against her inner thighs.
Slowly, so slowly, he insinuated his bare chest through the unbuttoned folds of her shirt, circling his hips as if already joined with her. A soft grunt of frustration tickled her ear; she answered the plea by trailing her hands down his lower back, taking the thick cotton with her. His sigh of pleasure accompanied the release of his straining flesh, and she felt it seek her softness at once, hot and heavy with the need to couple.
He didn't seem to be fully aware, as he kept up the slow rhythm of mock lovemaking, his hands not moving to make them one. It was almost as if, in his dream-like state, he feared the moment of joining.
Before, eons ago, his lovemaking was like his genius - confident and calculated, or rapid-fire and probing, the goal certain. Her pleasure, then his. He lingered only when she needed it, rushed when she demanded. Now, with dreams of abandonment gentling his every move, he brought tears to her eyes with his slow touch. He was afraid she'd fly.
Though she wasn't nearly ready to accommodate him, she felt certain any hesitation on her part would ruin the moment. The tense line of his back, the way he evaded her attempts to kiss him, all spoke of his fear he'd break the tenuous thread holding them together. He would make no move she didn't want, offer no caress she would possibly disdain, say no word to upset the silence.
So it was in silence she drew him into her. He moaned softly at the entrance of his body into hers; she drew her lips together at the slight pinch, then released them in a soft sigh. The full pressure slid in by slow increments, stretching her flesh until he settled with a heavy, trembling exhale. His hands mirrored his inner emotion, shaking as they slipped under her, one holding her close at the nape, the other adjusting her lower back in a comforting shift of her hips.
After a moment of quiet, he began to withdraw and return, still so slowly she caught her breath at the reverence in his movements. She lifted her legs, one curling around his thigh, the other anchoring him high about his flexing hips. She wasn't letting him go anywhere, she told him silently, as her arms joined in the confinement, stealing up his back.
There was no way she was going to reach orgasm. In the instant she recognized that fact, she discarded the thought. This wasn't an act of mutual joy, not in the tradition sense. It was a plea for forgiveness, a cry for the return to a love thought lost in guilt and anger. On both sides, she realized with wonder, as she felt the hot slide of her tears disappear into her damp hair. He might believe his body's vow to prolong her pleasure, but she held no such belief. She accepted it, reveled in her power, but threw it away like her anger.
Resolute in her desire to give him what he denied himself, she raked her nails along his back, feeling him shiver. Her lips and teeth nipped at his shoulder, her hips lifted to match his downstroke, and her walls tightened around his cock with subtle invitation.
Give to me, she said with her body. Give me all that you are, all that I want.
He did, the sudden jerk of his body's reaction to her lure obviously taking him by surprise. His hands dug into her skin and his breath hitched as he tensed above her... she held on, feeling his hips falter, then grind into hers with the sudden rush of hot liquid into her depths. Shuddering, he made no sound, though his mouth opened over her collarbone with frantic suction; she felt her blood rush to the site in response and knew the bruise there tomorrow would be noticeable.
But she didn't care. Crying silently but profusely now, she held him through the last throes of orgasm, her breath soft upon him in an effort to calm and protect. He sagged at last, and she knew it was over. He really was too heavy, but she made no attempt to move him, too happy to disrupt their embrace. But with a long, slow inhale, he shifted to his side, relieving her of his weight, though he dragged her limp body along. Face to face in the dark, she hooked her leg over his, feeling the slow trickle of semen paint her thighs. She smiled, listening to him breathe, feeling his chest expand and release beside her.
He was asleep. She didn't have to see to know it, or understand. Though it was too dark to see, her aim was perfect. Lifting her chin, she kissed his lax lips, her fingers sliding across his cheek.
Though she thought them all done, she broke away to let loose a sob as fresh tears burst forth. Not for the feel of his mouth under hers at last, nor for the pleasant soreness of a body well-loved...
not even for the rebirth of a partnership, a *relationship* thought long gone.
He had shaved.
End Chapter Twelve
Truce
Chapter Thirteen
Disclaimer, etc. in Headers
A soft tap at the door roused her from sleep. She looked over her shoulder at Mulder, who slept blissfully on, then to the door, just visible in the morning light. The shirt she'd worn to bed gaped open, Mulder's arm loose around her waist under its folds.
Again, the knock intruded. "Fox?"
Biting her lip, she eased out from the cocoon of his arms to stand beside the bed. Her legs felt like rubber, her body sore in places it hadn't been in quite some time. Smoothing her hair away from her face, she held the shirt closed and crept to the door.
Cracking it open, she met Marvin's perfectly snooty face, his eyes averted from the bare length of her legs. "Dr. Bombay is here, Miss Scully."
"Who?" she said, her voice husky from sleep.
"He's here to have a go at a computer disc - he said Fox told him it was important."
The disc! Bombay - the computer expert Mulder had referred to as "Langly in drag". Shaking away the last of sleep, she told Marvin, "I'll be down shortly." Off Marvin's nod, she added, "Don't wake Mulder, okay?"
"Of course I won't," Marvin assured her softly.
"He needs his rest, don't you think?"
Was that a knowing twinkle in Marvin's eye? Now wasn't the time to light into the little man for his manipulations of the previous evening, but she told him with her narrowed glare the day would come soon. He cleared his throat and gave her a slight bow. "In the study, Miss. Coffee and biegnets as well."
She closed the door on his retreating back and picked up her bag. Mulder slept on, a testament to his sleeping habits of late. She didn't have the heart to wake him, which meant no shower this morning. A quick cleanup would have to do besides, the disc - and its secrets - awaited.
Excitement made her hurry. But it was happiness that curved her lips into a smile.
Langly in drag. Okay, she thought, watching the computer expert work as she stood behind him silently, sipping at her coffee. He *was* rather geeky, in a boyish way, she supposed. And his paranoia ran deep - she surmised that from the moment of their meeting, when he'd bristled at the realization she still worked for the federal government. She assured him the forensics anatomy class at Quantico wasn't a den of iniquity, and he'd relaxed somewhat at the realization she was quite possibly more out of the loop than Mulder these days.
But he looked nothing like Langly, oh no. Bombay or Gerald, as he'd insisted she call him after they'd laughed over a few Gunmen stories - was nothing like any of the friends she and Mulder had turned to in times of need. Not physically, anyway. Gerald was a handsome, suave gentleman, with close-cropped hair and wicked green eyes. A bit on the effeminate side, but quick to bestow a flattering look on her tousled hair and 'yes, I've been fucked' look, complete with Mulder's rumpled shirt hanging to her knees over her black leggings... even if she knew he did it mostly because he wished he were in her shoes. Or her bare feet, be that as it may. She hadn't bothered with slipping on her boots.
"It's encrypted, of course," he drawled, flashing her a sly look as he raised his gaze from the screen of Mulder's laptop. "It may take a while to crack it, but I've seen worse. You say you got this where?"
"I didn't," she replied softly, giving him a wry look before moving to the bar for more coffee.
"C'mon, girlfriend," he purred, "you can tell me.
I won't tell a soul, I pinky swear. Just like I would never say a word about your appearance this morning... though Marvin's eyes are about to bug out of his square head at the sight of that nice little strawberry on your shoulder. I think I'd rather know the origin of *that* mystery, really."
Self-consciously, her hand went to the gaping neck of Mulder's shirt and she flushed before she could stop her embarrassment.
"I think Marvin's more pleased than anyone. The little snit's walking around like he created the universe in one night." Bombay sighed, rolling his eyes. "Galls me to no end."
"Get back to work and quit bothering Miss Scully."
Marvin's voice broke in, its hard edge popping over Bombay's head as he walked into the study.
"Buzz off, you little toad," Bombay grumbled, tapping at the keys. "Can't you see I'm busy?"
"Busy poking around where you have no business."
Scully detoured the impending argument with a soft, "Gentlemen. Let's keep to the matter at hand, please... the disc?"
After an exchange of menacing looks, the two men fell silent and back to work. Bombay on his computer, Marvin with tidying up the serving tray.
Scully, thankful for the quiet, brought her coffee back to the desk, where she set up camp once again behind Bombay. Though obviously a trusted ally of Mulder's - even if he and Marvin enjoyed nipping at one another - she'd worked too hard on getting that disc not to watch his every move.
The hard drive processed the data through an intricate set of commands; Bombay minimized the window at her approach. She gave him a scathing look, about to dress him down for his secrecy when he said, "No one sees my kung fu. No one."
So he wasn't all that different from the Gunmen.
Scully smirked, giving Bombay a lazy, "This *is* Mulder's computer, you know. You're not worried about him seeing your 'kung fu'?"
"I have no idea what *you* know," he pointed out, "but Mulder couldn't tell his ass from a hole in the ground, as far as hacking goes. All he ever does is surf. I don't know if he even knows how to open a file."
That was an exaggeration; Mulder knew his way around the operating system of a computer. Her curiosity piqued, Scully asked, "How so?"
Bombay pulled up the file manager with a snort of exasperation, pointing to a directory which figured prominently among the files of the hard drive. "I ftp to this directory every week with new photos.
But does he open it? No. It hasn't been accessed since its creation months ago - see?"
Her stomach plummeted at the directory name. "Open them."
With a cautious stare, Bombay murmured, "I don't think I should. I mean, this is Mulder's kid, from what I understand -"
'William' beckoned, the name tearing open an old wound she knew best left alone. But she could no more walk away from this than she could her guilt over his absence in her life.
"It's my child, too," she bit out. "Open the damned files."
Mulder groaned, stretching out like a lazy feline, his arms almost reaching from one side of the bed to the other. If not for the dull ache in his head, he knew he'd feel pretty damned good. He drew a deep breath, trying to calm his too-empty stomach... when he smelled it. Smelled *her*.
Smelled *them*.
Jacknifing up to a sitting position, he winced at the sudden movement, squinting against the sun's glare that filled his bedroom. He swayed for a second or two, really wanting nothing more than to fall back and sleep for another hour. Hell, another day. But he didn't - because she was here.
Or was she? Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, making him think she'd slept in his bed. God knew he'd had enough erotic dreams about her, so one more wouldn't have been all that unusual. His hand drifted under his sweatpants; he pulled it away with a grimace. *That* wasn't all that unusual, either. A byproduct of a dreaming mind filled with lust for a woman he couldn't have.
Still, his body ached with pleasant remembrance, one associated with the mechanics of making love.
Even now, his morning erection cried out for ease, especially craving her loving attention to its needs.
Nah, the night before was the result of unfulfilled fantasies and too much booze. Chances were, that soreness in his pelvis came from humping the bed.
He was one sick bastard.
Rolling from the bed, he trudged to the bathroom, where he took a long, satisfying leak. The minor headache was an annoyance, but he supposed he deserved every little hammer driving nails into his brain. He vowed never to drink that much again, and certainly not whiskey. His mouth tasted like roadkill; before taking care of that, however, he downed a couple of aspirin, grimacing at the way the taste of them made his mouth water with impending nausea. Shower first? Or get rid of the dog breath?
Definitely the dog breath. It was an effort of monumental proportions, but he finally got the toothpaste smeared on the toothbrush. He hoped he wouldn't puke before he finished; it was bad enough his gag reflex kicked almost immediately - the sight of his face in the mirror didn't help matters.
Using inspection as an excuse to temporarily leave off the toothbrushing, he peered into the brightness of the silvery surface, his left hand coming up to tenderly touch his slick skin. He'd shaved. Or rather, Marvin had done it for him - he remembered that much. The exposed skin was a hair lighter than the rest of his face, and it already sported a bit of stubble, as if the beard cried out for rebirth.
"You're an idiot," he mumbled to the ghost in the mirror.
His vivid dreams, pleasant though they'd been, hadn't had the power to manifest the real thing.
She hadn't come back. She never would, if what he remembered of their parting last night was true.
She couldn't get past her lingering hurt and fear of what she figured would eventually be another goodbye.
He sighed heavily, his hand shaking as he cupped water to his mouth, then splashed the bracing wakeup call to his face. Like an automaton, he scrubbed his hands over his eyes, his mind still working in an effort to make him face the day ahead.
All was not lost, he realized, his brain waking up more and more with each passing second. He'd never walked away from a challenge in his life, with the exception of when he'd left her months ago. And then, it wasn't because he feared for himself. No, he wasn't a quitter. Though time and again he'd lost his way, she'd always pulled him back on track. This time, she would do the same... even if she didn't want to. He couldn't walk away.
*Wouldn't* turn and run, as she had. He'd follow and pursue and get down on his knees and grovel if he had to... but no way was he giving up.
Bracing cold hands on the edge of the sink, he shook the drops of water from his face, then stilled, staring at the hint of blue peeking out from under the towel on the floor. With openmouthed wonder, he nabbed the satin with his fingers. The panties stretched with a familiar width between his two hands - hands which suddenly itched with the recollection of touching warm, soft skin. A *real* woman, not a dream. He brought the underwear to his face and jerked at the smell.
Of Scully. God, he'd know that scent anywhere.
He almost tripped on his sagging sweatpants in his rush out of the bedroom.
William on a swing. William at the park. William eating ice cream as he sat on a tricycle in a perfect carpet of green grass. William on his back, being tumbled by a pup of mutt origins.
"Joey," Bombay offered quietly. "Just got that one last week."
Anger at the hidden photographs made her swallow hard as she walked to the window. "Any of me?"
"That's a big no-no," Bombay muttered.
"It's not what you think." Marvin intruded at last; she wondered when he'd snap out of his 'caught-inthe-headlights' stance.
"It isn't?" She swung around, her arms crossed.
She knew Mulder kept tabs on her activities from afar, and he'd as much as said the other day he was watching William. But to have surveillance photographs? He probably knew every move William and his adoptive parents made. The invasion of their privacy was horrid, and made her think Mulder had an agenda different from hers. When was he planning on whipping out those pictures? He'd never said, never hinted he had them, though he had to have known she'd kill to see even a glimpse of that fair face. "What was he planning? To steal William? If I hadn't come along, would he have taken him and never looked back?"
Narrow-eyed, Marvin stood still, his face suffusing with color. "Miss Scully, I hesitate to criticize -"
"Oh, please! Spare me the 'concerned but neutral observer' crap. You've been in this all along, too. You tricked me last night into -"
"Bloody hell, woman!" Marvin puffed up, throwing his dustcloth to the floor with uncharacteristic carelessness, his shout booming across the room.
She started, falling silent as he tempered his voice - but not much. Gritting the words past clenched teeth, he continued, "That man upstairs has done nothing but watch over your son *and* you for almost a year now. With his constant vigilance, he's keeping William safe for the moment he can return him to your waiting arms. *Legally*, in case you don't get my meaning, Miss. Would you like to know why he's never opened those photos?"
Biting words came from a face she never imagined doing so; Melvin Frohike had never raised his voice in anger to her. Taken aback, she could only stare as Marvin gave her what she'd asked for.
"Because he can't bear to look at that child until he knows you can, too. He reads Bombay's weekly reports. He pores over them, ready to fly at even a hint of abuse or neglect... but dreading the possibility. Because no matter how much he misses that boy, he would never wish for harm to come to him. Not even if it meant that, as the biological father, he could use his money and power to easily get him back."
Too overwrought to answer, she hung her head.
"Then he smiles when he's done, because William seems to be safe and sound. But his smile fades quickly... because he's missing so much. And so are you." Marvin paused, his clipped voice lowering to a sad murmur. "Don't judge him too harshly, Miss Scully. He's been dead inside since he left you - don't take away what little you gave him last night to salvage your pride."
It was a testament to Marvin's desperate persuasion that he made mention of their tenuous reunion. And he was right - she had given Mulder very little when she'd returned. Just a body starved for touch; it remained to be seen if she'd do what she vowed to herself last night and free her love and trust to his safekeeping. With one angry word, she could take it all away, pretend their physical union was nothing more than raging hormones. All because she was pissed he'd kept this from her.
She raised watery eyes to Marvin, all fury leaving her form as she searched for the right thing to say.
But Marvin kept on, gentle now in his rebuke.
"Whether by your command or his, Fox has been alone for much too long. As have you. My brother held you both in great esteem, and while I have no such history with you, I know from his words you're a woman of great compassion and forgiveness. Don't disappoint me, Miss Scully. Keep the faith. Give the man a chance to explain."
Before she could answer, the study door burst open.
Mulder stood, almost trembling with anxiety, his eyes fixing on her as if he were seeing a ghost.
Quickly, he swept past a startled Marvin and a grinning Bombay, stopping inches from her, searching her face with a hopeful, intense gaze.
He licked his lips, gulped as he sought words.
No matter what he'd done, what he'd kept from her, Marvin was right about Mulder. The look on his face, the sheer joy at finding her still here this morning... he was afraid to believe it. From a man who believed anything thrown at him, he was a master at disbelieving his own capacity for being loved. And she couldn't find it in her any longer to deny him what he wanted most of all.
She smiled, nodding infinitesimally at his unspoken question.
Shaking hands caught her damp cheeks in a roughtender grip, and he kissed her.
An emotional earthquake shook him to his bones. He was kissing her. Kissing Scully.
Here she stood, all God damned sexy in her bare feet and his shirt - *his* shirt. Mouth opening over hers, he pulled her close, one hand sliding under the collar of said shirt to settle at her nape, the other gripping the expensive, wrinkled cotton at her back. He felt her arms go around him and she returned the kiss with full measure, raising up on tiptoe to ease the awkward angles of his neck and hers.
This was more than confirmation they'd made love last night. This was the final hurdle, the most intimate of gestures... the one he'd missed most of all. He realized that, in his fervor, he was bruising her mouth; he gentled, pulling the breath from her with slow seduction. She responded by letting her head settle on his shoulder, basically giving herself up to his greedy ardor. Not that she lost herself to him mindlessly - the hand that slipped low on his back knew exactly what it was doing, as he felt it dip beneath the sagging elastic.
"There are thirty-one rooms in this house besides this one, Fox. May I suggest you take this elsewhere?"
The cool, almost humorous voice snapped his head away from Scully's. He didn't move far, however, staying close enough to look into her heavy-lidded eyes. "What do you think?" His voice was thick with happiness.
"Oh, don't leave on my account!" Bombay's twitter made him stiffen. He hadn't realized they were anything but alone until Marvin had spoken. "I can't deny I'm enjoying the soap opera... and the view."
Scully snapped out of her limp rag imitation, settling back on her heels. He felt her hands pull at the back waistband of his sweats, and knew he'd just given Bombay a thrill unrelated to the kiss.
Damn. Hot color crept up his cheeks, deepening at Scully's chuckle.
"Gerald is here to crack the disc," she explained softly, though she didn't move out of his embrace.
She couldn't, he realized - her grip on his sweats were all that stood between him and indecent exposure. *Again*. "You were sleeping, so I didn't want to wake you."
He wanted nothing more than to kick the other two men out the front door and lock her in for a long winter's nap. But that wasn't possible - not at the moment, anyway. Giving Scully a promising look of the conversation to come, he backed away from her, one hand taking up the hold on his pants while the other slid into hers. He damn well wasn't letting go of her now that she was here. Facing Bombay, he cleared his throat, trying like hell to look nonchalant.
"Anything yet?"
Still grinning with pleasure, Bombay said, "No, but it shouldn't take long." He waved a hand at the couple. "Please, continue. I haven't seen anything like this on 'Days of Our Lives' in years."
It was only Scully's subtle squeeze on his hand that stifled Mulder's urge to wipe that grin off Bombay's face with his fist. "Go shower," she said softly, looking up at him. The hand not holding his went to his waist; with a gentle pull, she disengaged his hold on his pants.
"What are you doing?" he whispered in warning, knowing his modesty was walking a tightrope.
A dainty ball of blue satin was quickly stuffed away in her shirt pocket. "I don't think you'll be needing those." She swallowed, a pink tinge creeping up her cheeks.
Closing his eyes briefly, he groaned. He'd run into the study like a madman, waving Scully's panties like a flag of victory. He hadn't noticed them wrapped around his hand, even while kissing or touching her, or threatening Bombay. What a dork.
Ignoring Bombay's snort of laughter, he concentrated on Scully's face as he sought to regain control. "Will *you*?"
"Will I what?"
"Be needing those." Would she stay? Or was this just a bit of temporary insanity, brought on by lust and whiskey?
Shifting a bit to look around his shoulder at Marvin, she purred, "Depends on if Marvin is willing to do me a great favor."
"At your service, Miss," Marvin said behind him.
"Retrieve my things from the hotel and return my car? I'll notify them by phone I'm checking out."
Mulder didn't hear Marvin's joyous, sputtering reply. The roar of his own happiness drowned out everything else, and he disdained the curious eyes still looking upon them, capturing Scully's lips in another searing kiss.
Vaguely, he heard Marvin move behind them. "Come along, you twit."
Then, Bombay's whine. "What? Why? Things are getting good again!"
"I'll take the limo, you drive Miss Scully's car back."
"But the disc -"
"Will be here when we return. Now get your bloody arse up from that chair!"
Mulder was never so glad to hear a door close in his life.
Scully felt a bit worse for wear, especially when Mulder reappeared in the study, looking fresh and adorably sexy in his jeans and pullover. She knew it would be at least a couple of hours before Marvin returned with her clothes and she had the chance to garb herself in something besides Mulder's shirt. He'd tried his best to drag her into the shower with him, but she'd nixed the idea, saying one of them should watch the laptop while it uncovered the secrets on the disc. He couldn't argue with that, though the pitiful look he'd given her had tugged at her good sense. She'd ushered his almost bare ass out the door with a stern "later", and breathed easier once he'd gone, grateful for the respite to gather her thoughts.
Now, with him hovering over her shoulder, her cool, collected mien threatened to dissolve in a puddle of goo. His smile was broad and his hand settled on her back as he leaned over her chair to watch the screen.
"I take it nothing's come up yet?"
"Nope. Still waiting." She bit her lip, feeling his probing gaze tear away what little walls she'd managed to re-fortify in his slight absence. "Want some coffee?"
His free hand plucked at the satin poking out from her shirt pocket. "I'd rather have some answers,"
he murmured.
Truth time. Sighing, she skirted his large form and walked to the bar, busying her hands with coffee she didn't really want. "I did some thinking in the car. I decided to come back."
He said nothing for a moment, and she could feel his mind working. "I see. Any revelation I should know about?"
God, she didn't want to bring up Robert, just when things were settling down. But it wasn't in her to withhold information from Mulder; emotions, yes.
Sometimes. And how could she put this without Mulder jumping to the conclusion she'd only come back because of Robert's phone call? That wasn't the only reason, and he must understand that.
"I spoke to Robert."
At the mention of the man's name, Mulder's voice took on a hard edge. "And?"
Scully faced him, noting the misgivings already blossoming in his eyes. "And I realized that, while I'm still not totally convinced he's untrustworthy, I *do* question his motives. He makes me wonder sometimes."
Mulder looked away, his fresh-shaven cheeks pale.
"He told you something, didn't he?"
She left the coffee, stepping forward to Mulder's side. "Yes, he did. But that's not why -"
"What did he tell you?" Mulder had, as she suspected he would, surmise an ulterior motive for her return. One he disdained immediately. She hastened to correct his assumption, frustration flaring at the way he'd cut her off.
"If you'll give me time, I'll tell you." She wasn't the only one with a bad habit of becoming defensive, she wanted to scream at the absent Marvin. "Later. For now, I'd like to explain why I came back."
"So explain."
Taking a deep breath, she started, "It's not easy for me to say things, Mulder."
"Don't I know it," he snorted, shifting on his feet, suddenly interested in the carpet beneath them.
"Look at me," she demanded, pulling at his sleeve.
He did, wary in face and form. "I came back because I realized I didn't want to live without you anymore. I'm tired of running from a life with you because you have the power to hurt me."
His face softened, his eyes becoming mossy green with regret. "Scully, I'd never hurt you," he breathed, his plea tender and heartfelt. "Not intentionally."
"But you have," she insisted, "don't you see? Even though you don't mean to, you have. Just as I've hurt you. We don't set out to hurt one another, Mulder... it just happens. And it's something I'm going to have to learn to live with. I *want* to live with it. With you."
The corners of his eyes crinkled as his lips curled up in a smile. "Are you sure? Because I don't think I could stand it if you suddenly became 'Ana'
once again."
She picked up on his relaxing mood, looking up at him with chagrin. "That bad, huh?"
His hands settled at her waist. "I can do without the clothes and the cigarette smoke. One reveals too much and the other keeps too much hidden.
Check that - I kind of dig the clothes. Especially that little number night before last."
Chuckling, she embraced him, resting her cheek upon his heartbeat. "You would."
His deep breath was shaky. "Scully, I asked you once before to let yourself love me. I'm asking again... love me."
"I do," she vowed, remembering the night long ago when they'd finally gotten past the hurt. This moment was as meaningful as that one, more so because this time, she knew they'd gotten it right.
Well, almost. "Mulder?"
"Yeah?"
"I seem to remember you saying something about 'no more ditching' back then, too."
"I did," he admitted, pulling her closer. His chin smoothed her hair in a familiar caress. "Can I just say one thing about that?"
"What?"
"I'm an ass with the uncanny ability to disregard my own advice."
"Ooh... the good stuff."
A sudden bell from the laptop disturbed their laughter. Mulder eased back, his gaze playful but intense. "The good stuff will have to wait, Scully."
"I thought that *was* the good stuff," she quipped, moving out of his arms to walk to the desk.
Mulder sidestepped her, making it to the chair before she did. Ignoring her huff of protest, he pulled up the window containing the information, giving her a leer. "The good stuff was last night."
Arms crossed, she couldn't resist the dig. "It wasn't, believe me," she remarked dryly.
Mouth open, he stared at her, realization dawning in his eyes as his hand paused over the mouse.
"You mean, you and I... we didn't -"
"We did," she assured him, then amended, "No, *you* did, Mulder. *I* didn't, if you get my drift."
Lips pursed, he grumbled, "I was drunk, you know.
I'll do better next time."
Seeing his dismay, she abandoned her teasing, dropping a kiss on his short hair. "I enjoyed it very much, Mulder," she said softly, "because it was you."
"You're only saying that because you love me."
"And you will make it up to me later because you love me, won't you?"
Eyes filled with mischief captured hers. "In the hot tub? Or on the pool table?" He looked away to the computer screen, rapidly shifting gears to work mode, as she'd seen him do often.
Scully tweaked his ear, turning back to the computer screen. "We can discuss payback later.
Among other things."
Mulder missed her little addition, as he was already peering at the screen, his mind focused on the matter at hand. Soon, she wanted to talk about William. Even more pressing, she wanted to give him the validation he needed about Robert. She wanted to tell him what a true friend he had in Marvin, and how the man had pulled a fast one on her last night - which actually she didn't mind so much anymore. But now wasn't the time, not with Mulder's brain already deciphering the data scrolling up the screen.
Besides, it was difficult enough to banish from her mind the sudden mental picture involving her, Mulder, and a helluva lot of steam.
End Chapter Thirteen
Truce
Chapter Fourteen
Disclaimer, etc. in Headers
"They're all here," Mulder breathed, his eyes darting to and fro, excitement palpable in his face. "Looks like the second string stepped up after El Rico."
"I see Balfour and Dupont." Scully, despite her burgeoning hope, spoke with typical caution.
She'd like nothing better than to follow Mulder's leap and make the association to the old Consortium, but she couldn't. Not even with Kersh's conjecture that these men *were* a new part of the old past, one which had ultimately sent her on this mission. A few other names popped out as worldwide mover and shakers, and she held her breath, scanning quickly for Robert's name. On first inspection, the directory didn't implicate him, and she relaxed.
Though she wasn't all that sure she was relieved to find his name missing from the list, she felt certain his inclusion would have been more disturbing somehow. "But why would Dupont keep something like this in his safe?"
"Security." Mulder paused, looking up at her. He needed a hair trimming, she noted absently. "It makes sense to have a backup plan, in case he's left out in the cold one day."
"You realize this is by no means an indictment of their duplicity," she warned, resisting the urge to smooth a wayward lock of silky brown which refused to lie down. It was with a sad heart she noticed the profusion of gray among the dark strands. She knew the stress of the past months had taken their toll, on both of them. But Mulder in particular seemed rejuvenated by her willingness to stay. Renewed resolve to see him happy made her concentrate - the only way to see this through to a satisfying end was to work as a team. Which meant she played her part, as logic dictated. "This could be his Christmas list for all we know."
"True. But I bet we could come up with a legitimate connection among them - in other words, their cover organization." He squirmed in his seat, already fidgeting to attack the Internet for information. "I'd bet my last dollar these men sit on the board of some bogus corporation."
She nodded, knowing it was likely Mulder was right. Money to finance an operation on the global scale of facilitating alien colonization needed clean origins and even more spotless destinations. Still, she knew Mulder well enough to demand, "We let Bombay nose around, okay? No intrusion from our end, not even electronically."
Mulder debated the point for a moment. "Scully, I'm set up with so many firewalls this room could be lined with asbestos."
"We wait." She dared him to argue further, her eyes steely.
Sighing, he turned back to the laptop. "I'm at least going to make a back up copy to the hard drive."
"I think that's a good idea," she agreed, finally letting her fingers sift through his hair. He didn't look up, but his grin of pleasure at her touch rippled through his scalp. As he copied the directory to his hard drive, she pulled her hand away to point at some extraneous information culled in a generic file. "What's this?"
"Dunno. Let me print up this list, then we'll see if we can open it." A few clicks later, the file sprung to life, its contents displayed in the default word processor. "Looks like garbage.
Even Bombay's genius can't pull everything from some files."
It was mostly machine language, with a few words interspersed among the jumbled characters. "Let me sit a minute, Mulder."
He let her have the mouse and chair, intent on the printed list of names. Scully wordlessly scrolled down the mangled file, stopping here and there when something caught her eye. "Looks like Dupont tried to get rid of this one," she mused, her mind concentrating on the words she was able to pick out of the endless string of characters.
"I've seen messes like this on previously deleted files."
"Could be," Mulder mumbled at her side, his hands furiously going through page after page of biographical and financial information. She knew who he was searching for, and waited for him to find out what she'd already seen. "Hey Scully you know who's name I *don't* see here?"
Cocking an eyebrow in his direction, she answered dryly, "Robert's?"
At that, Mulder pursed his lips. "Besides Luquet's," he growled with a narrow-eyed look, his disappointment making her grin. He *had* been looking for Robert. "Strughold. You'd think the top dog would get first billing, huh?"
"Not necessarily." Keeping one eye on the screen, she pointed out the obvious. "He may be one of those other names. He may not be on there at all, preferring to keep his association with these men a secret."
"So could Luquet," he replied, his smart-ass drawl accompanied by a lift of his brow. This time, he dared *her* to argue.
She didn't, making him smile with her concession.
"True."
"Ninety-nine percent and rising," he murmured, harkening her back to a long-ago conversation in the basement, one which eventually led to a maneating mushroom.
"We're not talking about lights in the sky here, Mulder. And need I remind you that case had a *very* mundane, scientific explanation?" She ignored his preening, keeping her gaze on the screen.
"No more mundane than a group of men out to ensure global domination by extraterrestrials."
"That's hardly mundane."
"My point exactly."
A flash from the screen caught her attention.
"Mulder?"
"Yeah?"
"We never did get Harold and Elise's last names, did we?"
"Nope. Why?"
"This may be reaching, but there's a partial list of names here... and I see a 'Harold' among them.
And an 'Elise'."
Mulder abandoned the list for a moment to lean over her shoulder. "Where?"
"Here." She pointed at the glaring sequence of letters and numbers, reading them off to him, as if to assure herself they were real. "17q22, then nothing...G501...Harold... it goes on much in the same way with all the other names. The numbers could be just garbage, but there's no way the letters arranged in the names are haphazard like that." Actually, the numbers tweaked her mind with vague insistence, but they could be anything. Or nothing.
"You were right about those patients, Scully,"
Mulder said quietly, his hand nudging her shoulder. "All this is connected somehow. We just have to find the key to it all. Get into Building 108; whatever's in there will blow this whole thing wide open, I'm sure of it. Ready for another ferry trip?"
She sat back with a sigh, giving him a wary look.
Their trip yesterday had not gone unnoticed.
She'd told Mulder they could go back at night and break in, but now she had another lead - one he probably wouldn't care for, but it was better than risking arrest. "Maybe I can get us in without too much trouble."
Mulder straightened, his gaze becoming cool.
"Luquet?"
She nodded, seeing Mulder's immediate dislike of the idea. "I know you don't trust the man -"
He snorted, turning his back on her to face the window. "That's an understatement. Look, we don't need him, Scully. We can get in the facility just fine after dark."
The tense line of his back beckoned, and she left her chair to join him in the sunshine that burst through the glass patio doors. "I don't trust him, either." At his slanted look, she reinforced her words. "I told you I questioned him motives, which is true. I guess that means I don't trust him. No use mincing words, is there?"
The corner of his mouth curled up in a grin.
"Wondered when you'd realize that."
"Takes me a while sometimes."
"I noticed." His eyes crinkled at the corners as he leaned close. "Ninety-nine and rising."
They fell silent momentarily, as Mulder searched her face with a serene, happy gaze. He wasn't triumphant at all in his perusal; if he had been, she would have knocked the stuffing out of him in seconds, and he knew it. He was more proud in voice and stance than anything else, satisfied she'd let their differences slide away to join with him once again. She was happy, too confident and certain that this time, they'd emerge victorious. It had to happen. They'd come too far not to win.
Cocking her head to one side, she crossed her arms, saying firmly, "We're not going back to Carville tonight, Mulder."
His grin faded into a lax, yet narrow-eyed stare.
This time, it was laced with more than a bit of curiosity. As was his soft reply, tinged with sexual innuendo. "We're not?"
"Nope," she answered, sidling closer. His arms opened and she let him embrace her, reaching up to scrape her thumb over his smooth chin. She'd almost gotten used to the beard, but now she could truthfully say she was glad it was gone.
"I told you a minute ago... maybe there's more than one way to skin a goose."
"By using Luquet." He sighed, his happiness temporarily dimmed as he captured her hand, bringing it to his lips for a kiss. "Scully, the less we have to do with that man, the better."
She knew his outlook would change when he heard the details of her conversation with Robert in the car, and she wasted no time telling him about the party the next night, leaving no word unsaid.
After she'd explained, Mulder, still guarded, asked, "And you think this person he wants you to meet is Strughold?"
"That's my guess. He was very insistent, Mulder, in his own way. The whole tone of the conversation was suspicious, as if every word he said had another meaning. Without giving too much away, he was telling me it would be to my advantage to speak to this man."
"Without giving himself away, you mean."
"All right, without giving *himself* away. Maybe he *is* working on our side, Mulder. As a mole in the organization, as someone pretending to be a neutral observer, or even -"
"As a consortium whore pretending to be our friend?" he finished, stating a possibility she'd considered herself.
However much Robert appeared duplicitous, she still felt deep down that he wasn't truly all bad. But it was no use belaboring the point; time would tell eventually. Especially with the upcoming party - she felt sure the meeting Robert had arranged would prove to be most enlightening.
"Fair enough. On this we agree - Robert isn't what he seems. But something tells me I'll find out tomorrow night." She raised a brow, calling on Mulder to cool it for now.
"*We'll* find out tomorrow night."
Stiffening, she disengaged herself from his loose embrace, taking a step back to say, "No way.
You're not invited."
"Scully -"
"And even if you were, I wouldn't let you go."
She moved back to the desk, closing her eyes against the surge of anger within. "Don't do this, Mulder. I can go alone."
"Nobody knows me as Fox Mulder. I'm John Robie, remember?" His argument came from close over her shoulder.
"Robert knows who you are. If he's working for Strughold, then they all know you're here. And they're just waiting to get you outside those gates." Damn him. Just when she'd decided to open herself up to him again, he put himself in the line of fire...
"Scully, Luquet knew all along where I've been.
He could have gotten to me at Dupont's the other night."
Whirling, she faced him, hot color creeping up her face. "So now you're saying he's to be trusted?"
"No!" Mulder bit his lip, his own frustration evident in the way he grabbed her shoulders for emphasis. "Shit, Scully. I can't just sit here anymore, don't you see? Especially when I know you'll be with him and his cronies."
"Stop with the jealous bullshit."
"I'm not jealous!" His fury died a quick death, as he let go of her to pace. "All right, I am."
He raised a finger to stifle her satisfied 'I knew it'. "But damn it, you need me to watch your back. If Luquet can no longer be trusted to do so - your own words - then the task falls to me."
Still adamant in her refusal, she brought forth new arguments. "I'll be in the limo. Marvin can accompany me. Besides, your disguise - if you can call it that - is gone. Remember?" She scratched at her own chin with a pointed look.
He grimaced as his hand brushed over his smooth face. "So what? It's not like it helped all that much, anyway. And Marvin? Please. He'd be about as useful as..." He groped for words, his frustration getting the better of him.
"As useful as tits on a boar hog?"
They both turned at the intrusion. Scully found her voice first, facing a grinning Bombay.
"What?"
"One of my mama's sayings," Bombay explained, leaning against the door frame. His eyebrows twitched with curiosity. "Did I miss anything while we were gone?"
"Step aside, man." Marvin brushed none-toogently by Bombay, using his handkerchief to wipe at his shining pate. "Sorry for the delay, Fox."
To Scully, he said, "Where would you like your bags, Miss?"
Delay? Scully glanced at her watch, surprised to find almost three hours had passed since they'd left. It was well after noon.
"Put them in my room, Marvin," Mulder said, giving her a look that dared her to disagree.
She said nothing, giving him a small smile in return. Satisfaction at his surprised reaction was short-lived, however, as she took up the more important matter at hand with Bombay, walking back to the laptop. "There's a file on the disk, one with lots of garbage. Can you clean it up more?"
Bombay strolled to her side, giving the screen a quick glance. "Not with anything I have here,"
he replied. "Any chance of me taking the disk with me back to my place?" Off their negative looks, he bristled. "Can I at least ftp the file to my hard drive? Totally secure, I swear. This will probably take hours to decode, and I can dedicate one of my systems at home to work on it without interruption. Otherwise, I'll have to work here - and that's not going to happen tonight, sorry."
"Why not?"
"Because tonight is the most important social event of my year," he replied, giving the flustered Marvin an evil grin. "And someone owes me a limo ride."
"Now see here -" Marvin began, but was cut off by Mulder's laughter.
"Petronius is tonight, isn't it?" Mulder asked, apparently enjoying the scene before him. "What luck... not only do you get my limo, you get a most dubious escort as well."
Marvin puffed up. "I never said I'd play escort, Fox. Driver only."
Scully had no idea what they were talking about, and glanced with confusion at Mulder, who waved a hand as he addressed the other two. "Whatever.
Bombay, go ahead and transfer the file. While you're at it, look at the other file, too - see if you can find a connection among those names.
Marvin, have a good time tonight."
Amidst Bombay's little squeal of glee, Scully moved to Mulder's side, watching Bombay peck in earnest at the laptop. Whispering, she asked with some trepidation, "Are you sure this is a good idea?"
Mulder leaned down, lowering his voice as well.
"He can be trusted, Scully. Besides, we won't get anything from him until tomorrow anyway.
We'll just have to wait." He gave her an intense, probing look, silently adding what she'd already deduced.
They would be alone the rest of the evening. She didn't know if the flutter in her chest was one of excitement or cowardice.
He knew Scully thought the disk more important than anything else. Actually, it should be tantamount in his mind as well. And it was though it ran a close second to the opportunity that presented itself when Bombay and Marvin returned. To spend some time alone with her, without Marvin's discreet hovering, was a gift from the gods.
Even if she'd hinted before she left to shower that their argument about the party tomorrow night wasn't over, he still wouldn't trade this precious time to come for anything. If it meant he'd have to concede to her demand he stay home, he'd do it. Well, he'd try to, anyway. There were ways around that sticking point.
As he paced the patio outside the study, waiting for her reappearance, he found himself a bit nervous. Last night was but a dim memory, and he wanted nothing more than to make it up to her.
But would she let him? There was so much that needed to be said between them, but truthfully, he didn't want to waste time with words. Too much talking always seemed to prove disastrous.
Besides, his starved body demanded communication of a different sort. Yeah, he was a pig, he admitted to himself. Who could blame him, when Scully was the most desirable woman, inside and out, he'd ever known?
He stilled, closing his eyes. No. She wasn't the type to indulge in sexual acrobatics without rhyme or reason. If she wanted to spend this time together simply sitting in silence, he'd do it. Damn, but it would be difficult, though. He envisioned another cold shower already, just like the one he'd had this morning.
"Fox? I'm leaving now."
Marvin spoke behind him; Mulder looked at his watch, giving his friend a questioning look. "So early?"
"Bombay," Marvin's lips turned up in distaste over the name, "insists I make myself available this afternoon to deliver his costume to his apartment. Unless you need me here?" His eyes widened with hope.
"No." Mulder stifled his chuckle, affecting a serious pose. "He could use the time decoding that file."
"So he says," Marvin grumbled. "I think he loves to humiliate me."
"A true sign of affection," Mulder replied, unable to resist the twinkle of mirth that sprung forth in his eyes.
Marvin, so easily disturbed when his manhood came into question, said hastily, "I don't find the humor in that at all."
"Relax, Marv. You're quite safe from Bombay, I think. You're too short, for one thing. I think he prefers tall and lean."
Mischief replaced the affront in Marvin's face.
"Like you?"
"Touche'." Mulder touched his brow in salute with a smile, then sobered a bit. "You'd better get going, Marv. Something tells me Bombay isn't one to be kept waiting."
"Do you need anything before I go? Dinner? An errand run?" His voice lowered to a cool, albeit pointed murmur. "To the drugstore, perhaps?"
If Melvin had delivered the last instead of Marvin, Mulder would have expected a leering grin. But the face before him spoke with genuine, subtle concern, and Mulder knew Marvin was only acting in their best interests. A pregnancy at this time, with their lives on hold - not to mention the danger surrounding them at every turn - would not be wise. Of course, it seemed they'd already taken a big risk last night. If indeed it was a risk at all; surely Scully was prepared, given William's surprise conception?
Besides, he really didn't expect her to spend the evening with him in bed. More likely, she would spend it alternating between scouring those files and arguing with him over the party to come.
"Everything's cool, Marv," he said finally, noticing his friend's relief at his dismissal of a very personal subject. "Go on."
Giving Mulder a small, hopeful smile, Marvin answered, "I'm off then. I have no idea when I'll be back, but I won't disturb you - I'll sleep in the garage."
The garage, nestled in a grove of pecan trees behind the mansion, was really a house in itself.
With room for a dozen vehicles, its upper story consisted of several bedrooms, a bathroom, and kitchen. In years past, it served as quarters for the chauffeur and mechanics employed by the estate. Even before the advent of automobiles, it had been home to the horses and carriages used to cart the master's family wherever they wished.
It wasn't rundown, but neither was it cleaned regularly. "Marvin, you don't have to -"
"I insist. I'll be quite comfortable, Fox. And even if it's very late before I return, I'll be on hand at eight in the morning to serve breakfast." With a curt nod, he departed before Mulder could protest.
He had a feeling there wasn't much he could have said to dissuade Marvin, anyway. Once the little man made his mind up about something, there was no changing it. Which made his acceptance of Scully a miracle, really. He knew Marvin had based his preconceptions of Scully on Melvin's praises - but he also believed Scully to be a cold woman who easily gave up her child and let Mulder slide into near oblivion. No matter what Mulder said in her defense, Marvin partly blamed Scully for Mulder's unhappiness and isolation.
But now, with her firmly ensconced in the mansion, he contrived to give them time alone even if it meant he had to put his manhood in jeopardy by escorting Bombay this evening. Favor or not, Marvin would not have agreed to be Bombay's driver... unless by doing so, Mulder benefited. Marvin could easily have arranged for a limo service in payment.
Mulder looked out over the grounds, hands in pockets. Marvin was an exceptional employee and friend, and he once again counted himself lucky to have him. Even if all his machinations were likely destined to be for naught.
Lost in thought, he didn't hear Scully approach until her voice came from the open door.
"Marvin's gone?"
He turned, and at once was sucker-punched by the need to gather her close and never let her go.
He thought she'd looked breathtakingly sexy in his shirt this morning, but if possible, she looked even better after her shower. All soft and infinitely touchable in her faded jeans and sneakers, her dove gray sweater seeming to cling to her every curve, even if it was designed to flow loose. He felt his mouth water in anticipation of putting his fingers to the lightweight fabric, knowing it was thin and guaranteed to let the warmth of her skin seep through. She looked cuddly and downright kissable, her face clean of makeup and her hair waving to her shoulders. He couldn't help but stare, and she noticed, dropping her gaze as she patted down the carefree, sun-kissed strands.
"I didn't take the time to do anything with it,"
she explained. "I'm tired of trying to look like I belong in Robert's world. That's been the worst part of this operation - having to put on the ritz practically every night."
He had to say it; no matter how she reacted, it was the truth. In a voice husky with desire, he took a chance. "You look beautiful."
She bit her lip with dismay. "Mulder -"
"I know you don't want to hear it, Scully, but I have to say it," he interrupted, watching the afternoon sun turn her hair into a fiery halo.
It almost hurt his eyes to look upon her, as if she were a goddess not worthy of his mortal adoration. "I know we have a lot to talk about, a lot of work to do. I know part of the reason you stayed was because you need my help, and I need yours. But -"
"I do need your help," she whispered, mimicking his defensive pose, her arms wrapping around her waist. "I thought I could do this alone, Mulder.
I really did. And if we end up apart again -"
"We won't," he vowed, taking a step forward. She was already talking herself out of commitment, for fear of abandonment.
"I still wouldn't change this day," she finished softly, looking up at him with a misty, happy gaze. "I want to stay with you, Mulder, for however long we have. And today, I want to just be with you. No work, no fighting, no wondering if tomorrow we'll go our separate ways again."
A goofy smile took shape on his face. "So... how do you suggest we pass the time?"
Rolling her eyes, she closed the distance between them to grab his hand. "Show me around your estate, Mr. Robie. I've never been on a plantation before."
As they strolled down the sloping lawn, he squeezed her fingers, loving the way her palm fit perfectly to his. "I know what this is... you just want to hold my hand," he quipped, a tremor of joy in his voice. "Admit it."
Her smile was atypically broad, her laugh rolling over the grass with the breeze. "You know me too well, Mulder." He almost tripped when she added softly, "But I bet you didn't know I hate to play pool."
The vision of them entwined on the red baize of the pool table that had been flirting around the edges of his brain fizzled in an instant. Damn.
Was she saying what he thought she was? He didn't know. Years ago, he'd almost become adept at catching her every mood, especially those with sexual overtones. When they became lovers, he'd learned to read the most minute hint of desire on her face - or lack thereof. No longer; he felt as if he was picking his way carefully through a mine field. When he realized she was waiting for his reaction, he forced a calmness to his voice.
"Got me on that one, Scully."
Just as she had him in most every other way. And she knew it, the witch.
"Then I suppose you're back to ninety-eight point nine, aren't you?"
In gauging her thoughts, he doubted he ever rose above fifty percent. Not a very auspicious beginning to the afternoon, he realized.
"Then again," she continued, "I probably hate pool because I'm not very good at it."
He halted at that, pulling on her hand to make her look at him. Her eyes were smiling, and so full of cautious optimism he felt sure his 'confidence ratio' would soar in the hours to come.
With his other hand, he brushed the hair from her face, his thumb lingering on her cheek. "I'm *very* good at pool, Scully."
"You are?"
He nodded, answering her smile with one of his own. "A regular shark. My middle name is Jaws."
She pulled him along toward the gardens, chuckling. "Good. That means you'll be right at home in the hot tub, too."
Oh yeah. Life was good.
End Chapter Fourteen
Truce
Chapter Fifteen
Disclaimer, etc. in Headers
Note: Special thanks to Audrey Roget and Sybs for pulling me together on this one.
"You neglected to tell me you had a producing natural gas well on the estate."
"You mean besides me and Marv?" Mulder held the kitchen door open for her, his light-hearted reply intended to keep the lid on her curiosity. Truth was, his wealth was an embarrassment more than a source of pride, and he wished she'd stop with the little digs. She wasn't accusing by any means, though he could tell from her sometimes narrow looks she wasn't too pleased he'd kept his money a secret all these years.
She ignored his joke, throwing over her shoulder, "And a stable full of quarterhorses, and a vintage Porsche in the garage..."
"Scully..." All jokes aside, he was seconds away from kissing her to shut her up. Which wasn't all that bad of an idea, really.
"Any other sources of income I should know about, Mr. Robie? A gold mine under the pecan orchard?"
"It's pe-cahn, not pee-can," he pointed out, impatient with her sudden obsession with the trappings of his new life.
"*Pe-cahn.* I see." She stilled; he could feel her mind working from where he stood. "And just how much did your 'pe-cahn' orchard bring in last year, Mulder?"
Damn. He should have known she'd pick up on just why he knew the correct pronunciation. He mumbled, hoping she'd let it go.
"What's that?"
"Almost twenty thousand pounds."
"In dollars?"
"Give or take a little, about ten thousand."
"Nice chunk of change."
She faced him, her eyes bright with mischief.
Throughout the tour, she'd peppered him with questions as easily as she did phantom touches and sly, promising glances. He realized then she was just teasing, especially in light of his chagrin at his wealth, something he never had the need or desire to have. Relaxing, he gave her a small, devious smile, intending still to extract his revenge. With words or kisses, either would do.
But words weren't nearly as fun as liplocks.
"So... what else is there?" Leaning against the ceramic-tiled island, she braced herself on her hands, tilting her face to his with confident challenge, as if she were throwing zingers once again across his desk in the basement. "I know your very own UFO tucked away in the attic of the barn."
His hands trapped innocently in his pockets, he moved close to her, ducking to avoid the copper pots hanging overhead. "All that came with the estate, you know."
"Even the UFO?"
Dipping to caress her upturned face with his gaze, he murmured, "Nah. Marvin had it shipped here from the Ivory Coast." She stiffened beneath his stare, jerking away to give him an incredulous look. "I had you," he said, watching her join in his grin.
"Big time."
"You had nothing." Her tone dropped an octave.
"But the night is young. I'd say there's still hope."
He couldn't answer. His voice seemed to be stuck somewhere between his aching dick and his muddled brain. He licked his lips, watching her watch him.
The past hour, while spent on a pleasant tour of the grounds, had frazzled his nerves with anticipation of what was to come once they got back to the house. The handhold persisted throughout the tour of the grounds, and had even escalated once or twice to nuzzles and kisses. But the openly sexual banter had dissolved to curious questions about the workings of the plantation and just exactly how much effort and time he spent upkeeping the place. He didn't know much about it all, he admitted freely, despite his knowledge of the pecan orchard; Marvin took care of all that.
But it didn't stop her inquisitive nature from coming to the fore, and he ended up cursing the wasted hour, wanting nothing more than to make love to her at every stop along the way. In the hay under the cobwebbed rafters of the barn, amidst the grease smell of the garage... he'd even pondered the logistics of the ancient hammock nestled between two pecan trees before he'd realized how moth-eaten it was. But Scully had either missed his amorous overtures or ignored them completely, which was more likely. He told himself over and over she was just being Scully. She wasn't the type of person to engage in sexual activity in a barn full of damp, musty hay... not when a soft bed waited inside.
Well, now they were inside. And he didn't know how much longer he could watch her, touch her, *smell* her without exploding.
A tempting smile and pinch of his sleeve brought him around. "No more discussing work. Or pecans."
"Yes, ma'am." He encroached further, his body taking up the advance in response to her playful mood. Their combined heat wafted up in the few feet between them and he swallowed down the urge to carry her upstairs like Rhett Butler. All this southern decadence was going to his head; he searched her eyes for any sign of reciprocity, and his breath caught at the warmth there. Maybe she'd been waiting until they reached the safety and comfort of the house... then again, he stopped short of reaching for her. They were in the *kitchen*, for Christ's sake. Should he just suggest they move this party upstairs? God, he felt like a boy with his first woman. Gathering his failing courage in the face of her warm response, he went for broke. "I can suggest a more lively topic of conversation."
Scully didn't move an inch, the demure upsweep of her lashes rivaling Scarlet O'Hara for a teasing, but revealing smolder of her light eyes. "Oh Mr.
Robie, how you go on." At least she hadn't copped a simpering accent, he thought gratefully.
However, her deadpan delivery and Mona Lisa curve of her mouth were enough to make his heart trip, especially when she added, "Whatever shall we talk about?"
"Who said anything about talking?"
She kept up the farce, cocking her head to one side, her jaw dropping with mock offense at his effrontery. "You mean..."
Placing a hand on either side of her, he almost shivered at the feel of the cold tile. He already felt as though his skin burned with a thousand little sulfurous points of fire, and it seemed as though his fondest wish of the day was about to be realized, from the come-hither look she bestowed upon him. "Yep." He licked his lips, groaning inwardly at the monosyllabic fool he always seemed to morph into when within inches of her delectable mouth.
"Oh, I get it. With your millions, you've finally learned the secret to harnessing the human brain's capacity for mental telepathy. Communication without moving a muscle. Thoughts transformed into electrical impulses, sent along neurons mastered only by those of superior intellect. Hate to break it to you Mulder, but I could read your mind years ago. All you had to do was ask me and I could have saved you a bundle."
Her *smart*, delectable mouth. Did she know how much Scullyspeak turned him on? Moving closer, he inhaled her clean, familiar scent and it threatened to go to his head. Oh yeah, she knew what she was doing to him all right. He twitched like an antsy thoroughbred at the gate, his nostrils flaring with anticipation. Slow down, he told himself. This precious time was something he never expected so soon and damned if he was going to rush. "Save me ten cents now," he murmured. "And tell me what I'm thinking."
"*Ten* cents?"
"Inflation, Scully." His thoughts weren't the only thing inflated at the moment, and he made sure she noticed, gratified when she spread her legs to accommodate his intrusion into the cradle of her pelvis.
"Ah, I see." The soft reply was delivered with a slide of her fingers around his waist, pulling him even closer. A brush of fine hair tickled his chin as she angled her head to fit under his. He heard her sniff softly at his jaw, felt her eyelashes mingle with the minute stubble of his evening beard. "Your thoughts... hmmm... perverted at the moment?"
God, she was *smelling* him. Like a small, sleek feline, she rubbed her nose against his skin. He jerked when her hands settled on his ass, her fingernails digging in a bit through the faded denim. It was all he could do to give her a croak in reply. "No. Well, unless you count the fact you figure prominently."
"I do? Am I naked?"
Sighing in overdone regret, he replied, "'Fraid so.
Guess I'm a pervert."
"Some things never change." The tip of her tongue on his chin punctuated her muttered, "Thank God."
"Scully." He'd had enough mind-reading to last a lifetime. It was time to get down and dirty.
Kitchen counter top, against the refrigerator door, the step stool Marvin used to access the pantry...
he didn't much care how or where, because he was about to howl and gnash his teeth if he waited one more minute to make love to her.
He opened his mouth over her temple, slowly roaming his way down to where he really wanted to be. As he meandered in the general direction of her jaw, she spoke once again, her words a glide of sultry promise that quickened the pounding pulse in his neck. "Can I just say one thing before we begin this momentous discussion?"
His lips a hair's breadth from her cheek, he swallowed, hoping she wasn't about to cut his legs out from under him. Scully had a knack for keeping a level head. Facing the wrong end of a gun, it was quite handy - but now was definitely not the time for good sense, not when they'd waited so long for each other. A shaky chuckle burst from his chest, one tinged more with dread than humor.
"Will it ruin my Mardi Gras?"
Silence greeted his playful remark for interminable seconds, and he closed his eyes, knowing by her hesitation he was in for a long, long, Lent. Damn it, he'd had enough of abstinence. "What is it?"
he asked quietly, pulling back, though he didn't let her escape from the entrapment of his arms.
A trembling laugh erupted from her mouth and she embraced him, her nose nuzzling the hard planes of his chest. Immediately, he reined her back into a hug, shuddering at intense feel of her small body in his arms. She was shaking, possibly even more so than he, and alarm made his hug tighten.
"Scully, you're scaring me. What is it?"
"I'm sorry," she murmured into his sweater, "I don't mean to scare you."
"Well, you're doing a damned fine job of it. What is it? Don't tell me you've taken a vow of celibacy... my brain may not remember everything that went on last night, but my body sure as hell does." And she'd all but said they'd made love back in the study this morning, though she hadn't come out and specified the exact *way*, using discretion in front of Marvin and Bombay. Okay, so maybe they hadn't had intercourse. Maybe, like an oversexed fool, he'd blown his load before he even got inside her. He groaned, remembering the subtle way she'd told him this morning she'd hadn't reached orgasm. "I can do better, you know." He repeated his vow of this morning, excruciating embarrassment making his face hot.
At that, she giggled. Really giggled. Even if it was at his expense, it felt amazing, with the way it rumbled through his sweater like a refreshing nip in the winter air. Hell, he'd embarrass himself at hourly intervals if it meant he could hear that the rest of his life.
"I know you can," she said softly, raising her head at last.
Instead of the wry self-confidence he expected, he saw similar discomfort in her pink cheeks and thoughtful gaze. Something was on her mind and she was determined to have it out before they tumbled into his bed. He didn't blame her; he doubted that once there, they would come up for air the rest of the day. Well, maybe for food later... though he'd gladly sacrifice his own hunger by feeding her in bed. Just the thought of picking crumbs off her naked skin with his tongue made him gulp with suppressed longing.
Her laughter faded as she searched his face, one hand leaving the cozy haven of his jeans back pocket to touch his cheek. "I'm not on the pill, Mulder. Please tell me you're prepared for this."
Like a moron he stared at her, his brain working to catch up with a body still in overdrive. In the next second, he realized what he'd done by waving Marvin off earlier. What *they'd* done by sleeping together the night before. He disentangled himself from her inviting embrace, backing off to turn and mutter, "Shit."
"Guess you aren't." Behind him, her voice turned dry as dust. "I didn't plan on this when I came down here, you know."
"I know." He could have succumbed to anger. Could have railed at her and himself for the careless way they'd backed themselves into a corner. But he didn't, sighing as he calmed down. "Now what?"
"If you think I'm letting you leave to find a drugstore, you're nuts."
"And if you think I'm letting *you* leave, you're crazy," he snapped back. "And before you say it, no, there's no drugstore in these parts that will deliver."
"Like you'd let a stranger beyond those gates, anyway."
"Damn straight. So I say again, now what?"
"Well, we could play Scrabble."
Facing her again, he took heart at the humor in her gaze, glad she found something to smile about in this mess. Still, lingering clouds in her eyes spoke of her worry that he'd put a halt to this magical time between them. He couldn't bear to break the fragile cord that held them together by letting a dim possibility overshadow the evening.
"Naked?"
The smile in her eyes faded to a steady stare and she walked to his side, placing one hand on his arm. With a gentle squeeze, she said softly, "I know now is not the time to bring all this up, Mulder. But I do have another reasoning behind my impulsive decision of last night."
"I'd say it's the perfect time. Shoot."
"William's conception was something I never questioned. Really, I didn't *want* to question it."
He knew that. It wasn't hard to discern her ambiguous feelings back then, even if he walked around in a half-daze for some time after his resurrection. Her fear of outside manipulation had been evident in every glance of her clouded eyes, every brush of her hand over her distended belly.
He wondered as she did - was her baby a product of a loving relationship? Or was the child a successful lab experiment brought to fruition by unseen hands? The in vitro fertilization hadn't worked - or so they thought. He remembered vividly how they fucked each other at every opportunity after the bad news, wanting so badly to make it so.
"Cancerman drugged me, Mulder. When I went with him to Pennsylvania. I lost several hours; he told me I'd been exhausted, but -"
"What?" Fury whipped through him, sweeping away his musings in broad brushstroke of seething purple. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Scully stepped back, the corners of her mouth pinched and white. "Because everything worked out fine. And admit it, you weren't in any mood to listen to details of my 'fucking stupid' trip, were you?"
"I'm still not," he snorted, moving away from her as he tried to rein in his temper. "Hell, Scully.
I wish you'd told me this."
"What difference would it have made? You weren't happy with me in any case." She sighed, waving a hand in dismissal. "Doesn't matter. What matters is it scared me. I thought about that for months afterward. He could have done anything to me, Mulder. *Anything*."
His anger died in an instant. "But you've been fine since then, haven't you? You've been checked out?"
"Of course." She approached him, reacting to his worry with a softer voice. Eyes bright with the plea for understanding, she went on, "But don't you see, Mulder? No one can be trusted. Parenti was working for 'them'. God only knows who they had in their circle. My doctors, yours." She hung her head, her words paper thin. "Much as I want to believe in miracles, I can't deny the evidence."
Mulder gathered her shaking form to him, closing his eyes against the pain he felt bleed from her.
"He's ours, Scully. DNA doesn't lie."
"I know he's ours," she whispered, holding on to him like they were two lost souls drifting at sea.
"It's how he came to be that's in question."
He fell silent at the confirmation of his greatest fear. As long as Scully held on to her beliefs, he could ignore the facts. He could pretend, as she had, that William was the miracle he'd told her never to give up on long ago.
"Last night, I think I finally admitted it to myself. We don't know how I conceived, Mulder - or if it even matters anymore. And even if it's the height of irresponsibility, I won't deny myself or you this chance at a bit of happiness. It may be the last we'll ever have."
"Don't say that." He pulled away to sear her with his steady gaze. "You know, irresponsible or not, there's one big difference between William and any future child we might have."
With a small smile, she warmed to his intense attempt to comfort and assure her. "What's that?"
"Me." Hands cupping her cheeks, he brushed away the hint of tears glistening under her lashes.
"You'll have a helluva hard time getting rid of me this time."
Her smile became blinding, though still a bit tremulous. "I kind of figured that." Her own hand came up to touch his face as she sobered. "I will do whatever you want, Mulder. The decision is yours. I accept whatever comes... as long as you're with me."
He thought of all the things he wanted to do with her - do *to* her. She'd taken matters into her own hands last night, and she offered him the same power with her words now. Pulling her into his arms, he settled his chin on the static-charged softness of her hair, hearing the little crackles their friction created. "Like I'd go anywhere without you."
"You have before."
The barb hit with subtle force, but the intent was not hurt. Rather, it brought home to him just how afraid she was he'd leave her once again. Did she subconsciously wish for pregnancy in order to have a hold on him? No, Scully had never used William as a pawn, and she wouldn't use any future children in that way, either. Not even in her deepest psyche would she be so selfish.
But the fear was there. Try as she might to hide it, or explain it away, it colored every word, every touch. She didn't cling or cry, or even hold him at a distance like she had days ago. In the face of her fear, she courageously offered him the truth. The decision was his, as she said.
So he took it, with both hands sealing their fate as he turned her face up to his. Pressing a kiss to her lips, he smiled.
"I have a request of my own, Scully." It wasn't all he had to say to her, but the rest could wait.
"What is it?"
"For once, we don't worry about what might happen.
Let's just love one another. Sort of like the honeymoon we never had."
A teary smile graced her lips. "A honeymoon?
Mulder, we never had a wedding."
"Sure we did. What - you don't consider 'you're my one in five billion' an appropriate wedding vow?"
Her chuckling sniffles warmed his chest as she nuzzled him. "Ah... the good stuff."
"Damned right it was." One more kiss to the shining cap of hair, then he continued, "It's getting late. You want dinner in the dining room or on the patio?"
"The patio?" Head raised, she looked up at him with a crinkled brow. "Mulder, we still need to talk -"
"We will," he promised with a sincere nod. "First, I feed you. But you gotta tell me where you want me, because I owe you one, remember? And I have a feeling once we eat we won't get very far before you have me at your mercy. Anywhere but the pool table... my knees aren't that good anymore -"
Her trepidation fled in an instant, replaced by wary happiness. "You mean I won't get to see 'Carcharodon carcharias' in action?"
She was the only woman he'd ever known who could turn him on with hard C's of Latin.
"Talking dirty to me won't change my mind about the pool table, Scully."
Eyelids at half-mast, she replied softly, "Fix me dinner, Jaws. We'll discuss the finer points of billiards later, okay?"
The view really was spectacular, she had to admit.
Even if winter was waning and patches of dormant grass overwhelmed the green still, the sheer expanse of the estate, with its moss-covered oaks and breathtaking gardens, was a sight to behold.
The whole panorama probably burst with color in the springtime and it was with faint regret she realized she probably wouldn't be there to witness the renewal of life. Mulder may think they'd always stay together, but she'd learned there were no guarantees, no fantasies to be lived out beyond the moment at hand.
Stop thinking, she admonished herself. Tonight is for reunion and rejuvenation, not dismal thoughts of what might come to pass.
It wasn't hard to banish thoughts of departure, especially at the sight of the setting sun behind the pecan grove. Its dying rays cast the flat lawn in dappled shades of orange and brown. She lazed in a hazy cloud on the back patio, having found her way to the hot tub via the game room. Mulder had yet to show her all the rooms of the house, and when she'd left him in the kitchen, the completion of the tour was the furthest thing from her mind.
Knowing that they needed a bit of space, he'd suggested she find a cozy spot for dinner while he threw something together. The billiards table beckoned for a mischievous instant before she decided on more soothing climes.
She had to admit, she needed a breather from his tempting presence and the hot tub was the perfect place to relax and regroup. Mulder wasn't displeased with the decision she'd made last night, but she could tell she'd given him something to think about. And she couldn't blame him, really.
For once, she'd taken a path not carefully thought out in advance. Even when she'd come to New Orleans that first time as Ana, she'd stuck to the plan. She told herself back then that using Mulder for release from her self-imposed sexual rigidity made no difference, though it hadn't taken long to realize what a difference it *did* make.
Now, she'd thrown caution to the wind once again.
Taken what only he could give her in a greedy grasp, without his knowledge or consent. It was a wonder he hadn't gotten angry at her foolishness; but then again, she'd effectively managed to trap herself in this mansion after a half-hour's lapse into lust and he knew it. She wanted Mulder. She *needed* Mulder. No amount of denial would suppress her desire for him, for his presence and touch.
"Scully!"
The frantic call from the object of her greed brought a grin to her face. "I'm here!" She supposed she should feel a bit guilty about making him search the house for her, but she knew he'd be happy when he found her. Especially when he realized the state of her undress.
A slim shadow over her shoulder froze in place and she murmured, "I raided your bar. Hope you don't mind that I started without you."
One arm drifted up out of the bubbling water to reach for her glass of wine. She took her time, waiting for his response to her overt invitation.
He said nothing and, as the moments dragged by, her bravado faded. Had she been too bold? Yes, they both knew what was destined to happen, but she'd never been one to be so obvious. Previous bouts of lovemaking had been stolen hours for them, always aware of the threat beyond the walls of their respective apartments. An awful thought made her suck in a breath - maybe he'd had time to think it over. Maybe the diversion of making dinner had been a ploy on his part to cool things down, to make them both stop -
Her anxious thoughts were cut short with a huge splash; blinking, she wiped away the sting of chlorine-laced water, sputtering, "Mulder?"
His wet, grinning face came into view. "Call me Jaws." One hand lifted the glass from her fingers before she could sputter a reply. Bare, golden arms trapped her against the side of the hot tub and she gulped, feeling his scratchy legs brush hers. "Want some..." he looked over her shoulder, "... peanut butter and Wheat Thins?"
"That's dinner?" She grabbed hold of his waist to steady herself. "What have you been doing all this time?"
"Well, the crawfish pie is thawing in the microwave."
"That takes all of thirty seconds. What else?"
"Took me a while to find the peanut butter.
Marvin, I discovered, alphabetizes the pantry."
"Another minute. And?"
"Ah, but there's the rub - the peanut butter was under 'B' for butter."
"Mulder." She could see he'd been up to something by the flash of guilt in his eyes.
"Changed the sheets on my bed, put on my smoking jacket -"
"Smoking jacket?"
"Quilted. Nice. You'd love it. Fits John Robie to a 'T'."
"Mulder."
"I hate it. Thank God I found you naked. I can strip in twenty seconds flat, did you know that?"
"So that leaves twenty-eight minutes and ten seconds. Care to enlighten me?"
"I've been thinking." His mouth glided over her cheek; she inhaled, feeling as if all the humidity in the world enveloped her in a steamy blanket.
Nice.
"You feel good," she murmured against his skin.
"So do you." A firm hand settled on her back to pull her closer. "So good."
Mischief made her lean back; she stilled his amorous pursuit with a hand to his face. "Thinking about what?" As if she didn't know.
Glazed eyes swept over her face and he licked his lips. "Don't stop me now, Scully."
"What were you thinking about?"
"About you. About how I missed you. And other stuff."
He curled around her and she once again realized how lean and hard he'd become. His physicality almost frightened her - it was as if he'd spent the last months in training for the final battle of his life. With her? No. More likely with the men who'd ruined his chances of ever having a normal existence. His sheer wolfish mien told her he wasn't backing down this time. Hope, that once fleeting feeling she'd learned to live without, blossomed up in her chest, making her giddy.
"Would the 'other stuff' include sex?"
The water swirled around her, rushing between her legs, which floated with increasing lethargy at his encroachment. Suddenly, their positions reversed; she found herself straddling his lap.
"Sex? What's that?" His reply was directed in the general direction of the foam covering her breasts.
She tipped up his chin to give him a censuring, yet laughing scowl. He closed his gaping mouth with a swallow. "I was thinking you'd change your mind.
I wouldn't blame you, you know. Life with me - in the best of circumstances - isn't a picnic."
Sometimes Mulder was too accommodating for his own good. She wished for the man she'd found in New Orleans, the one who didn't hesitate to make his needs and desires known. But she knew he wouldn't surface until she asked.
"Who needs a picnic? I like chaos."
"Chaos would be the pool table, believe me. The hot tub demands deliberation. Order."
"So order me." Her look told him she was dead serious. "Make me stay, Mulder. Make me tell you 'I love you' every day. Make me never want to leave. It wouldn't be so very hard, you know. All you have to do is make me."
He was all muscle and heat beneath her and her stomach fluttered with anticipation, reacting to the long-forgotten feel of his body. His long form, all arms and legs and curves and contours, felt so familiar under her slick fingers. But at the same time it wasn't, especially his face.
She could pick out the threads of silver in his wet hair, just faintly count the more prominent lines at the corners of his eyes in the muted light from indoors. He looked older suddenly, more world weary as he never had before now. With his loss of weight had come a definition marked by the hollowness of his cheekbones, made more dark by the flush of desire. His eyes, heavy-lidded and tinged with minute drops of glistening water, spoke of the joy to come, as did his husky reply.
"Don't leave. Stay with me, Scully. Tell me you love me."
His hand crept up her back to tangle in the clinging mass of her wet hair; without a word, she met his kiss, opening her mouth to his enveloping ardor. Lips and tongues entwined, breath became one. A soft moan erupted in her throat at the feel of his cock between her legs. Shifting, she tried to bring him into her. "I love you, Mulder. Do whatever you want with me."
"Whatever I want?" His chuckle was breathless, the fingers of his free hand wrapping around her thigh to hold her still. "Are you sure? I could make you beg, you know."
"God, Mulder," she said, biting gently at his lips.
"I'm counting on it."
"Then let me do what I want," he said against her lips with soft insistence, ignoring her unspoken entreaties for union.
She didn't know how much longer she could wait. He seemed to sense how she hovered on the edge without more than a kiss and a brush of skin on skin.
Bringing her body up to his lips, he nipped at one taut nipple, his hand moving from her thigh to caress her folds. At the first touch she jerked, so sensitive to the rough pads of his fingers she felt her face flush with heat.
"This okay?" he chuckled, the hum over her breast making her grip his shoulders. "Deliberate enough for you?"
"God, Mulder," she breathed into his ear, feeling one finger slide over her warmth in a long pull.
"Any slower and I'll melt right here. Please..."
Words left her in a gasping plea for quick release.
His power over her was undeniable; like a rag doll, he maneuvered her to face him, keeping her aware of his burning gaze with the hand at her nape. "Look at me," he demanded, the scratchy words almost harsh.
Face all sharp angles, mouth tense, he worked her slowly with his fingers and cock, using both to tease without entry. The control he exercised affected him as well - if she hadn't known him as lover before, she could swear he had ice in his veins. But she did know him, knew the glitter in the eyes darkened and dilated, recognized the way his voice dissolved into the gravelly crunch of a thousand pieces of broken glass.
"You're mine, Scully. No more running away."
"No." She tamped down the lingering fear that she'd be driven away somehow. If her will counted for anything in this world, then she was his forever. "I promise."
"You get pregnant, I'll chain you to me. You realize that, don't you?" She arched into the slow entry of his finger into her warmth. "Don't you?"
"I do," she murmured, gripping his neck as he did hers. Lowering her chin, she kissed him, offering him a vow of commitment. It had been a long time coming, and she knew all the words that had come before were meaningless compared to this moment.
"I do - oh!"
A jolt of pure electricity shook her as he found a spot he knew well. "Nothing's going to take you from me," he growled. "No one will dare separate us again. C'mon now... come for me."
God, she was close. He mimicked the act of lovemaking with his fingers, sliding in and out with increasing friction. Bracing her knees on the rough bench beneath him, she jackknifed up, the cooler air above the water pimpling her shoulders and breasts with fine gooseflesh. Relentless, he followed with his mouth, closing his lips over a breast made heavy with arousal.
Only Mulder had ever been able to make her lose her head, and she did it now, twisting above him like a wanton, little cries of pleasure rolling from her like pounding waves over silky sand. Another piercing catch, then another, and she stiffened, her head falling to his shoulder as he caught her close.
"That's it, Scully, that's it," he muttered over her racing pulse, his voice hitching and breathless.
Long seconds stretched by, the roar in her ears slowly replaced by the muted popping of bubbles as she went limp into his embrace. The whirlpool rose up as she fell into its subtle fury; she gasped one last time when she felt his fingers give her a final curl and squeeze before pulling out.
"Better?" he asked with a grin in his voice, his tongue sweetly scraping the sweat and chlorine from her cheek.
"Oh yeah." Mind clearer now, she moved with a resumption of her usual command of things. Losing control was fleeting and fine now and then, but taking control was infinitely more her style. "But now I get to do whatever I want with you."
"Order me around?"
"Actually, at this moment I have a need for chaos."
He groaned and let his head fall back against the edge of the hot tub as she pulled his rigid, straining flesh into her. "And you're going to give it to me. Aren't you, Mulder?"
"God, yes."
End Chapter Fifteen
Truce
Chapter Sixteen
Disclaimer, etc. in Headers
Everything was hot, roaring in his ears, his cheeks feeling as though flames licked at their flushed contours. Even his fingertips felt like they were on fire; moments ago they'd been cool and assured.
Now, they shook with the need to grab onto something, to assuage the scorching heat of the red they touched. But like a slick new swathe of silk, his fingers found no purchase in its folds.
He'd fooled himself into thinking he would have it always. With typical arrogance, he'd gotten used to it, never missing it until it was gone.
It wasn't the angry red of years past, tinged with jealousy and the pain of dreams never to be fulfilled. This red was pure desire and raging passion, something he'd never seen before. He knew it not by the shade of gray but by the true, blinding color he perceived at last. He could see it. Touch it with his body, smell it on her skin.
Pinpointed in the darkness by the single light above, it filled his mind with the throes of its birth.
He welcomed the unfamiliar sensation as one who'd spent his whole life with gray for red, the dismal non-color a constant reminder of his physical frailty. He embraced the strength of the color, loved it and cherished it, realized he had the chance to always keep it close. With her. Only with her.
Scully's face swam before his eyes, flushed pink with arousal, drifting on the makeshift pillow as she sought release. Lips bitten rosy as she climbed higher to the pinnacle, she was difficult to look at, as fleeting as the color red. He wanted to keep the image in his brain forever, in full Technicolor. He'd remember this moment from now on, but would he retain the red?
Moving as he was, wrapped in the roping strength of her bare legs, thought and remembrance were almost impossible to grasp. His smooth fucking became jerky and he grimaced, feeling himself get too caught up, thinking too much.
As if sensing his struggle to hold on to the feeling, she dropped her hands from around his neck, her face relaxing, her body dissolving into submission. Slowly, she spread her arms above her head, twin lines of pale muscle and fragile bone.
They looked so white against the red, inviting his possession. Head angled on the black silk, she closed her eyes, offering herself as permanent sacrifice to his memory.
Hands that were moments ago seeking color calmed, having realized the treasure was within reach.
They glided up her flesh and his fingers curled around her wrist bones. As he captured the stunning strength of her gift, he felt her plant her feet, her hips lifting up to change his angle of penetration. With a groan born in the depths of his chest he loomed over her, taking her with renewed purpose.
His name came from her lips in a choked whisper.
Around his flesh, he felt hers clench in rhythmic waves as she reached orgasm. He worked harder to stay within her, thrusting deep with short, quick strokes. Trembling, careful not to crush her with his full weight, he leaned down to touch her hair with his lax lips. As she slowly melted into relaxation, trying her best to stay with him, he finally came. His knees anchored her hips as he ground into her, feeling her feet leave the hard surface beneath them to dangle over his calves.
Over and over he pulsed into her, his guttural cry one of satisfaction and triumph.
Boneless, he rested lightly upon her soft body, his nose filled with the scent of red and... chalk. He sneezed into his wrinkled smoking jacket and groaned, feeling his body give one last jerk.
Smooth move, he thought with mortification.
Scully's breasts tickled his sweaty chest and he realized she was giggling. Trying her best to be silent about it, but it was there.
Great. Just about the best sex of his life, and he spewed from both ends.
"Sorry." Her squeaked apology lowered to a sultry murmur as she added, "Would it help if I said even the sneeze was fantastic?"
He absorbed her laughter into himself, lifting his head to catch her twinkling gaze. In the light from the single lamp above, she was unbelievably defined. He'd never seen her so clearly, so untamed and natural. Red on black on red... her hair wild and tangled in his smoking jacket, laying upon the vivid crimson baize.
"Thank you for indulging my whim, Mulder."
"My pleasure," he drawled, wondering if she had any other whims as mind-blowing as that one. "Think you've got it down now?"
"What?"
"Pool."
"Hmm..." Scully ran one hand over his thigh, giving his knee a squeeze. "That's up to you, I suppose.
As my instructor, would you say I've mastered it?"
"You've done well, grasshopper. In fact, I'd say you taught me something."
"Like what?"
Like a new appreciation for the color red? She'd think he was nuts if he claimed to finally see it.
"Like my knees aren't as bad as I thought they were."
"Neither are your pool moves, Jaws. We'll have to try that again someday."
Mulder swallowed, wishing they could stay there forever. He hadn't nearly had enough of red yet.
Maybe another round on the pool table wasn't a bad idea. The thought was quickly discarded as he felt the sudden pinch of muscles unused to making love on what felt like cloth-covered concrete.
Groaning, he dropped his head to her shoulder with regret.
"Scully?"
"Yeah?"
"Would you mind helping me move?"
Like she'd finished the Bureau class on selfdefense just yesterday, she rolled him over. One quick, strong move and he found himself flat on his back, his jacket shoved under his head. Her smiling face hovered over his. "Better?"
"Except for the cue ball up my ass, I'm fine."
Pressing a kiss to his lips, she murmured, "Chaos will do that to you, I suppose." In an instant, her soft smooch had turned devouring, her teeth pulling at his lower lip. "Since you feel so fine, I have another idea."
"Does it involve a bed? Please say it involves a bed."
"It's not even midnight, Mulder." Her gaze shifted to a point past his head, then back to his, heavylidded with desire. "Bet we can make that pinball machine tilt."
"I had you," she said, accepting the bite with a smile. So the crawfish pie was well past the point of edibility by the time they'd made it beyond the game room. And even if she couldn't make him admit he'd fallen for the pinball machine gag, she couldn't say she was dissatisfied with the change of venue.
Eating on fine china in the middle of Mulder's bed, a bottle of very expensive Chardonnay close at hand, a very tousled, almost naked, uncommonly sexy man feeding her stale Wheat Thins and peanut butter - it just didn't get any better. Especiially since she'd made him weak with the possibility of tackling pinball sex.
"You had nothing." He echoed her earlier words with a slightly miffed curl of his eyebrow as he popped another cracker into her mouth.
"Why can't you admit it?" she mumbled, scraping the stickiness from the roof of her mouth. She declined the next cracker with a shake of her head.
"You can't shut me up, you know."
"Don't I know it." Mulder deposited the plate on the night stand, asking her with a nod if she wanted more wine. She gave him her glass, silently responding no with another shake of her head, while her eyes dared him to keep to the subject. He sighed, standing. "All right. Maybe I was just a little..."
Wrapping his smoking jacket a bit tighter around her waist, she stood also. From the opposite side of the bed, she gestured for him to grab the coverlet. "Gullible?" she offered, watching his face come and go as they vigorously tented the coverlet. Crumbs fell in a shower to the floor; she'd have to vacuum before Marvin returned. She didn't want to piss off the fastidious man - it was bad enough he still tended to look at her like she'd stolen Mulder's puppy.
"Can you blame me? We'd just rocked a hundredyear-old billiards table." He tucked the spread into the crack at the foot of the bed. "Forgive me if I had no trouble picturing you bent over a pinball machine. I had no idea you were so -"
"Sex-crazed?" God, she was having fun. Free to talk, free to smile and joke and have the wildest sex of their relationship without wondering if the walls had ears and the smoke alarm cloaked a hidden camera.
"Inventive," he amended with a grin. He turned out the light and got beneath the covers; when she joined him, he caught her close. "I think 'sexcrazed' would eventually kill me."
She snuggled into his warmth, letting the peace of the night settle around them with a smile. For once, she felt like they were truly together. As if the house was the safest place in the world, as if they need never leave again. She supposed if she asked, Mulder would see to it that they never would. They could live out their lives in comfort beyond her meager imagination, waited on hand and foot by Marvin, only venturing out in the impregnable armor of the limousine.
But she didn't want that, and she knew he didn't either. To savor one night of carefree loving was a given, but neither would sacrifice true freedom for the sham of hiding. Or would they?
"Mulder?"
"Hmm?"
"If we don't succeed -"
"Don't even think it." His arms tightened around her as if he thought she'd vanish into thin air.
"But we have to, don't you see? What if we can never be free?"
"Scully, we're free now."
"We aren't," she sighed, rolling away from him.
"This is not freedom, Mulder."
He followed as she knew he would, curling around her back, his breath tickling her ear. "You said you wouldn't leave."
"And I won't." She grabbed the hand that laid over her heart. "But this isn't us, Mulder."
"Making love and eating peanut butter? All we need is Skinner breathing down our necks for expense reports, Scully, and we're set. Besides, I thought we weren't going to discuss work." At her tensing, he became more serious. "I know this isn't us, Scully. But why can't we win *and* have this? Why can't we have a happy ending now and then? I've got news for you - I like where I am, even though I never was one for being rich. I like knowing I have the means and power now to attack the enemy on an even playing field."
"Money isn't everything, Mulder."
"But you can't deny it helps, Scully."
"All the money in the world won't give me back my son."
The arms around her reacted to her soft statement, the muscles bunching around her waist. Beneath her ass, his legs shifted, putting just a hair's breadth of space between them. It was enough for her to sense stormy waters ahead. His answer confirmed her suspicions. "Even without money, I'll get him back."
Selfishness told her she should just agree. Say 'of course' and kiss him until they both drowned in the innocence of the night. As always, her mind overruled her heart. Instead of letting false peace guide her lips, she let the possibility come forth - as awful as it may be to contemplate.
Truthful though it was, it was guaranteed to cast a pall over the night.
"What if you can't?"
"I will."
"Don't do this for me, Mulder. I told you I wouldn't leave and I meant it."
"I'd do anything for you, Scully. I do *everything* for you." Anger hardened his voice.
"Whatever happened to 'not accepting defeat'?"
"Sometimes it's harder to fight for one person than to fight the whole world."
"And sometimes it's easier to give up than fight at all."
She faced him, noting the harsh planes of his face even in the semi-darkness of the bedroom. "Like I did when I gave him away?"
"Did I say that?"
In opposite to his rising tone, she kept her voice soft and even. "No, but it's what you meant, isn't it?"
"Well, if the shoe fits..." Mulder let her go with a quick jerk of his body; when she saw him pull at the covers, she quickly followed, stopping his flight with a hand on his back. Hunched over the side of the bed, his tense accusation matched the rigid line of his spine. In an instant, he'd relaxed, his tone softening. "God Scully, I'm sorry."
Well, she'd pursued and he'd fought back. So she shouldn't really be surprised, should she? The evening had been picture perfect to this point, like a dream. Then again, she had to wake up eventually. This wasn't the first time he'd thrown a barb about the adoption her way, only to immediately back off, even if this time she'd instigated it. Much as he retreated, she knew the words were a reflection of his hurt and sense of betrayal at what she'd done without his knowledge or consent. And they'd shoved aside the subject of William long enough.
With a sigh, she flipped on the bedside lamp and left the bed to walk to his side. "Why? It's the truth." She was tired of skirting the issue; Mulder, in his need to keep her close, had bitten his tongue since they'd been reunited days ago.
Though not the best time to resurrect old hurts, it seemed the moment had been thrust upon them and she was suddenly ready to clear the air. Doubts and mistrusts had no place anymore in their relationship.
"Why are you bringing this up now?"
"Why not?" She couldn't believe *she* was the one pressing *him* to talk. "Mulder, if I'm going to stay with you in this place, we'll have to find something else to do besides fuck."
"This from a woman who an hour ago nearly attacked me in the game room. I'll never be able play nine ball with Marvin again." He deliberately cracked a grin. But it was forced and not at all his usual easy smile. He wanted badly not to discuss William, as if by avoiding him, they could dream.
Well, that was too damned bad. Dreams weren't guarantees. Real life was what she wanted. She crossed her arms with warning. "Mulder."
"I can call Skinner, maybe have a few travel requests faxed over..." At her pinched look, he relented, standing to say in a more serious tone, "Look, Scully - we don't have to solve every little problem between us in one night."
"William is not a 'little' problem, Mulder. You obviously harbor some anger toward me because of the adoption." Lifting her chin, she issued the challenge. "Let's hear it."
He resisted, copping a defensive pose of his own, his hands on his hips as he tensed his jaw. "You say all *this* -" One hand waved at the opulence of the room. "Is not us. Neither is 'talking', in case you hadn't noticed."
"If I can get used to an overflowing bank account and a house big enough for an army, you can talk to me." At his silent refusal, she decided to prod until she made him talk. "Looks like I'll have to begin, won't I?"
"I wish you'd leave this alone."
"We don't always get what we wish for. Of all people, we should know that." She moved forward until he had no choice but to meet her steady gaze.
"It's okay to hate me for what I did, Mulder."
"I don't hate you!" Incredulity widened his eyes.
But his step back belied his sensitivity to the remark, and she took the opportunity to advance.
"I know what I did, Mulder. I gave away your son.
All I can say is at the time, I thought it best.
He needed a security I couldn't provide. An anonymity that would give him a chance to lead a normal life. I didn't have the means to hide him away and keep him safe. No safe house in the world would have been safe enough, given the ease with which the Consortium moved about the Bureau." She angled her head from side to side, trying to hold on to his wandering eyes. He was becoming agitated, something she very much wanted.
Agitation meant he was about to join in the fray.
"What would you have had me do?"
With a huff, he walked around her, the truth spilling from him at last. "You should have told me. I could have -"
"What?" With the breakthrough, she walked to his side, daring him to stare her down. "Taken him on the run with you? Jesus Mulder - you couldn't even sneak back into DC on a train in the middle of the night without all the wrong people catching wind of it! Don't tell me we could have worked it out, because we couldn't."
His hand came up to rub his nape; the jaw-cracking set of his mouth eased. Still, he didn't look at her as he replied softly, "I just wanted to see him, Scully. To see you. This is gonna sound stupid, but I was almost relieved when they caught me in Mount Weather. Because even though I was in prison, it meant I could at least see you both.
And then, to have Skinner tell me you'd..." His voice trailed off in a broken swallow of pain remembered.
Scully grabbed the opportunity; standing before him, she peered frantically into his face, her hands cupping his cheeks. "I'm sorry, Mulder," she whispered, fighting tears of her own. "If I had to do it over again, I wouldn't. I'd have kept him with me at all costs. I'd have left DC, found another life somewhere, with or without you. There isn't a day that goes by that I wish I'd kept him.
Don't you see that? If I'd known we'd end up here, I never would have let him go."
Her distress, evident in face and voice, made Mulder relax. Sweeping her up into his arms, he cradled her like a child, his murmur into her neck soft. "It's okay, it's okay."
She'd never been one for begging, for regrets and second thoughts. It was a new, painful experience, and she realized it was past time to admit her shortcomings. "All my life, I tried to do what Dad would do when presented with a problem - weigh your options, make a decision, then stick by it. If the path you took ended up being a mistake, then admit it. If fixable, fix it. If not, learn from it.
But God, Mulder - I can't fix this one. I don't know how. And I don't want it to pop up every time you feel the need to strike out at me."
Their son was lost to them. Quite possibly forever. Even with all his money and power, Mulder couldn't guarantee they'd ever get William back.
They had options, of course. Legal loopholes with which to obtain custody - lack of Mulder's signature on the adoption papers first and foremost. But it had been so long. Would it be wise to tear William from the only family he'd known? To do so could result in an even bigger mistake than the one she'd made in giving him up.
"I'm sorry." Mulder took a deep breath, his hands soothing over her shaking body. "I won't ever say anything about it again. About *him* again."
No, that wasn't what she wanted. She wanted to have William live in their minds, if he couldn't exist in their lives as a child they could cuddle and love. Mulder was a man who'd kept his sister alive for years, kept hope alive even now. She was a woman who suppressed memory and emotion to stave off hurt. It saddened her to realize she'd almost made him what she was. What she had been. No longer.
"I want you to talk about him," she insisted. "I want you to ask anything you want and I'll tell you all I remember, okay?"
"But you - I don't want to -"
"Make me unhappy?" Pulling back, she searched his sad face, giving him a watery smile. "Mulder, I need to remember William. I need to keep him alive and in my heart, just like you do." She didn't voice her dread that they'd never see him again, instead concentrating on keeping him close in the only way they could. "C'mon."
He resisted the tug of her hand for a moment.
"Where are we going?"
"We're going to see our son. Together."
It took him a while to settle down. He wasn't a bit surprised Scully knew about the files on his computer and like a child at Christmas, he dove into them with relish. He'd waited so long.
Waited for *her*.
He couldn't stop grinning, flashing through the photographs with non-stop enthusiasm. William in a supermarket buggy, reaching for Cheetos while no one was looking. William in the snow, only his eyes peeking out above the bundling. Most recently, William in the park, a brown and white mutt licking at his heels.
"Jesus, he's got my nose."
"He's beautiful, nose and all. Looks just like you, Mulder."
"He's got your chin."
"Stubborn?"
"Courageous. Determined. See how he's digging in the sandbox?"
"Looks like he's not making much progress. The dog will get to China before William hits sedimentary rock."
"He's methodical and thorough. The sign of a great analytical mind. If anything, I'm more like Joey there."
"Panting after me?"
"Funny." He shifted her in his lap, inching the mouse over the next thumbnail to bring it up in full, glorious color. "See? Got sand in my eyes from having the backhoe in third gear. And naturally, you sit there grinning with the 'I told you so.'" The next photo came up; boy and dog in a sloppy, cheerful embrace. "But your soft heart wins out and you kiss my boo-boo."
Her head slowly dropped to rest in the crook of his neck, her mussed hair soft against his jaw. She said nothing, just curled into him, her legs drawing up as if she wanted to dissolve into his body. The hand that had been absently playing in the hair at his nape stilled, and the other came up to lie upon his chest. He imagined his heart beneath her fingers surge up at the prospect of the close contact between love and strength. His own hand completed the melding, leaving the desk to cover hers.
He felt her sorrow drape over them, and knew she'd given in to her regret and guilt. It had always been there, skirting the edges of her face and eyes whenever she spoke of their son. When he'd foolishly tapped into it with his well-placed arrows, he'd seen it flare to life. Just as it did now... except this hadn't taken an arrow. All it took was one look at what she was missing.
"Thank you, Scully."
Her hand faced his palm to palm; the clasp was simple but invincible in its grip. "For what?" she whispered, her question husky. Sadness gathered in her voice, dwindling it to almost non-existence.
"I'm the one who gave him away."
"And tonight, you gave him back to me. Thank you."
She raised her tear-stained face to his. "As you've done for me."
Lips hovering over hers, he pushed away the cloud hanging over them once and for all. "Think I can take care of this boo-boo with a kiss?"
Her lashes fell and her voice trembled with lingering self-recrimination. "That's a mighty big boo-boo for one kiss."
"Then I guess I'll just have to use two. Or three. Or four."
As he touched her mouth, he felt her shake with new tears. So maybe he'd have to kiss her five times.
Or six. Or a thousand.
However many it took. They had forever.
End Chapter Sixteen
NO MORE