A Familiar Heart Chapter One Los Banos Internment Camp The Philippines February 23, 1945 Angels fell from the yellow dawn sky, their billowing white wings looking like fat, silky snowflakes. Against the chopped, guttural warnings of her fellow bunkmates, she drifted into the yard, watching with fascination as the dots became larger. They were beautiful. Silent and ethereal, they beckoned her. Come closer, they said. So she did, on stick-thin legs. "Stop," the voice behind her breathed, cowardly remaining behind the cracked door of the hut. "Scully! The hole - do you want to go back?" She paid it no mind, entranced by the way the angels floated to the ground in small twisters of dust. Not even the threat of the hole could stop her advance. Suddenly, the air became violent with sound and movement. The battle cries of the guards awoke the rest of the camp, and the screams of the imprisoned blended with the emerging rattle of gunfire. Chaos filled her nostrils, the acrid smell of mortar fire and panic forcing her trembling legs to move. Move to the fence, no - the safety of the infirmary. The Japanese wouldn't dare shell the sick prisoners, would they? Yes, they'd pulled out a week or more ago, leaving only a small administrative contingent made of two old men and a green boy. But they'd come back without warning just a few days ago, saying nothing, tearing down the makeshift stars and stripes with eyes that scoured the prisoners with hatred. Her defiance, wordless and proud, had landed her in the hole again, while the others slithered back to the huts. But she stood firm, sure the Allies would come to save them all, sad at the way the American flag was torn and burned. But now, she wasn't so sure. Would they really have only come back to make sure there was nothing left but ashes and charred bodies? To get rid of the prisoners as they'd done the flag just days ago, in a fiery funeral pyre? Rumors had flown about for weeks of an impending Allied invasion. The sounds of bombardment had filled the air to the north. Whispers among the internees carried tales of the liberation of Manila, with their own freedom just the next hill over. But she'd been here so long, she hadn't dared to give them much credence. Neither did any of the other nurses interned at Los Banos; they'd all become inured to hope and eventual salvation from the endless days of tending the wounded soldiers and civilians. No, no one was coming to help. It was more of *them*, it had to be. Disposing of POW's that had been forgotten long ago, like a child throwing away odd Lincoln Logs that no longer fit into the new, improved set. The Japanese Army had no more use for them, as a bargaining tool, or as extra medical help. And they certainly wouldn't blink twice at obliterating all trace of the women, if it meant hiding their treatment of them in the last months. She'd heard from one of the English- speaking officers last week that Konishi had ordered a massacre of a village not sixty kilometers from this camp - in a fit of pique at losing control of Santo Tomas. The bright light of freedom was unbelievably dim, and the horror of their captors' revenge was all too real. The thought, scrambled as it was with images of her father and mother as she last saw them, her brothers, proud and ramrod straight in their Navy blue, her sister... God, Melissa had been pregnant back in the fall of '41... all this and more made the decision for her. The fence or death. Her slight, malnourished form stumbled several times, until she hit the dirt with a sputter. Crawling, she refused to give up, though the fence was now nothing more than a blur. The laughing faces of the camp denizens swam up in her vision. Ishimaru, the guard with a gimp leg who had endeared himself to the nurses with his easy protection from the others' advances, stating that it was dishonorable to violate them. Sagi, the lone Filipino woman who was allowed in at weekly intervals to pick up laundry and deposit shined shoes. Finally, there was Zama, the cool, inhumane head doctor who used enemy soldiers - as well as a few of his own - in experiments his government was unaware of; she and the others had cringed in horror at the screams that came each night from the forbidden hut nestled in the back of the camp. They knew what he was doing, but were powerless to help. The whispers through the guards' ranks shook on his name... Zama, Zama. No one stood between Zama and his business, most certainly not the white nurses. Even though their blood was tainted by capitalist ideals and therefore suitable for the experiments by virtue of its lesser value, their notoriety as women captives apparently kept them safe from experimentation. Geneva knew of the nurses' existence, knew them all by name. They were best kept alive and in good health. It hadn't stopped the Japanese from putting her in the hole, however. And the hole hadn't stopped her from trying to thwart Zama's plans at every opportunity. But now, with Zama's stony face laughing at her miserable, hopeless attempt to flee, she realized that, tainted or not, her capitalist blood would soon stain the clumps of dried grass beneath her worn dress. The guns were getting closer, no matter to whom they belonged. Zama laughed still, his gray hair standing on end and his cheeks reddening with sadistic mirth, like a horrible caricature of a clown gone bad. Fear clogged her throat; as a child, she'd been afraid of clowns. Masks and wigs, painted on or not, hid monsters. The more Zama laughed, the more fright pumped through her veins. With a strength borne of absolute terror, she got to her feet, mindless of the bullets that zinged past her head. "Get down, get down!" The shout came at her from a place she'd not felt in more than two years - could it be? Beyond the smoke, beyond the gunfire, laid fresh air and home. She staggered to the opening in the wire that looked like someone had squashed it with an iron fist. Armored vehicles, dripping water from nearby Laguna da Bay, streamed in, separating their ranks to encircle the buildings. Soldiers poured out of the metal beasts, spreading out like ants across the yard, their clothes dark and indistinguishable as friend or foe. The sight gave her pause, and she fell to her knees, sure now that this was no bid for freedom. The gates of hell had opened, releasing the Nippon demons, and she cowered, crying out as she brought her hands to her kerchief-covered head. God, she couldn't go back into the hole. Her bravado of moments ago disappeared as the memory of almost suffocation in the black heat overwhelmed her. "No..." The language of submission, learned over the years from harsh taskmasters bent on erasing all trace of the English dog, spilled from her lips. "Teiryuu! Douzo!" A hand blackened with soot and gunpowder flashed before her face, and she gasped at the feel of it clamped onto her shoulder. "Get up! Move!" the voice attached to that huge paw barked, and she allowed him to pull her up, raising her head to look into the face of the devil. His eyes were hooded by the combat helmet, and his face was streaked with black paint, his open mouth showing her a slash of white teeth. They seemed to snarl at her, to balloon into a grotesque mask that was the most frightening thing she'd ever seen. "Iie! Iie!" No, no, she cried, certain this clown was bent on murdering her where she stood. "C'mon, God damn it!" He yanked on her arm, his rifle poised to fire, his eyes red with angry purpose. From behind her, she heard the gunfire pick up, and she twisted in the manacle of his hand, low pleas bleeding from her lips. But he stood firm, pulling her to the fence. "Lady, we're here to save you! Shut the hell up and quit fighting me!" In a mind so used to hearing the staccato raps of the Japanese language, his low, Yankee accent took time to penetrate. But it did, and she stilled, finally opening her eyes to dispel the hideous clown. It was as if the sun had penetrated the gloom of her existence, wiping away the thunderclouds of imprisonment. His face was defined under the war paint, with a strong chin and even more austere nose that slashed down the middle of his high, tense, cheekbones. And those eyes... she'd thought them black, but they weren't. Green? Brown? A flash of blue caught her eye, adding the final piece to the puzzle. A patch, blaring from the sleeve of his camouflage shirt, the number '11' emblazoned upon snowy white wings. He was an angel after all. Sent down from heaven amidst a balloon of white silk, here to take her home. Misty tears of relief blurred her vision and she sagged, sure she was in the grip of safety; if by nothing more definitive than the small grin that curled one side of that full mouth at last. "Blue eyes," he stated, winking as he dropped his voice to a purr. "How about those Yankees?" Baseball, mother, apple pie... she saw it all in his easy smile and promising, subtle clasp, as if he'd never let her go. Her lips parted in return and she felt a smile crack her sunburned cheeks for the first time in forever. His smile became mischievous, amazing in the dwindling melee that surrounded them. "Don't tell me - you're a Dodger fan. Must be fate." She wanted to tell him that she loved baseball, and yes, 'da bums' were in fact, her favorite team. She wanted to reach up and kiss his stubbled face, then wrap her arms about his solid body and let him carry her back to U.S. soil and the smell of horsehide and the feel of smooth pine... A voice from the other side of the yard broke into the haze that surrounded them. "Two of 'em!" it shouted. "Hospital windows! Get down!" The shooting that had died down momentarily picked up again, this time from behind and to her left. Ping, ping - then dull thuds, like an arrow hitting a target-covered bale of hay. Thomp. Ping. Thomp. "Down, down, down!" the voices all screamed, followed by "Captain! Down!" The smiling face before her froze for a split second, then he folded over her, shielding her from harm. A burning pain creased her collarbone, followed by a muffled *thump*. The hand holding her tightened, then went slack, and he started to fall. "Shit," he said with disbelief, his rifle hitting the ground in a puff of dust. "No," she whispered, trying her best to hold him up. But he collapsed beneath her like a felled tree, his beautiful eyes glazing over. She went with him, her slight weight no match for his brawn. "No!" A slim scarlet line blossomed from his chest, and she shut down her fear, automatically bringing a hand to cover the wound, all the while struggling to remember words - *English* words - of comfort. "Still," she choked out, her other hand whipping the kerchief off her shorn head. "L-lie still." Packing the dirty cloth over the hole in his chest, she smeared his blood on her cheeks as she swiped at her tears. One last word came from him, with wonder, as his gaze swept over her bright, painfully short hair. "Red." The whole world was now red, she thought. His bloodshot eyes closed, and her hands floated in a sea of his blood. She shrugged off the other hands pulling her away. "No!" "Ma'am, let go." "No!" "Give way, ma'am. Medic's here." The soft words filtered in, and she realized all was now silent. The Americans now had control of the camp; their guns were mostly silent, except for the lone, leftover shots into shadows. It was time to go. With one last look at the man that lay at her knees, she let the medic take over, knowing the wound was most likely mortal. She'd seen enough of misery and death to recognize it. Her hero, her savior, was dead. A flurry of soldiers surrounded her, their guns drawn against possible threat, the one who'd pulled her away speaking to her in low, muted tones. "Ma'am? Can you tell me who you are? Ma'am?" She watched the medics load him onto a stretcher; as they ran with him to a waiting truck beyond the fence, she found her voice. A normal, American voice. "Scully." It was all she could get out over the lump of sadness in her throat. But the soldier, obviously well-trained in his objective, smiled, adding the particulars himself. "Lieutenant Dana Scully, Navy Nurse Corps." His right hand snapped up, as he straightened and saluted. "Sergeant John Franklin, 11th Airborne Division. There's an Amtrac waiting for you, ma'am. We've got to hurry." He offered a strong, steady hand and she took it, walking beside him to the amphibious vehicle that had crossed the lake beyond the fence. She looked back only once, seeing the truck carrying her dead hero disappear in all the smoky sunshine. A fresh spate of tears crowded her eyes; she lowered her head, not wanting the sergeant to see her cry. Thankfully, he said nothing, as the vehicle lurched to movement. Home. She was going home. End Chapter One A Familiar Heart Chapter Two Outside Salt Lake City, Utah December 22, 1945 The snow was going to delay her arrival in Virginia, she just knew it. And her mother was likely to be furious, though not in any overt way. No, Christmas - if she made it there by midnight mass - was probably going to be a stilted affair, with her father's silent drinking punctuated by her mother's disapproving stares and sniffles of disappointment. That she was spending the holiday with them was usual, yes. But this trip was doubly necessary, when all she really felt like doing was letting the holidays pass without notice. New Year's nuptials demanded that she spend the week at her parents' house, with final preparations occupying most of her time. Thank goodness, she thought. Instead of avoiding personal differences, they could at least talk of the wedding. Scrambling around on details like guest lists and last-minute adjustments to music and clothing tended to leave little room for conversation. It wasn't like she'd never been able to enjoy her family's company, because she had. Before. In the time before she was reduced to eating rice mush and rats, before she chopped her own hair off because of head lice. Before she woke every night in the grip of a nightmare that ended with the sacrifice of an angel. Outside her window, she watched the pinkening, heavy clouds with wide eyes, blinking rapidly to dispel the sudden rush of tears. It would do no good to think of him - her savior. But it continued to dismay her to this day, almost a year later. She'd seen so much death in the three years she'd been imprisoned, first at Santo Tomas, then at Los Banos. Others had slipped away under her touch in the hospital; actually, given their horrid living conditions, most of them, she was certain, went on to a much better place. Why did his death make her feel as if the world had been pulled out from under her feet? Because it didn't have to be. If she'd only been more alert, more willing to believe that rescue was possible, then she'd have ceased her struggles and he would still be alive. She'd heard of only two deaths among the Allied troops and Filipino guerrillas that stormed the camp that day, and she knew he'd been one of them. MacArthur had praised the operation as one of the smoothest ever carried out by paratroopers and amphibious infantry - a model that would be studied by military students for decades to come. That they'd freed over two thousand internees with such minute losses was amazing. And if she'd hadn't been such a coward, such a timid, Japanese-speaking coward, he wouldn't have been one of the unlucky two. With a sigh, she touched the frost-bitten glass, wiping away the clouds from her mind and from the scenery. It was no use thinking of things she couldn't change. Pragmatic, like her father, she'd moved on from the war. Like him, she'd embraced the stateside Navy life upon her return from overseas. Life in the rigid confines of the military suited her. Her mother thought that the military was a means to an end; to find a husband, raise a family under the protection of the US government. Men like Bill Scully and his sons were allowed to make careers out of it, but it wasn't for women. But Dana had discovered in her time in Los Banos that there was more to living than waiting for the right man to come along. Medicine still held intrigue, and she'd taken a post at Oak Knoll Hospital in San Francisco, treating patients who were former POW's, like herself. She found that dealing with their traumatic recoveries helped ease her own anxieties about returning to normalcy. Only there a few months, it wasn't long before the doctors recognized her ability to spread the more efficient methods to dealing with the wounded learned firsthand in the internment camp. Using her vast experience in trauma and triage, she was tapped to teach others younger and more eager to learn. Not that she was that old, by any means. But at barely twenty-seven, she was considered an old maid by many of her peers. And the experiences she'd lived through had only added to her years. Still, she'd never had the time to walk through a different fire... the one called love. Fresh out of college, she'd joined up. A matter of months, and she was assigned to Corregidor in the Pacific. A matter of weeks, and she was captured along with most of her Nurse Corps Unit, living under the shadow of the Red Sun. Going home for this wedding brought home to her the emptiness she felt. She'd have to smile and tell everyone she was fine, when she wasn't. For the first time, she felt lost. Her life wasn't supposed to turn out this way, according to her mother. By now, she should have married - a military man, of course. A hero, like the one who'd shielded her body with his in Los Banos. And she was beginning to wonder if maybe her mother was right... there had to be more to life than seeking self-satisfaction in a job, albeit a very challenging one. A self-deprecating sigh trickled from her lips. She wasn't being fair to herself, or to the men who'd offered her companionship since returning to the States in June. Good-looking, capable men who were decorated and bumped up the ranks because of heroism... men who wanted nothing more than to settle down and raise a family. It wasn't fair of her to compare them to a dead man. She was being ridiculous; she'd seen him for what - maybe a minute or two? And suddennly, he was the epitome of her dreams? The dry beriberi she was brought out of that camp with must have dulled her brain. She was healthy now, and it was time to put those dreams aside. Get through Charlie's wedding, then, when she got back to San Francisco, accept the first invitation to dinner she received from a man. Time to live again. The snow had gotten heavier, and she had to slow her car to a crawl, cursing herself for her inattention to the matter of travel until what amounted to the last minute. Commercial travel, she found out yesterday, was booked solid. Trains, planes, even buses were overloaded with soldiers making their way home for the holidays. So she requested a few extra days leave and set out in her car. At the time, it seemed a good idea - if she could survive what she'd been through, surely a little cross-country trip was a piece of cake? Even in the winter. They had to keep major roads open; she'd put on the snow chains before hitting Salt Lake, and had made good time, thanks to the snowplow she'd followed for a couple of hours. But now, with darkness rapidly approaching, she knew she'd have to call it quits for the night before long. According to her map, there was a town about ten miles ahead. Piedmont. She could make it. Or not. A sudden lurch made the Buick twist and turn; she fought for control, but it was no use. A loud *pop* and she skidded to a halt half off the road, her head whipping into the glass of her window with a crack. By the time she woke up, her head was against the steering wheel and the smell of blood filled her nostrils. Not to mention the gigantic headache that made her moan when she moved. Quickly, she did a quick assessment of her body, thankful she could still move her arms and legs. The scrape on her forehead was wicked, but she didn't think she'd done any real damage. After pressing her handkerchief to it for a minute or so, the bleeding stopped altogether. Great. She killed the motor and tried to see where she was, but the windows were caked with ice. It felt like she was on level ground, but she couldn't tell. She buttoned her coat and shoved open the door. One foot, then two, and she stood beside the car, making her way to the trunk, where she retrieved her flashlight. When she saw where she was, she stifled a curse. From where she stood, she could barely make out the road ahead and behind. The car, while not suffering major damage, had a flat tire. It sat at an angle, half in what looked like a ditch. But when she heard the sound of water just beyond, she knew that ditch was no ordinary ditch. She thanked her lucky stars she hadn't rolled into whatever stream laid in that dark void below. Shining the light on the damage, she saw it was just a small puncture, easily fixed. But the angle of the car made it impossible to attempt; jacking it up could very well send it down the ravine below. It would take a tow truck to pull it out to level ground. And it was damned cold. Shivering, she decided to set out immediately for the nearest town. Grabbing her purse, she started up the road, tugging on her knit cap and pulling her scarf close, stifling the urge to loosen it. The trek up was more difficult than she'd thought. Rocks laid in wait under the blanket of snow, and she hadn't gone more than a few feet when her right ankle gave out and she dropped like a stone, flat on her face. Sputtering, she grimaced at the sharp pain. It wasn't broken, but it was a bad sprain. Hopefully, the added stability of her calf-high boots would see her through her hike along the road. Maybe a vehicle would pass, and she could flag it down. The situation wasn't hopeless, but she felt like crying, anyway. No, that wouldn't do, she told herself. She would crawl if she had to. She'd survived far worse. After a few torturous minutes, she made it to the road. Not a car in sight. The realization threatened to send her into a pity party, but she killed the urge to whine. She wasn't her father's daughter for nothing. A Scully, through and through. She hummed "Anchors Aweigh" as she began to walk, her head pounding in time with the imagined music. Before long, her gloved hands were feeling the pinch of the seeping cold. Keep going, she ordered herself. Don't give up. But her slight trepidation began to grow into worry, then fear. Even though only a few miles separated her from warmth and safety, she knew that hypothermia was a real possibility. She had to get warm, and fast. Now, instead of keeping her flashlight trained on the road in front of her, she swept the beam into the trees on either side, hoping for some sign of a dwelling. Inhabited or not, it didn't matter. She had to get out of the cold for the night; tomorrow was soon enough to try to make it the rest of the way. A meager light pierced the darkness to her right. She stopped, wincing at the weight on her ankle. It was a cabin, set upon the top of a hill above the tree line. A slim line of smoke trickled from its chimney, and in the dusk, she could make out lights in the windows. Sitting as it was atop the hill, the snow hadn't totally obscured it from her vision. If it had been nestled in the trees, she certainly would have missed it altogether. There had to be some sort of access road; a few limping steps more, and she found a parting in the trees. The snow-covered gravel crunched under her boots and she knew she was on the right path. The road was relatively smooth, recently graded. Someone lived up there, and took great pains to keep the road clear. Of course, after a while, she began to wonder if she'd even make it *that* far. The cabin, which had looked so close from the main highway, was, in fact, several hundred yards up. What once looked accessible turned out to be isolated by design. She crossed a wooden bridge, pausing to look at the rush of water below, shuddering to think how close she came to an ice-cold bath a half-hour ago. Almost there, almost there. She was beginning to feel a bit woozy as she trudged to the front door. It took every bit of strength she had left to raise her hand and knock. The pounding of her fist sounded pitifully weak to her own ears, and she wondered if whoever was inside even heard her. "Hello!" Damn, even her voice had given up the ghost, croaking out the plea, "I need some help!" No answer. Was anyone at home? She spied the boxy hulk of a Jeep peeking out from around the corner of a cabin, and decided this person was being mighty unsociable. Again, she knocked, using the last of her strength to beat with both fists. "Help me!" she cried, then swayed as a rush of heat warmed her face. The tall form silhouetted in the light beyond didn't look too happy, quickly confirmed by his growling, "This is private property. Beat it." The rifle in his hand only punctuated his displeasure at her standing on his doorstep. But she had nowhere else to go. Swallowing, she tried to explain. "My - my car. I have a flat. At the end of your road. Can I -" "No." "P-please," she stuttered, her teeth shaking with cold. "I can - I can pay you." "I said no." The door began to swing closed and she put out a hand, feeling herself falling forward. Sure she was about to make a fool of herself by fainting, she was brought up short by a pair of strong arms. Her eyes closed at the feel of his warmth, and she heard him mutter, "Damned woman." Lifting her frosty lashes, she found his face inches from her own, his jaw clenched with anger. A sharp tingle of recognition shot through her and she gasped. The high cheekbones, the full mouth, the days old stubble... but most of all, the eyes. She'd never forgotten those eyes. She knew he was bound to think her an escaped mental patient, but she said it anyway, forcing a shivering smile. "How about those Yankees?" His eyebrows drew together; it was the last thing she saw before she gave in to her exhaustion. End Chapter Two A Familiar Heart Chapter Three Fox Mulder stared at the unconscious woman in his arms, sure God was paying him back for all the lies and underhanded tricks he'd had to say and do in the last four years. He thought he'd suffered enough since February, but now he knew his personal hell wasn't yet over. All he wanted to do was be alone. At last, he'd had the chance. His grandfather's hunting cabin had seemed the perfect place to forget for a week or so, until he had to return to his work. No one ever came up this way; it was far enough up the main highway, and the 'posted' signs scared off any trespassers. But not this woman. A little voice in the back of his mind told him that maybe she'd not seen the signs. It could be an honest mistake. Then again, she could be here for a more nefarious purpose. He'd made a lot of enemies over the years, people who would love nothing more than to cut his balls off - women included. She didn't look at all familiar to him, however. Of course, the men he'd dealt with during the war had many ways of getting to an adversary - the most basic of which involved using a woman to distract and deceive. How about those Yankees, indeed. What better way to assure your prey of your patriotism than by talking about baseball? Hell, he'd bet his bottom dollar that underneath that knit cap was a head full of tinted hair... with black roots. He hadn't been able to get a good look at her eye color, but he'd seen foreigners with light eyes before, many of which spoke perfect, unaccented English. The war had brought a lot of students home from their years of study in the US; all of them quite comfortable with the language and customs. Enough to be immediately drafted into the Axis Armies as spies. It didn't help that he'd found out before he'd left a few days ago that he was being hunted. We know it's Chang, Skinner had said quickly. We're on his trail, and we should have him neutralized shortly. Take off a few days early, lay low. By the time you make it to the East Coast, we'll have Chang. Mulder had been furious, mostly because of his orders to hide. But he knew how valuable he was to his superiors, how they didn't want to take the chance he'd fall before the knife of an unseen enemy that many thought vanquished. He should have known better than to think his actions in Hong Kong would go unchallenged. Especially when, in a valiant effort at redeeming himself before departing for home at last, he'd managed to sever Chang's opium trade with a swift, severe blow. Dealing with the snake for five years had been difficult enough - it felt damned good to watch Chang's ships and dock go up in flames, to get a little buzz from the opium- laced smoke. The next day, he'd caught a transport home, wiring Skinner that the "China Moon" had closed shop forever. Shifting the dead-to-the-world woman in his arms, he hesitated about dropping the rifle, then remembered the knife in his boot and pistol in his belt under his flannel shirt. He had to do *something* with her; he couldn't stand in the door all night. Propping his rifle against the wall, he kicked the door closed and lifted her in his arms. Even covered from head to toe in bulky winter clothing, she hardly weighed anything. And pressing her close, he could feel the tremors of near hypothermia assaulting her body. Her lips moved with unconscious, whispered words. Leaning close, he let her warm breath tickle his ear, and he stiffened at the realization that the soft words she muttered were not English. They were Japanese. Almost unintelligible, but Nip just the same. Instantly on guard, his arms clamped around her, as he thought of his next move. How likely was it that a woman would show up here with innocent purpose? Not very likely, especially considering the damning evidence of her mastery of the Asian tongue. She was here to kill him, he was certain of it. But damn if she didn't look like Little Bo Peep, with her alabaster skin and blue eyes. Against his will, his body tightened, reacting to the soft feel of her in his arms. She weighed almost nothing, so light and downy. He wanted to bury his nose in her pink cheek and inhale her perfume. The sexual attraction was immediate and intense. All those years under Chang's watchful eye, he hadn't availed himself of the lure of the man's conniving prostitutes, and since returning home at the end of August, he'd been too busy with stateside business. He could have buried himself in her in a matter of minutes. He squeezed his eyes shut, banishing the lust to a dim part of his brain. No. He had to stay on guard. He turned with her, heading for the brass bed on the other side of the room. Assassin or not, she was in no shape to attempt any death blow at the moment, that was certain. He had time to assess the situation. But first, he had to rouse her - he wanted answers before calling San Diego. Then he would cheerfully hog- tie her and put an end to Chang's threat once and for all, with her as bait. Laying her on the feather mattress of his huge bed, he began to strip off her wet clothes. The coat and scarf came off first, then the boots. He struggled with the right one and she moaned a bit, giving him pause. Looking up into her still sleeping face, he decided she wasn't waking up, and gave a hard tug on the boot. It popped off her sock-covered foot, and he threw it on the floor. Quickly, he surmised the pants would have to go as well; they were soaked from the knee down. Her sweater was dry, a fact he blithely noticed as he frisked her for weapons, lingering a bit on the soft fullness of her breasts. Mentally slapping himself for his lapse, he pushed up the green cashmere to undo the button and zipper of her slacks, which gave way easily to his hands. He quelled a sudden rush of desire at the sight of the short, slim legs. Okay, so she had a great body, and he'd been too long without a woman. But that was no excuse to let his mind wander, even if she was a deadly operative bent on slitting his throat. He ignored the way the white satin of her panties clung to her hips, and pulled up the sheet and blankets. Backing away, he stood with hands on hips, admiring his efficient work. She looked small and lost in his bed, and very vulnerable. Good. Best to keep her that way. A quick search of her purse didn't even produce a driver's license, which wasn't surprising. He expected to find a gun or a knife, but didn't. Though the little amber glass vial filled with a powdery substance was the final nail in his coffin of suspicions. Poison. She'd planned to poison him. Knowing Chang as he did, he imagined it would have been a slow and horrible death, with no anecdote in sight. He gathered her clothes and draped them over a chair in front of the fireplace, quelling the urge to burn them. No way could she sneak out if she had no access to outerwear. But she'd have to wear something for her trip to jail the next day; besides, he wasn't about to let her get near them. The vial, he placed in his shirt pocket, where it would await the moment of her denouement. He made some coffee, stoked the fire in the fireplace, and sat in his rocker by the window, rifle propped on the sill. He reached into the waistband of his jeans and pulled out his pistol, then sat back to wait. ********** Two hours later, she still hadn't woken up, and he was beginning to fidget, wondering if he shouldn't have radioed the sheriff in Piedmont to send a Jeep out for her and just be done with it. But if he did that, then she surely wouldn't talk. Once in the clutches of local law enforcement, she could concoct any story she wanted. And with her looks - yeah, he had to admit she did have a classic beauty - she'd be on the next plane out of the country in no time. Lost forever, with her ties to Chang leaving with her. No. Once she woke up, he'd have his answers, and his pipeline to Chang established. Chang was in the States, that much they knew. Most probably working out of one of the California ports, re- building his trade routes, and seeking revenge on his old friend Mulder. He should have killed the bastard when he had the chance. He'd wanted to, many times. But loyalty to his country - and Chang's numerous ties to the Japanese military - had prevented such a course of action. Mulder thought Chang had perished with his boats on that last day in Hong Kong, but no such luck. He was just getting used to life back in the States again when Skinner had told him the bad news. Even after so many months, after losing over half of his assets and money, Chang was back, like a bad penny. And gunning for Mulder. It wasn't surprising to him that Change had hired such a young, sweet thing to kill him. In Hong Kong, he'd seen the most innocent-looking women work the docks. As whores, as intermediaries in the opium trade, as spies for the Japanese and Germans. Blonds, brunettes, redheads... though chances were, the hair was fake. The British control of the island in the pre-war days had produced many interracial offspring. Mixed in with German, Italian, and Middle Eastern blood, Hong Kong was a mixed bag of skin color and eye shade. Even if she wasn't native to the island, Chang, according to reports out of Skinner's office, still had enough money to hire the best. Was she German? One of the many cutthroat Nazi spies that circled the globe, who now found herself out of a steady job? Not caught in the net of the Allies, she would have turned to the underworld to make a living. With skills honed at the hands of the Third Reich, she could command a high price for her services. That white skin spoke of European ancestry, that was certain. A shift in the bed jerked him upright. He stilled, knowing she wouldn't be able to pick him out from the shadows beyond the fireplace. Gun in hand, he drank the last of his coffee, and waited for her to fully awaken. He didn't have long to wait. In a few moments, she was sighing and stretching beneath the covers. Face in relaxed profile, her eyes opened, and he spoke, his fingers curling around his gun in preparation. "Guten abend," he murmured, and her head turned. From the slight confusion he saw on her dimly-lit face, he took another tack. "O dovrei dire, buona sera?" Still no answer. In fact, she looked more dazed than ever, as if mesmerized by his voice. Good. However much he wanted her alert to tell all, he didn't want her *that* alert. A fuzzy, easily manipulated mind was the ideal. He let a sinister smile cross his face and he threw out, "Ni hao?" That sparked a moment of recognition, as her eyes widened. The Asian language connection was impossible to deny, as it flared on her face like a light bulb coming to life. Going for broke, he drawled, "Kon-nichiwa?" Her face softened and she drew in a deep breath, apparently warming to the smell of his coffee as she whispered, "Koohii? Douzo?" In her foggy mind, she'd reverted to her - while most probably not native - most certainly, her *working* language. He reached for the pack of matches on the small table beside his rocker. Keeping steady but subtle aim on her with his gun, he flicked one to life with his thumbnail and lit the coal oil lamp that sat on the table. His gaze trained on her lovely face, he watched her take in his hard-edged smile as he said, "Koohii? Koucha?" His voice became like steel. "Or me, baby?" End Chapter Three A Familiar Heart Chapter Four She blinked at his sudden animosity, her mind refusing to believe he could be so rude. Yes, she'd intruded. And the last thing she remembered before now was his angry face at the door. But this was something different, and she wondered if she'd fallen into something far more dangerous than potential hypothermia at the hands of the snowstorm. Shaking her head to clear the rest of the cobwebs away, she asked, "Excuse me?" Never taking his eyes from her, he carefully put the glass globe on the lantern and turned up the flame, until the room was alive with light. This time, when he spoke, it was perfect, slow English. "You heard me, baby. Coffee, tea, or me?" Dear God, it was him. Her hero, the one who'd risked all to save her back at Los Banos. But he was dead - he *had* to be. The wound was mortal, she'd known it from the moment she put her hand over the liberal flow of blood. Of course, covered with camouflage paint, his face hadn't been clearly obvious. But she'd know that voice anywhere. She dreamed of it, longed for it. Wanted it caressing her ears ever since the first and only time she'd heard it. "It's you," she whispered, tears coming to her eyes. At her soft statement, his eyes darkened to twin pinpoints of dark passion. They burned where they touched her, leaving little frissons of desire on her skin, on her face. He wasn't an unaffected by her as he liked to show. "Are you sure, sweetheart?" he drawled. "I pack a mean punch... but maybe you like something a bit stronger than caffeine." Oh, God. He'd misunderstood her reply, and not in a very harmless way, either. Sprawled in the rocker, his jeans almost indecently tight, she couldn't help but notice his masculinity. And as soon as her eyes drifted back up, she felt her face get hot. Especially when he chuckled - without mirth. "Maybe I'll let you sample the goods, baby. After you spill the beans." Why was he being so arrogant, so ugly to her? Unless he didn't remember her at all, which made sense. After all, they'd only met once, and that was in the middle of an all-out battle. He couldn't be expected to remember one scrawny little redheaded POW. But she had to try. "No, you've got it all wrong. I - we've met before. The Philippines." "Luzon? One of Chang's whores?" "What?" "Sorry to burst your bubble, but I would have remembered fucking someone like you." At his profanity, she blanched, but kept on, determined to get through to him. "You saved me. You're a hero." He laughed, a harsh, grating sound, flashing his teeth. "Then you *really* have me confused with someone else, sweetheart. One thing I'm not is a hero." It was quite possible he was suffering from shell-shock, blocking out the memory of his injury, of the horrors of war. She knew because she'd seen it all at Oak Knoll, had actually lived through some of the same feelings of helplessness herself. The way you jumped when a car backfired, the times you ate a meal as if you were still starving... the intense, sudden distrust of strangers, as if you'd never be able to walk into a crowd again. She could totally understand why he seemed to be holed up in this cabin, his guns at his side. Watching and waiting, awakened by the least little noise. She had to tread carefully; from his narrowed eyes to the pistol he clutched in one hand, his whole demeanor shouted that he was ready to act in an instant. She could very well find herself dead in a heartbeat. So she started out slowly, trying to divert the tone of the conversation. "Thank you, Mister...?" A snort came from that too-big nose and his lips curled. "Let me guess... for saving your life, right? And you know damn well what my name is." That response made absolutely no sense. They never knew each other's names. There wasn't time to take a deep breath, much less... "The better question is - what's your name?" Beneath the slow drawl, there was an icy cold layer of menace. She cringed under the blankets, but was determined to break through to him. "Scu-" she began, then thought better of using the name she'd become accustomed to in service, where one was just a last name and a rank. "Dana. My name is Dana." First names were good, she thought. More familiar terms than falling back on military address, when war was the last thing either of them should be thinking of at the moment. Overseas, *or* in the confines of this cabin. "Dana," he murmured softly, trying out the name for a second before adding, "Pretty. Just like you. I almost wish I'd met you in Luzon." Suddenly, as if he caught his lapse, his lips thinned. "Where's Chang?" "Who?" "Your boss. Yui-Kwok Chang. Where is he? Waiting on the road for your signal?" He dug into his shirt pocket and held up a small brown vial. "What's this? Some of his finest opium, maybe mixed with a little cyanide? Were you supposed to do the job yourself or just incapacitate me for Chang's later enjoyment?" "What? I don't know what you're talking about!" He was speaking in riddles. And it looked like he'd gone through her purse; the thiamine powder she carried with her as a fatigue fighter gleamed amber in the lamplight. "Look, my car is maybe a quarter of a mile west of here on the highway. I ran off the road and saw your cabin. I just need a ride into Piedmont." "Oh, come off it, sweetheart." He stood, the rocking chair reeling from his angry push-off. God, he was taller than she remembered; tall, handsome, and impossibly, irrevocably... insane. "Where's your ID?" "My ID?" "Yeah, let's see some identification." "My purse -" "Guess again." Damn. She remembered putting her license in the glove box of the car before she'd left the house; she'd learned to carry as little as possible in her purse, especially since she was traveling alone. Money, ID, checkbook - all locked in her glove box. "Can't remember where you put it?" he asked snidely. "Or can't remember exactly what name is on it, sweetheart?" His tone was infuriating, and she snapped back, "Don't call me sweetheart, you jackass!" She closed her eyes against the sudden rush of pain to her head, instantly regretting the outburst. "Baby, in a minute I'll be calling the FBI, unless you start talking." Pain or not, she let her eyes fly open. "Call me 'baby' again, and you'll be picking your nose with that gun." All right, so women weren't trained for physical combat, but she had brothers. She knew her way around a fistfight, even if he was twice her size. And her fear had given way to anger, making her foot itch to plant itself up his rear end to kick some sense into him. Cocky surprise at her vehement threat made one eyebrow lift, but still, he remained in control, softening his voice to a menacing purr. "All right. *Dana*. It's time to stop fooling around. Tell me where Chang is or you're gonna find yourself back out in the cold... with a hole right between those pretty baby blues." Something about the way he issued his warning told her he wasn't quite serious about outright murdering her. After all, he could have already done it just by leaving her outside, instead of wrapping her in warmth. He needed to know where this 'Chang' person was, and no amount of explanation on her part would make him believe she was legitimately stranded. The mental illness that came from battle sometimes lasted months; it was no use arguing with a man tormented by memories that wouldn't let go. "I don't know where he is." It was the truth, and she saw him react accordingly, stepping forward. "Don't lie to me, Dana." "I'm not lying. Please, won't you listen to me?" A sudden thought made her hopeful. "Go out - find my car. My keys are in my coat pocket. Or I could go." She looked around, noticing her slacks and coat draped over a chair by the fireplace. "My clothes -" "Forget it. You're not leaving until I say so. And if you think I'm walking out there tonight, you're crazy." He put the vial back in his shirt pocket, waving at her with the gun. "Get up." "What for?" "I'm gonna tie you in the chair." Swift fear sliced through her. "No." She swore she was never going to submit to any form of imprisonment again, and his order tweaked her last nerve. "I won't go anywhere, I promise." "I said get up, Dana. Do it." "No!" She scrambled to the far side of the bed, but the weight of the blankets worked against her, and he caught up with her in a second, grabbing her by her sore ankle. She hissed with pain and turned on him, kicking with all her might. But the simple strength it took to fight back, combined with the pain in her leg and head, proved to be too much. In a matter of a half- minute, she was trussed up in the chair like a convict awaiting execution. He was gone, somewhere behind her, and his voice came over her shoulder as the first tremors started. "Jerry? It's Mulder. Come back." Her head began to swim; she recognized the onset of a seizure with a sad heart. Even though she'd been diagnosed with beriberi after her release, a good diet and thiamine supplements had gradually put an end to the malady. But it was during their layover in Hawaii that she began experiencing fits of madness. The doctors hesitated to call them seizures, as there was nothing physically wrong with her. But they were there just the same, always coming upon her in times of severe stress. She hated any form of constriction; even her coat and scarf seemed to suffocate her at times. It was why she didn't wear them in the car, only donning them when necessary. And now he'd tied her up. She felt the scream billow up her throat, and tried to tell him. "Please! You don't understand! I can't stand it!" Struggling against the ropes, her voice raised to a keening moan. "Please let me go!" Her doctor said the fits would gradually disappear; actually, she'd not had one in a month or more. This one promised to be bad. Her neck lolled, her arms and legs jerking against the bonds. She needed to be free; but they were laughing at her again, with their slanted eyes and guttural commands. The wooden lid to the hole closed, trapping her in dirty darkness. Her lungs squeezed tight, forcing air out. Couldn't breathe, she couldn't breathe. "Please..." Her brain, dulled by misfiring synapses, formed the familiar plea. "Douzo..." "Yeah, Mulder. I'm here." "Listen, Jerry. Do me a favor." "Sure, lemme have it." "There's supposedly a car at the end of my road with a flat. Tow it into town for me, would you?" "Sure thing, pal. On my way. The owner?" "She's... uh, she's gonna be staying with me a while, okay?" A knowing chuckle crackled over the radio line. "Gotcha, Mulder. Anything else?" "Nope. Thanks." The radio squawked, setting her teeth on edge. The man named Mulder ignored her, so she began to rock in her chair, throwing her shoulders against the imaginary wooden lid that blocked out the sun. Out, she had to get out. In a second, she'd crashed to the floor, her teeth chattering. "Shit! What the hell -" He was beside her on his knees, his hands wrapping around her head to keep it still. "Let me go," she managed to squeeze out. With an incredulous face, he asked, "What the hell is this? You sick?" She nodded, letting her eyes close. Just watching him hover over her made her nauseous. "P-please. Can't... breathe." Tears sprang to her eyes, slowly trailing from beneath her eyelids. She heard a muffled curse, then felt him pull apart the knots. It seemed to take forever, just like the way she could hear every clink of the sliding chains on the door of the hole. He wasn't going fast enough; she struggled more, losing the grip on her sanity. Muttered profanity filled her ears and she cried out for her savior - for *him*. In her recent nightmares, he'd always come, swooping down like the angel he was, saving her from the grip of terror. The voice, once cursing and vile, became muted, comforting. "Shh... I've got you. Hold still. I've almost got you free." Almost immediately, her shaking subsided. A few minutes later, she could open her eyes. It was him. Thank God, it was him. She sat up, her body suddenly too warm, curling into his waiting arms. "God, thank you," she whispered, burying her face into the blessed pulse of life in his neck. He stiffened beneath her touch, but she wouldn't allow him to leave her, like he'd done before. This time, she was going to hang on. "No, don't leave me," she murmured, her arms encircling his waist. She knew flight was uppermost on his mind, but if he pulled away, he would be dead, just like before. She had to think of something fast, *anything* to hold on to him. Her hands grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, and her lips opened on his scratchy skin. For a second, he hesitated, then she felt his hands come up, tilting her head back. And the kiss felt so good... he tasted of coffee and smelled of the outdoors, of freedom. His mouth opened over hers and his tongue dipped inside. Yes, she thought, letting him delve into her soul. She could hold on, banish the devil from her soul under his soft touch. She succumbed willingly, feeling him take her farther away from the terror with every second that passed. ********** This is insane, he thought, digging deeper into the soft recesses of her mouth with his tongue. This woman - this soft, responsive woman - was most likely an operative working for one of Asia's most ruthless crime bosses. And it didn't matter that the scene he'd just witnessed could not have been faked; he saw the stark terror in her eyes, heard it in her trembling voice. Lots of women who worked for Chang did so only because of the threat that came with refusal. Their families tortured, they themselves beaten into submission, they had no choice but to take up prostitution or murder at his command. But she was different, he knew that now. Those not fit for life under Chang's thumb either quickly fell victim to his swift retribution, or became hardened, without an ounce of mercy in their words and actions. She was neither; she'd taken the road to this point as a tempting seductress. Soft in voice and body, luring her prey into the one mistake that would cost them their lives. He recognized it, and just as quickly realized it didn't matter. He wanted her. He could remain alert, and deal with her when it was done. But nothing was going to stop him from having her. Here. Now. She moaned as his hands stole under her sweater. He made quick work of the clasp of her bra, releasing her breasts to the pinch of his fingers. Squirming, she gasped into his mouth at his rough handling, but it wasn't with fright. No, she leaned into it, the crest beneath his thumb becoming firm with her arousal. He only played for a moment or so before lowering her to the floor, releasing her from their kiss to stare into her face. Eyes glazed over with passion, she looked half- drugged, though eager to move forward. She licked her lips, watching his mouth dip down to cover hers once again. Restless, she was so restless under him... he captured both of her wrists in one hand, bringing them above her head in an effort to hold her still. With the other, he reached for the hem of her sweater, shoving it up and out of the way. In the lamplight, the twin mounds of straining flesh beckoned, and he lowered his mouth, nuzzling the soft valley between. She arched under him, pressing up into his caress. The warm scent of womanly skin filled his nostrils and he inhaled deeply, re-acquainting himself with the smell of sex. It had been too long, and the freshness of winter air that lingered upon her opened his senses, made him feel alive. He had to taste... and he did, greedily suckling on one pebbled nipple, the rasp of his tongue seeking the milk and honey of her body. Her response was immediate, as he heard her moans become low and intense. Beneath him, her hips circled into his, her legs falling apart in readiness. It was unbelievable, but it seemed she'd been without as long as he had. Her reaction to his touch was unmistakable... the realization spurred him on, as he wasted no more time in giving them both what they wanted. She whimpered in protest when he raised his head and he hurried to placate her. "Okay, okay." He pressed a kiss to the feverish impatience that marred her brow, and lifted up, reaching for the zipper of his jeans. Grimacing at the slide of metal rasping against his erection, he cursed under his breath, feeling like a teenager with his first woman. After a moment of fumbling, he decided to let go of her hands, too caught up in desire to worry about what she might do to him. She immediately wrapped her arms around his back and he jerked at the feel of her cool fingers sliding under his jeans... and at the scalding heat of her mouth closing over his. Hands now freed, he shoved both jeans and boxers awkwardly down his hips just far enough to allow his dick to spring free, the gun in his pocket clattering to the floor. Dimly, he registered its loss, knowing he really should keep it close. But he couldn't stop - he had to have her. Despite her allure, he'd never before let a woman hypnotize him into losing all sense of his surroundings, and he wasn't about to start now. One hand fitted itself between her shoulder blades, effectively holding her trapped between him and the floor. His free hand tore at her panties, and she arched beneath him, tearing her mouth away from his to whisper, "Yesss..." That one word incited his arousal to painful proportions. With the last of his patience, he shoved aside the scraps of silk and dove deep into her with one finger. She whimpered, tossing her head from side to side. Moisture made his finger slick, and he groaned at her readiness, withdrawing his hand. A few false starts later, he finally fitted himself to her and thrust within her, stilling at the tight clasp of her walls. She gripped him like a vise, and he knew he wouldn't last long, especially with the way she squirmed beneath him. "Be still... God, be still," he moaned, his hips beginning to move as his mouth stifled her cries. So good, so good.... End Chapter Four A Familiar Heart Chapter Five It felt so good... she was protected at last. In the arms of a hero, *her* hero, the one who'd crossed the boundary between freedom and death for her. Caressing her intimately, where no one had dared tread before, he swept away all her fears with a kiss, a touch. The horrors of imprisonment, of pain at the hands of the Nips, faded away as if they'd never existed. She reveled in the way his mouth and tongue drew passion from her; she gave easily, taking his strength in return. "Yes," she hissed, when a bolt of pure pleasure ignited up from her depths. God, he plied her with the fingers of a master, until she couldn't help but move at his stroking, taut like the strings of a violin long left on the shelf. Singing with low moans and soft pleas for more, she opened to him, turning her head in a fury of wanting, of needing completion. A lift, a few seconds of cool air rushing over her damp recesses, then he pushed into her, groaning a prayer at the contact. The sharp pain was fleeting, nothing like anything she'd ever felt. Embracing it, she shoved up to meet his thrusts, happiness at the utter sense of wholeness that enveloped her making her bold. "Please," she begged, twisting her hands in his shirt. She wanted to touch him, to give him pleasure in return. She felt his hesitation, but she seduced his compliance with her mouth, running it along his jaw, his face, feverish in her urgency. He let her go, raising himself up to pull his flannel shirt over his head. Lowering his lips to hers again, he pushed more forcefully into her, groaning into her mouth. Her hands, now free to roam, raked over his sweat-slickened back, feeling the stretch and tug of muscle over bone. They wandered at will, tracing the bumps along his spine to the flexing buttocks that pumped into her over and over. Her short nails dug in, eliciting a growl from his lips that traveled down her throat. Breaking free of their kiss, he pulled his hands from around her to plant them on the floor beside her head. She almost cried out in protest, then thought better of it, as he loomed over her, blocking out the meager light from the lamp. He consumed her then, in face and body, like a dark angel whose shadow promised protection and ultimate joy. Feeling herself slide under him, her own damp back giving way under the brunt of his thrusts, she wrapped her hands around his neck to keep him with her. Breathing in time with him, she watched, loving every nuance of his face as it shifted in sync with his movements. Slack-jawed, his eyes slitted, he panted above her, his face at once hard and yet bright with passion. Just the sight of the ever-growing creases in his brow told her he was close to something that she wasn't. But that was okay; her pleasure came from watching him, from having him love her. Suddenly, he stiffened above her, his eyes closing as he let out a faint, throaty cry between clenched teeth. She felt her body fill with his seed in several short, hot, bursts, his hips prolonging the delivery a with slow, intense grinding that sparked a spasm of electricity low, where they were still joined. God, she wanted more. She tried to make it last by moving beneath him, mimicking his moves. "Don't stop," she whispered, looking into his relaxing face. He was so beautiful, his face soft with confusion and completion. His eyes searched hers, as if he were trying to find words. His body within hers was semi-hard still; he gave a few weak thrusts, and she moaned, low and pleading. But it was no use... she tried to move with him, to reach for satisfaction. The pleasure, moments before building to some unknown pinnacle, dwindled rapidly. Until she felt him shift above her, the slick heat of his shrinking member replaced with a double salvo of his calloused fingers. A sharp pierce of renewed sparks blossomed under the pull and slide of his fingers, and her breath caught, knowing he meant to give her what his premature finish had denied her. Thankful that he planned to help her reach that joyous end, she looked up at him with a small smile, using the clasp of her hands to pull his head down for a loving kiss. His resistance was immediate, as he shrugged his shoulders to loose himself. His voice, when it came, was husky, but cold, and his gaze hardened. "Tell me where Chang is, baby." Slipping within her, his fingers teased. "You want this, you tell me." Nothing. It meant nothing to him but a means to an end. Hurt filled her body, replacing the burgeoning happiness in a heartbeat. He still thought her someone sent by that Chang person, whoever the hell that was. Her hands fell away, curling into angry fists that hit the floor. She felt degraded somehow; what she'd thought of as a beautiful communion of souls was now a travesty of real feeling. He smiled above her, one brow raising. "I know you want it... tell me, and I'll give it to you." Her knuckles felt something cold - his gun! In an instant, her hurt flared into anger. Her brain hot with revenge, she gripped it and brought in up with all her might against the side of his head. Surprise lit his eyes for a split second, then he wilted like a spent balloon. Using all her strength, she averted his fall upon her, shoving him off as he dropped into oblivion. He landed on his back beside her, out like a light, the dull thud of his back hitting the floor echoing in the cabin. Chest heaving, she scrambled to her feet, grimacing at the pain in her ankle. Gun pointed at him, she shouted, "You son-of-a-bitch!" Even with bloodlust surging through her veins, she hoped he wouldn't move, because the last thing she wanted to do was have to shoot him. In fact, when he didn't move for a few moments, she sucked in a ragged breath of fright. Cautiously, she bent down to feel his pulse. Still strong and steady. She touched the forming lump above his ear, but detected no blood. She didn't think she'd caused him any permanent damage, but for a moment, guilt at the violent way she'd put him down gnawed at her gut. That was the least of her worries, however. He was such an ornery bastard, she doubted a well- placed bullet to the heart could bring him down for good. No, she might be facing an eventual charge of assault, but she knew she'd done the only thing she could to get free. And if she got away before he came to, he might never find her. Lying as he was, his limp penis dotted with blood and semen, he was a laughable sight. But she didn't take time to relish her work - or lament the loss of her virginity to the cad. If all she walked away from the cabin with was a tainted memory of sex, then she'd count herself lucky. Truth of it was, she'd wanted him as badly as he wanted her, and there was no use painting a picture of rape in her mind. Walk on, her father would say. Learn from your mistakes, but don't dwell on them. Her clothes... she needed her clothes. She spied them by the fireplace and scooted around his prone form, keeping careful distance. She had to get out of there. Leave now, before he came to. He still was under the mistaken notion she was some sort of spy, and now, with her walloping him in the head, he was liable to strangle her with his bare hands. In no time, she'd donned her still damp slacks, coat and scarf. Pulling the boots on was a monumental task, but she managed it. One hand went to her head - the knit cap was still in place. Now, *that* was a hoot. She'd been intimate with this man without even taking her hat off! Stifling the giggles that she knew could quickly turn to hysteria, she looked around for her purse, then gave up, knowing she didn't have that much time. Finally, she moved to him again, gingerly sneaking into his jeans pocket with a grimace of distaste, her fingers closing around a ring of keys. Dropping the gun next to him, she walked out of the cabin without a backward glance. Night had fallen with severe intensity, and the snowfall had doubled. She blinked against the sting of the icy flakes, knowing time was short; if she could make it into town before everything closed up, she could have her tire fixed and get going again. It must have been close to six o'clock, but she couldn't see her watch for the darkness. Surely a little backwater service station would stay open until six? Figuring an hour to get to town and return, then another hour to get the tired fixed... damn, she'd have to turn on the charm to sweettalk her way out of town in a timely fashion. The Jeep roared to life under her hands, and she was grateful for its four-wheel drive capability as she quickly made her way back to the main road. She turned toward her abandoned car - it was gone. Good. That meant the tow truck had picked it up already. She quickly turned around in the direction of Piedmont. The town was a sleepy little place, with one diner, a rustic town hall, and a smattering of dwellings, one with a neon sign proclaiming, "Jerry's Esso". The service station was still lit up, and she sighed with relief when she saw her car parked in one of the bays. Calming herself, she pulled in slowly, listening to the bell go off in a couple of sharp peals. A smiling man, heavily coated against the wind and snow, came out from the side of her car. Instead of waiting for him to approach the Jeep, she got out, forcing a similar smile to her cheeks. "Is my car ready?" Wiping his hands on a soiled cloth, Jerry creased his brow, taking in the Jeep with a recognizing nod. "Mulder said you were spen- " He broke off with gentlemanly panache, his blush glowing red in the neon light. "Sure. Just finishing up. You're lucky. I was about to close for the night, Miss Scully." The use of her name made her freeze. As if he noticed her sudden bristling, he quickly explained, "I had to get the tube size from the manual in the glovebox, Miss. Didn't mean no harm. Just a little pinprick, but I fixed 'er right up for ya. Course, the rim was a might bent - had to find ya one from out back. But I think you're all set to go." She bit her lip; she hadn't wanted anyone to know her name, and she knew this Mulder person was going to come running into town looking for his Jeep. But then again, it didn't matter that her name would most likely make it back to the man in the cabin. She would never see him again, and if she did, she had a father and two brothers who would cheerfully wring his neck, should she choose. *After* she herself set him straight - if he even got that close. "Miss Scully," he said with a bashful grin. "You a friend of Mulder's? Where is he, anyway?" He looked over the Jeep as if expecting someone else to get out. "Umm... he started feeling bad," she lied. Well, he would feel *very* bad when he woke up, she mused. "I think it's something contagious. He told me to take the Jeep to retrieve my car. Said he'd come by tomorrow to get his Jeep. That okay?" "Sure. That'll be twelve bucks, for the tube and the rim," he added, nodding at her car. Damn. She had about fifty dollars tucked away in the glovebox, along with her checkbook, but she knew that writing a check to this man Jerry meant the fiend back in the cabin would have her address. And she couldn't afford to waste even the twelve dollars on the tire. She'd need every penny of it in gasoline to make it to Virginia, because now she wasn't stopping at all, not even to stay at a hotel. If he decided to follow her, she didn't want a trail of checks behind her to point the way. She'd make it there without sleeping; she was used to getting little sleep, anyway. "M-Mulder." Her tongue tripped over the hated name. "He said to put it on his tab?" God, she hoped nice, sweet Jerry fell for the ruse. She tacked on a hopeful, sweet smile to the request. "Sure thing, ma'am. Just let me back it out for you." She kept one eye on the road behind her, urging Jerry on silently. The faster she could get away, the better. The man named Mulder would be out for maybe a half hour, then dazed for another hour. She wanted to be far away when he made it to Piedmont; and he was coming, she was sure of it. "Here ya go, ma'am." Jerry stood beside her, the driver's door open. She jumped at his voice; she hadn't heard the car purr to a stop beside her. "You be careful now, okay?" "Thank you." She got in and ignored Jerry's wave goodbye, heading east as if the hounds of hell were behind her. After an hour, the snow let up, giving way to a moonless sky. After another, she noticed the cars on the highway slacking up. Yet another, and she was alone, speeding home, not a trace of a car behind her. She took the first deep breath since leaving Piedmont, and flipped on the radio, feeling home grow closer with every second that went by. Bing Crosby crooned, "I'll Be Seeing You." An impatient hand wiped at her cheeks as the first tear slipped free. ********** The first thing he noticed when he woke up was that his head hurt like hell. And that he was damned cold. Groaning, he rolled over, one hand touching the tender lump under his hair. What the hell happened? Geez, his pants were around his knees, his bare chest was dappled with gooseflesh... the gun! He started, then realized it lay within reach of his fingers, a few dark hairs clinging to its metal surface. For a second, his ears rang with confusion, as he squinted at the gun. Then it all came rushing back. The woman, Chang - God damn it! He stumbled to his ffeet, yanking up his boxers and jeans. The room lurched around him and he gulped, closing his eyes against the heavy weight of dizziness. She was gone, and chances were, in his Jeep. Yep. No keys in his pocket. He was damned lucky she hadn't shot him when she had the chance. Unless she'd gone to get help, to call in her comrades for the final kill. But why? He'd been down for at least... it took all his effort to focus on his watch. A half hour or more. A flash of white caught his eye. He bent, picking up the torn underwear, his eyes widening at the dots of blood. Nah. She couldn't be - but a quick check of his own body told the tale. In living color on his dick and his fingers, branding him with a red flag of innocence lost. "Well, I'll be damned," he breathed. A virgin. Either that, or he'd split her in two. But no, that couldn't be the case. She was as ready for him as any woman he'd ever been with, and he wasn't one to force his attentions on unwilling women. No, her arousal and readiness had been genuine, as well as the way she'd welcomed him, and pleaded for release. And if she had been untouched before now? Then no way did she work for Chang. The only use he had for virgins was to fetch a high price from his more wealthy customers. He certainly wouldn't waste the money she'd command in the sack by sending her after an old nemesis. Unless she was forced to do so - any number of debts owed to Chang could be used to command her cooperation. A sister in trouble, a mother or father held hostage... hell, the vial he still had in his pocket was very likely opium. Addicts were known to do anything for the next fix. The thoughts made his head hurt more, but it also made him more determined to get to the bottom of the mystery. Even more so, he'd made love to a stranger, one who'd embraced him with a passion he'd not felt in more than five years. No matter what her motivation, she'd fit to him like she was born for his touch. He *had* to find her, starting with the one place he knew she had to have gone. She wouldn't try to travel far in the Jeep; one radio call and he could have the state patrol on her ass within the hour. He walked gingerly to the radio. "Jerry? You still up? Come back." No answer. He tried again, but with no success. He also tried the local sheriff's station, but got no answer. That wasn't surprising; Peidmont was a one-horse town of maybe a couple of hundred people. The sheriff went home for the night at about five, and everyone knew his home number if they needed anything. Mulder cursed his lack of a telephone. He'd have to wait until morning, or walk into town, which wasn't wise. One more time, he called for Jerry. A few seconds, then, "Yeah? Mulder, that you?" Mulder breathed a sigh of relief. "Jerry. Good. Thought you'd gone home." "I was just locking up the bays, taking a last look around. What's up?" "My Jeep over there?" "Uh... yeah," Jerry answered dubiously. "Why? Thought you told Miss Scully you'd come by tomorrow for it?" His blood ran cold. "Come back?" "She said you weren't feeling good, that you'd come get it -" Mulder depressed the talk button savagely, a chill of impending doom running up his spine. "What'd you say her name was? The name?" "Scully. Dana Scully. Thought she was a friend of yours?" Closing his eyes, Mulder leaned against the wall and sighed, "A friend of a friend." It was the total truth. "I'll see you tomorrow, Jerry." He clicked off the radio and flopped into the rocker, his head in his hands. She wasn't an assassin. By a wild streak of coincidence, he'd met up with an innocent and made a foolish, devastating mistake. One he would soon be made to answer for, he was certain. God. What had he done? End Chapter Five A Familiar Heart Chapter Six Annapolis, Maryland December 24, 1945 "Dana? Would you stir this for me, please?" Staring out the window above the kitchen sink, Dana barely registered her mother's request. Mesmerized by the snow falling outside, her mind drifted back to a similar scene two days ago in the wilds of Utah. Like the snow, she thought she'd left what had happened behind her. But just this morning, the snow *and* the memories caught up with her. Waking from an exhausted, twelve hour sleep, the first thing she'd brought to mind was his face. Like a specter that wouldn't leave her alone, he haunted her. Would she ever be rid of him? "Dana?" Close, her mother's voice made her start. She dropped the coffee cup she held, and it shattered in the porcelain sink. "God, I'm sorry, Mom," she said, rushing to pick up the pieces. Maggie stilled her hands, coming to her aid with a smile. "That's okay, sweetie," she said softly, brushing aside Dana's shaking hands. "I'll get it. You only just got in late yesterday evening, you know. I'm sure you're still tired." Tired was an understatement. She'd driven almost non-stop, finally leaving the snowstorm behind her to where she could make good time. All the while searching her rearview mirror for signs she'd been followed, it was a harrowing trip. She'd arrived during dinner, and immediately fell into her mother's arms, her tears rising unbidden at the safety of a loving embrace. She never was one to break down, and thankfully, neither of her parents had commented, thinking her emotional lapse a product of her confinement at Los Banos. Little did they know she felt as if her world had been turned upside down, and it had nothing to do with any residual upset over spending the war as a POW. "I am," she said, though it was an untruth. Her nerves were on edge still, and the sleep she'd had last night, while taking care of her fatigue, had been restless. And walking around the house this morning under the watchful eyes of her parents hadn't helped. She expected her mother to suggest psychiatric commitment at any moment; all on the sly, of course. A Scully would never have need of a sanitarium - maybe a retreat? There was nothing a little time spent with the Lord couldn't cure. She watched her mother clean up the mess in the sink, and felt instant guilt at her own thoughts. Her mother really was a fine woman, typical for the times. Loving, religious, respectable... but bowing to her husband's will and her church's doctrines without question. Dana had once believed that was the only way as well - but now, she knew that any walk down the same path by herself would have to be as a partner, not as a servant. She'd lived through too much not to value her freedom and her worth as a human being with a mind of her own. "Mom? Let me do that." Calm now, she tried to get back into the cooking of Christmas Eve dinner, knowing the simple tasks of beating and attacking the pots and pans with a spoon could only help ease some of her tension. Maggie gave her a small smile. "I'm almost done. Would you stir the potatoes, dear? I don't want them to stick." "Sure." Actually, it was just the distraction she needed. She dove right in, the sudden silence in the kitchen prompting her to ask, "When's Charlie getting here again?" "This evening sometime..." Her mother kept on, and Dana listened with half an ear to the facts she already knew. But it was nice to hear them again, to have the pleasant drone of her mother's voice to keep her occupied as she worked on the potatoes. Charlie, her younger brother by two years, was marrying her friend Ellen on New Year's Eve. It was amazing really, that the girl who'd grown up with her, who'd shared high school and college with her, had caught the eye of her wandering brother. Ellen finally gave in to the 'kid' when he'd graduated from high school. The war had put a crimp in their relationship, but it hadn't mattered. From their very first date, it was obvious they were in love. Ellen had patiently worked stateside while Charlie had spent the war in Honolulu, his keen mind tapped by the Navy to work in intelligence. Upon his return in May, he'd proposed. Dana was to be Ellen's maid of honor; she'd happily accepted the post, though she didn't look forward to spending the wedding in taffeta and high heels. Bill, her eldest brother, wouldn't arrive until later on in the week. With his wife Tara and their two children, he was spending Christmas at her parents' place in upstate Maine. Melissa... God, she couldn't wait to see her sister. Though their reunion was bound to be bittersweet - Melissa's husband had died in Normandy last June. Rob had been her perfect match in every way, full of laughter and spirit. Her mother had kept mum on the subject of her son-in-law's death, but earlier in the day, Dana had asked her father about it. And her Dad, in his own halting way, had told the tale of how Melissa had been devastated. But, in her usual Scully way, she'd picked up and lived on, for herself and her children. Still living in her house a few blocks away, she and the boys would descend at the parents' for the traditional Christmas Eve dinner, then spend the Santa day at home. It was a picturesque holiday, straight out of Harper's Bazaar. The smell of pot roast in the kitchen, the faint aroma of her dad's cigars wafting from the den, the decorated scotch pine in the living room window, the anticipation of seeing family and friends again, after being away for so long. She vowed then and there to let herself enjoy it all. Her life had changed, but one thing remained the same - the love she shared with her family. Amidst her mother's running commentary, a pair of hands circled Dana's waist and she jumped, the spoon she held clanging against the side of the pot. "Sorry, sprite. Didn't mean to scare you." The words were playful but sincere, murmured into her ear. "Charlie!" Turning, she launched herself into his hug. He felt so solid, so huge, a big, lovable bear of a brother. Bill had been aloof like her dad, but Charlie was her pal. "When did you get in?" He pulled away, his smile beaming, looking so handsome in his civie suit that he took her breath away. Similar in features to herself, his blue eyes and reddish hair made most people wonder if they were twins. "Actually, I got in late last night. I told Mom I wanted to surprise you. I've been at Ellen's all day." Dana gave Maggie a scolding stare. Her mom shrugged, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. She brushed aside the two of them, saying, "Go visit. Tell your Dad dinner will be ready in about a half hour, then set the table, okay?" Her mother, for all her pride and trying to exercise control over her children, knew that Dana and Charlie were close. Closer even than the two sisters. Dana gave her mother a thankful smile and pulled Charlie out of the kitchen. "Go give Dad the news, then come back." She moved to the china cabinet with a wink. "Dad!" Charlie yelled, not moving an inch. "Dinner in thirty, okay?" He returned Dana's wink. "Roger that," her father yelled back. Dana's lips pursed, but it was over a grin. "That's not what I meant. Mom hates yelling in the house, you know that." "In case you didn't notice, sprite - Mom has changed. I think the house got to be way too quiet for her these last few years." His eyes narrowed. "Hair's growing back, huh? Looks good." She self-consciously touched the chin-length mop, glad that Charlie hadn't elaborated. "Yeah. I think Mom was under the impression I was going to show up bald for the wedding." "Dana, Mom wouldn't have cared," he whispered, moving to her side. "I tell you, she's a different person. War does that to people." Didn't she know it. Lowering her chin, she tried to hide the faint tremble of her lips from her brother. He was always perceptive to her feelings, and she didn't want to ruin the brightest moment in his and Ellen's lives with a sad litany of her own troubles. Thankfully, he didn't pursue her sudden silence, instead wrapping an arm around her shoulders to give her a squeeze. "Gotta fatten you up a bit, though. You look like you could blow away in a stiff wind, sprite." Only Charlie really knew of what she'd suffered in Los Banos. His was the first face she'd seen as she'd gotten off the transport in Honolulu. A shadow of anger passed over his eyes at her shorn hair, but he knew it had been necessary because of the lice infestation in the camp. Wordlessly, he'd enfolded her in his embrace and let her cry. With his position in Naval Intelligence affording him a bit of leeway, he'd gotten her away from the media for the short week she'd spent in Hawaii. Safe at his place on the beach, she'd told him of the horrors of internment. It was healing in a way that Naval counseling could never be. She'd made him promise to never tell the rest of the family just how bad it had been; like always, he just nodded and helped her move on. Charlie had always treated her as a person and not a helpless female, as a bonus to simply loving her for who she was, and not who society expected her to be. She wondered what he would say if she told him of those few hours in Utah. Would he be so understanding, so forgiving, if she told him how she'd stumbled into sex with an obvious madman? It hadn't been rape, but she doubted Charlie would see it that way. She so needed to talk about it with someone, to absolve herself somehow of the needless guilt that plagued her. She knew she shouldn't feel guilty at all, despite what her Catholic upbringing demanded. It was a release of sorts for her, with a man her clouded mind had designated a savior. And no matter how it ended, she still couldn't escape the undeniable sense of peace and oneness she'd felt in the encounter. God - what if she was pregnant? Then she'd *have* to tell someone. Not her parents, certainly. Not until it became necessary. And Charlie would most probably go all macho at the revelation; his treatment of her as an equal up until now would be thrown out the window, as he'd insist she let him level the guy. No, much as she needed to talk about the incident, it was best to keep quiet unless circumstances changed. Maybe she *would* follow her mother's panacea for trouble and pray on it at midnight mass. Couldn't hurt. Meanwhile, she'd have to smile and tell Charlie all was well. "I've put on a few pounds, Charlie. Stop worrying." She moved away to set out the plates and silverware. "Where?" He pulled open a drawer and reached in for the linen napkins. "In your toes? Speaking of - what's with the limp?" Damn. So far, she'd hidden her sprained ankle from her parents, mainly by keeping the swelling an pain down within the confines of her boot. But it had ballooned during the night, and standing in the kitchen this morning had not helped. "Twisted it day before yesterday. Don't tell Mom," she warned, making a mental note to concentrate on walking correctly when in front of her parents. "She already thinks I'm some kind of invalid." "Gotcha. My lips are sealed - as long as you think you can make it down the aisle when the time comes." "Charlie, I will make it down the aisle even if I have to be carried all the way. I wouldn't miss it for the world." Personal worries aside, she couldn't contain her happiness at the fact that her best friend was marrying her brother. Charlie grinned. "Carried? Guess I could arrange that - Fox is a pretty big guy. I think he could handle a wee thing like you." It was the first time she'd heard Charlie speak of his best man, and she was naturally curious. All she knew was that he'd met him during his time overseas, and that the guy had roots around Washington. Apparently, they'd hit if off; but then again, Charlie was an easy guy to like. "Fox? His name is Fox?" Rolling her eyes, she finished with the place settings, moving around to the head of the table. "Yeah. Pretty unusual, huh? He's joining us for after dinner drinks tonight. But he hates his name so don't -" Charlie knocked a fork off the table to the floor, and surreptitiously wiped it off with one of the napkins in the face of Dana's arched eyebrow. "Don't tell Mom. Please." Seemed her mother hadn't undergone *that* much of a change. Charlie was genuinely apprehensive about her displeasure concerning the dropped utensil. Her mother must really be tiptoeing around her if she'd let the broken coffee cup go by without comment. "About the fork or Fox?" "Oh, she knows he's coming." "The man with the hated first name doesn't have family to spend Christmas with?" "His parents live in Washington; his dad works for the State Department. He's stopping by on his way to their place." He gave her a sheepish smile. "I don't think they get along too well. Besides, when I mentioned today on the phone that you were here already, he wanted to come meet you." Her sudden anger was evident in her growled, "Charlie..." "He's a nice guy, sprite. Can I help it if I think you should be as happy as I am?" "I expected this sort of behavior from Mom, not you." Her censure was more bristling than she'd liked. Once upon a time, Charlie's meddling would have been laughed at. Now, it hit a sore spot he wasn't even aware of. She backed down, noting Charlie's crestfallen face. "I'm sorry, I just..." Once again, he moved in, this time gathering her close to press a light kiss on her rumpled hair. "I know. It's me who should apologize to you, sprite. Things will never be the same, will they?" Dana hugged him tightly, whispering, "No, they won't." Though not for the reasons Charlie suspected; she opened her mouth to clarify, when she heard a clamoring from the foyer. "We're here! Where's Dana?" Melissa, with brood in tow. Dana pulled away from her brother, sniffling away her anger and fear to give him a shaky smile. "Twins?" she asked Charlie, referring to Melissa's kids. "Yep," he replied, matching the inquisitive look of hers. "Names?" He knew she'd had trouble with a fuzzy memory due to the beriberi, and his gentle prompting was designed to spare her an embarrassing moment to come. Spying Melissa's approach out of the corner of her eye, she leaned up to press a light kiss to Charlie's cheek. "Daniel and... David?" Giving her a kiss back, he whispered, "Donald." "Right. Thanks." One last swipe at his cheek to remove the faint traces of lipstick, and she turned to greet Melissa. ********** "And Donny sleeps at night just like his Aunt Dana - dead to the world," Melissa laughed, cuddling the shy toddler to her breast. Dana joined in on the family's chuckling, but it was without any real involvement. She couldn't very well blurt out that the days of sleeping sound were gone for her. It was one of the reasons she'd been able to drive straight through to Maryland - having to be constantly on guard in the internment camp made for light sleeping. But to bring up her trials during the war would not be in good taste, and would most probably cause a stilted silence. Especially since her mother seemed to be making a real effort to steer the subject away from the war with constant talk of the wedding to come. Dana didn't mind - the less she thought of the horrible time at Los Banos, the better. It would eventually become in her mind as an out-of-body experience, she knew. To be remembered as if she'd watched it all on a movie screen, and not lived through it firsthand. The recent night in Utah... that was entirely different. That was burned on her brain. She doubted that, even if she lived to be a hundred, would she ever forget the way she felt in that man's embrace. And the way she felt afterward, to still bear the brunt of his distrust. She got up from the sofa and murmured something about getting more coffee, drifting away from the family reunion. She caught Charlie's questioning look, and gave him a reassuring nod before moving to the tray on the bar. The conversation carried on around her, but her thoughts had once again shifted to the man she'd let break through her barrier of reserve. Had it been all that bad? Truthfully, she'd have to say no. She could understand his paranoia after having lived on the edge for years herself. Maybe he'd suffered under the Japanese thumb just like she had... The doorbell pealed, interrupting her thoughts. Coffee cup in hand, she turned to face the rising Charlie. "I'm already up," she said with a smile. "Sit." He nodded, though he perched on the end of his chair like he was poised to come to her aid, should she require it. She knew the visitor was most likely his best man. Just as she knew Charlie was still a bit guilty for trying to set them up together; she felt his apologetic gaze upon her still as she walked from the living room. A tall silhouette shifted beyond the frosted glass of the front door. Dana pasted a friendly smile on her face and took a deep breath before swinging the door wide. "Come on in," she greeted. The man hesitated a moment, his face lost in the folds of his scarf. But he swiped his polished shoes on the welcome mat and walked past her into the foyer, flapping the lapels of his black woolen coat. A shower of snowflakes fell to the floor, instantly melting in the warmth of the house. "Sorry about that," he muttered. The gleam of six brass buttons on the double-breasted suit twinkled at her, and she recognized the dress blues immediately, seeing the gold stripes peek out from the overcoat sleeve. "That's all right, Lieutenant," she smiled. She put her cup down on the table by the coat rack and reached for his coat. "Let me take your coat." Reaching up, she moved behind him to slide the heavy material from his shoulders, realizing her lack of manners. "Guess I should introduce myself. My name is -" "Dana. I know." An imaginary fist hit her square in the chest with a dull thud, and she clutched the coat protectively, as if by doing so, her heart would cease its frightened tripping. Wide-eyed, she watched him turn around and unwind the scarf, then slowly lift his officer's hat from his head. A soft, hopeful curl of his lips accompanied the warm brush of his gaze over her face. "Red. Never would have guessed." Her shaky hand went to her hair, then snapped back down as she realized the gesture was an acknowledgment of the effect he had on her. "You," she breathed, anger tightening her voice. "Get out." "Mulder!" Charlie's shout made her jump and she looked away from the intruder's steady perusal of her face. It couldn't be. No. God wouldn't be that cruel, would he? "Glad you could make it, pal." Charlie stood between them, his hand engulfing Mulder's. She wanted to scream at him to watch - to not trust this man. But Charlie faced him with broad familiarity, shaking his hand like he was a long- lost friend. He turned to Dana with a smile. "Dana, this is Fox Mulder." Fox. Jesus, she should have known the moment he walked in, should have felt his overpowering presence and seen the breadth of his body as it encroached on hers. What a horrible turn of events. Would he let on that - "We've met." Yes, he would, the bastard. She raised furious eyes to him, wondering if it would be in poor taste to kick him in her parents' foyer. "Just now," he added pointedly. "Your sister was helping me with my coat." She couldn't breathe. The foyer had suddenly become too claustrophobic, and she handed Mulder's coat to Charlie, feeling her face pale. "Charlie, I - would you mind... I don't feel so good..." Charlie, bless him, knew exactly how she felt about tight spaces, immediately taking the coat from her to step aside. "Sure, sprite. I'll get Mulder settled in. Go." She felt both pair of eyes follow her departure up the stairs. One concerned, his love warming her back. The other probing, insinuating itself into her family, her home. Its daring gaze bent on stripping her of all sense of security. She felt its promise all the way up the stairs - He was here for her. End Chapter Six A Familiar Heart Chapter Seven Mulder watched her fly up the stairs, feeling as if he'd never see the brightness of that smile again. He sighed, handing Charlie his hat and scarf. This had been a mistake. He should have just called Charlie from Utah and begged off, like he'd wanted to. Chang was still an ominous presence in his life, and putting Charlie and his family in the way of possible reprisal by his nemesis was unwarranted. But he knew Charlie wouldn't let him off so easily; Charlie knew all about Chang, and he refused time and again in the last month to let Mulder face death alone. Charlie had faith in the Navy's ability to take care of its own, and he believed that Chang would be taken care of before the wedding. Skinner had assured them that they could proceed with the wedding without fear of Chang getting too close. Mulder wasn't so sure. And, until a couple of days ago, he'd decided he was going to tell Charlie it was too risky. Then he'd met *her*. A woman who'd called him a 'jackass' and then melted into his arms like she was born to be there. Upon finding out her name, he knew he had to come to Maryland. Call it selfishness, call it regret - whatever. She was bound to find out who he was through Charlie, and if he didn't come prove to her that he wasn't the monster she thought he was, then he'd never have the chance again. One mention of the name "Mulder" and she'd refuse to listen to any of his explanations. By presenting himself to her family, she couldn't avoid him - at least not until the wedding was over. Maybe by that time, he'd have a chance to tell her the whole story. Or maybe, when she came back downstairs, she would be packing a gun. From what little he knew of her, it was a damned good possibility. "Sorry about that, Mulder," Charlie said, dragging Mulder's attention away from the empty stairs. "Dana's been through a lot. She's a bit skittish still." The implication that there was more to Dana's past than a naval career made Mulder's ears perk up. He knew Charlie's sister was a nurse, had served in the Pacific. But, combined with the attack of nerves he'd witnessed in the cabin, she'd apparently been through a helluva lot more than dealing with casualties at a base hospital. "What happened to her?" Charlie bit his lip, as if he'd said too much. "That's not for me to divulge, Mulder. But I will tell you this - she didn't spend the war in a cushy hospital in Honolulu. She was a POW." He turned to the hat rack, leaving Mulder to his riotous thoughts for a second. A POW? He knew that there had been female POW's scattered in the camps of the occupied Pacific, most notoriously at Los Banos. Was that where she'd been? No, God wouldn't be that cruel - to either of them. No matter where she'd been, the fact that Dana had been a POW only added to his sudden sadness; he had a reason to hate POW camps almost as much as she did. Jesus. Seemed neither of them would ever catch a break, just when they'd found each other. "What's with the uniform?" Charlie asked, interrupting Mulder's melancholy. "We're on leave, you know." It had seemed a good idea that afternoon - impress her with his rank, with his stature in Naval Intelligence. Now, seeing Charlie's casual dress and spying the family in the living room in similar attire, he felt out of place. He smiled sheepishly. "It's been so long since I've had to wear it, I figured I needed to get used to it again." "As long as your dress whites still fit," Charlie replied with a wink, speaking of the upcoming wedding. Mulder just nodded, feeling as if he was too sullied by the past years to wear the white uniform of his country's Navy. Especially since he'd seen her again, let his eyes fall upon the graceful curve of her cheek and storm-tossed blue eyes. She embodied everything that was good and fine about home... damn, even her clean scent lingered in the foyer, threatening to pull him under. He couldn't put her or her family in jeopardy like this; Charlie would have to understand. "Uh, Charlie." He stilled his friend's movement to the living room with a hand on his arm. "About the wedding." "Oh no, you don't," Charlie growled, his smile fading. "You're here now. You can't back out on me. Skinner says it's perfectly safe for you to resume normal activity. No way can Chang get to you." Mulder scowled. "He also said that they'd have him in custody by now." "Like I told you on the phone today, Chang apparently high-tailed it back to Hong Kong. He was seen there yesterday. All our feelers - not to mention the agents dogging his every step - must have spooked him back to his hole. Besides, have you been accosted by any assassins lately?" Mulder felt as if the wind had gone out of him. But he recovered quickly, before Charlie could see how his innocent remark had staggered him. "No, but -" "No buts. It's been four months, Mulder, since you came home. Four months of laying low and looking over your shoulder. Chang's gone, and he won't be coming back. Now... are you gonna be my best man or not?" He finally allowed himself to relax a bit, giving Charlie a grim smile. "Sure." But he let that smile harden into a determined nod as he added, "But if I see one inkling that Chang is on my tail, I'm outta here. Got it? I'm not putting any of your family in danger." His friend took his hand in a firm shake. "Deal. Just make sure you tell me about it, okay? I'm not letting you go it alone, if Chang decides to come back. Skinner too - he needs to know." Mulder agreed, though he knew damn well if it came to that, he was going to shoot first and ask questions later. If he had the chance, he was going to take care of Chang once and for all, without involving Charlie. A newlywed had no business chasing a killer, whether or not it was his job. Charlie gestured for him to follow, and he walked behind his friend, his mind still working as he was introduced to Dana's family. Smiling vaguely, he tried to listen to names and other small talk, shaking hands. Her father was a large man - he could see where Dana and Charlie had gotten the red hair. Her mother had obviously passed on her petite form to her youngest daughter. Melissa was a tall and willowy strawberry blonde; in other days, he might have found himself attracted to her. But no longer. He seemed to be ruined forever for other women. All because of one small redhead with a temper of opposite proportions to stature. Bill Scully offered him a scotch and he took it, sitting on the edge of the sofa with one eye toward the living room doors. Would she come back downstairs? Surely she had more courage than to cower like that - she was bound to know his reasons for being in her parents' house. And she damn well knew that sooner or later, she'd have to face him. After a few minutes, Charlie excused himself, saying he was going upstairs to check on Dana. It was about damned time, Mulder thought. Another moment of inane conversation about the wedding and he would have charged up those stairs without thought to appearances or manners. He wanted to talk to her, and he wasn't leaving until he did. ********** "Dana? You okay in there?" The knock on the bathroom door startled her. From her perch on the toilet lid, she took a deep breath. "Come on in, Charlie." She hadn't locked it; it was juvenile to think Mulder would follow her upstairs. Besides, a locked door in this house meant subterfuge within. The last thing she needed was her mother becoming curious. Charlie squatted before her, one finger brushing away a lock of her hair from her forehead. "What's up, sprite? Feeling okay?" His simple gesture brought moisture to her eyes and she blinked it away, not wanting to show weakness. She brought the wet washcloth to her neck and gave it another swipe. "I just got a bit claustrophobic in the foyer." It was the truth; however, the *cause* of her claustrophobia still remained unspoken. Still lurked downstairs somewhere, probably drinking her father's brandy. Charlie looked around the bathroom with a disbelieving eye. "So you decided to hightail it to the bathroom?" He took her hand, stilling its fidgeting. "Uhh... hate to tell you this, sprite, but this is the smallest room in the house." In spite of her nerves, she chuckled. "It is, isn't it?" He sobered a bit, intuitive as always. "Is it Mulder? Did he say something to you? Make you uncomfortable?" "No!" Her reply was a bit too quick, and she toned it down, heading off her brother's train of thought with a semi-truth. "He's just so... big. With the both of you crowding me, I couldn't breathe." "God, Dana, I'm sorry. Mulder doesn't know better, but I should." She nipped at his nose with the washcloth. "Damn straight you should." Charlie perked up, his eyes laughing as he said, "Oooh... such language. I'm gonna tell Mom." Leaning closer, she whispered, "You do, and I'm telling her how Ellen used to sneak out of my room into yours when she'd sleep over." College held little appeal for her friend once she discovered the lanky high school senior had grown up; how either of them got this far without having to go through a shotgun wedding first was beyond her. "What can I say? She has a thing for younger men." Smiling, he got to his feet and extended a hand. "C'mon, sprite. I told Mulder you were the prettiest, smartest woman in three states. You're making me look bad." Oh, Charlie, she thought sadly, you don't know what you've stumbled into. And now, I *really* can't ever tell you. It wasn't like her to run from anything, and her uncharacteristic flight up the stairs was generating suspicion. Buck up, she told herself. Gathering her courage, she took his hand and dropped the washcloth into the sink as she stood. "I look okay?" Her slacks and sweater were too casual for anywhere but home, but she wasn't about to change into a skirt. "You look fine. Smile, sprite. I promise not to try any more matchmaking, I swear." He had it in his mind that she'd run off partly because of his maneuvering. Let him think it. It would certainly help toward avoiding Mulder. She could do this. Another week, and he'd be gone. Who said she had to keep him company? They'd never be alone together, if she had any say about it. "Good boy," she murmured. "You're learning. I see Ellen's splendid hand in your training... I'll have to congratulate her on her fine work." Charlie ushered her out the bathroom door, snorting, "Leave it to me to fall for an older woman." ********** He had to gently push Daniel - or was it Donald? - off his knee to get to his feet. He felt like a total goof with his attempt at good manners, because Dana's father beat him to it. It had been years since he'd been in the presence of ladies other than those of the evening. Charlie flashed him a knowing grin and Dana just ignored him, murmuring something about "it was just a headache" to her mother's soft question about her disappearance. God, but she was beautiful. Even with the faint scrape on her forehead; he could see she'd tried to cover it up with makeup, and she'd done a good job, but he knew it was there. Dressed in a soft white pullover and forest green slacks, she stood at least a head shorter than Charlie, who he noticed had to give her a little push past the living room doors. If memory served, the top of her head reached only to his own chin. Then again, the only real gauge of that came when they were both horizontal. Mentally chastising himself for letting his thoughts wander in that direction, he instead catalogued the finer points of the woman before him. Medium length red hair with a slight wave that he could tell she tried her best to tame. It was parted on one side and held back with hairspray, he supposed, though one heavy lock draped over her brow in a very Veronica Lake-ish way. It was damned sexy, and he gulped, clenching his fists against the urge to cross the room and steal his hand through it as he turned her face up... "You say your parents live in Washington, Lieutenant Mulder?" He saw Dana's head whip around at her mother's use of his rank. He also noticed - as a warm tide of color crept up his cheeks - that he was the only one still standing. Quickly he sat, and just as quickly, Dana's sharp look avoided his gaze. He turned to Maggie Scully, not really hearing the words that came from his lips. Something about his father and the State Department. She kept up the conversation, asking him about his time in the Navy, where he'd been stationed, blah, blah, blah. He supposed he answered correctly, though he couldn't very well blurt out that he'd kept company with an opium dealer for the past few years. So he gave them all the official version, raising his voice a bit to make sure Dana heard. "I've been in Hong Kong since the summer of '39. Working to subvert the interests that funneled money into Japan." "A spy?" Melissa breathed, her eyes wide. Thankfully, Charlie spoke up, diverting the conversation into more reasonable terms. "He works in Naval Intelligence, Missy. You can't expect him to give away all our secrets." His eyes met Mulder's. "Want me to freshen up that drink, Mulder?" "Sure," he said, even though his glass had hardly been touched. He stood, walking with Charlie to the bar. Dana hardly moved, and he wondered if he'd get his chance tonight to speak to her. He had to try; he couldn't very well show up on the Scully doorstep every day until she deigned to receive him. But how? "Dana?" Charlie addressed his sister, handing her the ice bucket. "Would you get some more ice, please?" A slight hesitation, then she stood, her form stiff. "Okay." It was the first word she'd said since re-joining the family in the living room. Passing within inches of Mulder, he caught a whiff of her subtle perfume. It tugged at his groin, and he was glad for the long suit jacket of his dress blues. Trying to still his rushing blood, he realized that maybe this was his chance. "Charlie, can you direct me to the head?" he whispered, watching Dana turn right past the living room doors. "I need to wash up before I get back on the road." And he *was* leaving after he spoke to her - he didn't know if he could stand being so near to her and not be able to touch her for much longer. "Take a right in the hall. Last door before you get to the kitchen," Charlie whispered back. "Thanks." The sound of their voices followed him down the hall and he hoped for a few moments alone with her. Five minutes, tops, he figured. It was enough. What he really wanted to say to her would take much longer, but the assignation must be made for such a lengthy conversation. Her back to the door, she pounded the ice trays in the sink, not hearing his approach. He was sure to frighten her, but there was no way around that. Just as there was no good way to begin. Staying far enough back to give her space, he said, "I need to talk to you." As expected, she jumped, the loosened ice clattering into the bucket. Slowly, her back straightened, but she didn't turn around. "We have nothing to say to each other." "Dana -" "Don't call me that!" she hissed. "You have no right." Swallowing at her indignant tone, he conceded, "Fair enough. Miss Scully. I need to explain." At last, she turned, her cheeks pink with haughty anger. "I am of the same rank as you, Lieutenant. Either afford me some respect or leave off the 'Miss'." His anger tweaked, he growled with frustration, "Fine then. *Scully*." She wanted to be treated as an equal, then by God, she would be. Without the title commanded by her rank - they'd been too intimate to fall back to military protocol. "We have things to discuss, and I insist you make the time to speak to me." "I refuse... *Mulder*. And you are in no position to force me." "If you refuse, *Scully*, I'll have no choice but to tell your brother what happened in that cabin." She blanched, one hand coming up to hover at her neck. A gold cross gleamed in the light from above; funny, he hadn't noticed it back in Utah. Then again, he'd never actually seen her completely naked. He squinted against his own betraying thoughts and desires, as if he'd said the words aloud. "You wouldn't," she breathed. "Why would you do that? Charlie would kill you." A solid beating was the least he deserved. If he knew Charlie would keep the tale to himself and not involve her parents, he'd damn well tell him, just to get his friend to make him atone some way. Yeah, he could feel the broken nose already. "It's only what I deserve, don't you think?" Her concern of a second ago vanished. "You deserve to be drawn and quartered," she answered, her face becoming cool and aloof. "And I don't believe you have the guts to tell Charlie." Mulder backed to the kitchen door, nodding at the melting ice. "You might want to put some of that ice in a dishtowel, because I think I'll need it shortly..." "Wait." He stifled the urge to smile with satisfaction; first and foremost, she was a healer. His guess that she would never willingly cause him pain was an accurate one - even if she *had* knocked him in the head once already. As she wavered before him with indecision, he made his next move. "Have dinner with me tomorrow night." "Christmas Day? And just where would we go? The soup kitchen at St. Mary's?" "The next day, then. About seven? I can pick you up -" "No." She was adamant. "I'll meet you. Mike's Grill." He nodded, happy she'd capitulated. Though she sure knew how to pick 'em - from what he remembered, Mike's Grill was a bustling, rowdy place full of Irishmen looking to pick a fight. Or defend a lady. "Seven," he agreed. "I'll be sure to wear my combat helmet." He saw how his wink infuriated her before he turned to make his goodbyes to the rest of her family. ********** Midnight mass soothed her jangled nerves. The lilting voices of the choir, the smell of incense, and the drone of Latin. Sitting between her parents and Charlie, she felt somehow buffeted in a cocoon of safety and love. Melissa had taken her children home to await the arrival of Santa. Their absence left a hole in the family celebration, but she welcomed the peace and quiet. Besides, tomorrow would be hectic enough, with the Scully clan celebrating with typical rowdiness. As the priest delivered his homily, Charlie leaned in to whisper, "You okay, sprite?" She nodded, taking his hand in hers. "Yeah." Despite the impending meeting with Mulder, she was, indeed, feeling pretty good. He'd caught her a bit off guard with his sudden appearance, but she'd righted herself quickly back to an even keel. And the more she thought about it, the more she realized that talking it out with Mulder was for the best. She didn't want Charlie's wedding ruined by the lingering hostilities between the two of them. They were both adults, they could reason their way past their first disastrous encounter. And then never have to set eyes on one another again. It was what she prayed for; she had an awful feeling Mulder wasn't going to be so cooperative on that item. But she had to keep her distance. She'd never met a man she couldn't handle... and something told her Fox Mulder wasn't a man she could control with her logic and cool hauteur. He wanted her, it was obvious in the warm, magnetic pull of his hazel eyes. And she couldn't deny that she felt an equal attraction. She remembered her thoughts in the car before their fateful meeting in Utah, how she'd decided to pursue a relationship at last. But on her terms. Mulder would consume her, she knew. He'd already broken through her physical reserve - she wasn't about to let him barrel through to her emotions. When she decided to take that leap, it would be with a man similar in nature, one ruled by his head, not his heart. After only two meetings, she could tell Mulder was a man driven by his passions. Not a compatible mate for someone like her, who relied on stability and security. Maybe if they'd met under different circumstances... but no. It wasn't to be, and she'd have to make him see that. End Chapter Seven A Familiar Heart Chapter Eight Mulder fidgeted in the booth, checking his watch again. 7:15. Would she show up? Or was this her way of getting a bit of revenge? He quickly dismissed the thought - her revenge, should she choose to exercise it, would be swift and sure. Most likely, a blow to the groin this time. Unmanning him while she condemned him with that cool gaze. "Mulder." The low call of his name jerked his head up. He stood up with a gulp, subconsciously bending at the waist in an effort to protect his privates at the angry look in her eyes. She wasn't pleased at all by his demand to have her meet him, and she'd had two whole days to simmer and stew herself into a fury. God, she was magnificent - all buttoned up in gray wool, a matching felt hat haloing that errant lock of hair. He wanted to greet her with a kiss, to swoop her into his arms like he'd seen other couples do in the hour he'd waited. Instead, he smiled. Not too broad, just a simple, hesitant parting of lips. "Can I take your coat?" "I'm not staying that long." Okay, he should have expected that. "Would you at least sit?" He glanced around the room, alerting her to the subtle stares their standoff was attracting. With a purse of her lips, she dropped her purse on the table and sat, though she perched close to the edge of the booth as if poised for flight. He cleared his throat, forcing a normalcy to his voice. "How was Christmas?" A scalding, 'are you being absurd?' look crossed her face, but before she could answer, they were interrupted by a big man who descended upon the table with a smile. "Dana!" Her whole face transformed; she stood, a brilliant smile in place as she was enfolded in a bear hug. "Uncle Mike... so good to see you again." Uncle Mike? Mulder took hold of his glass of water with a shaky hand. Its ascent to his lips stopped at half-mast, as he took note of the waiters and waitresses, not to mention the man who hugged Scully as if she were... kin. Jesus. They all had the familiar reddish hair and pale complexions. Mike could be - "And who's this, darlin'?" Scully's smile faded as she nodded at Mulder, who slid to his feet. "Uncle Mike, Fox Mulder. Charlie's best man. Mulder, this is my Dad's brother, Mike Scully." His hand was engulfed in a beefy, calloused paw. "Pleased to meet ya," Mike said, still smiling. "If I'd known you were Dana's beau, I'd have given you a better table. One not so close to the kitchen." God, he was in such trouble. Scully stood by with rigid fury, Mike's mistaken declaration compressing her jaw into a firm line. Mulder rushed to explain, sensing he was seconds away from being thrown out by her command. "I'm not Dana's beau. We're just discussing last minute wedding details." Mike's smile drooped a bit, though he commented no further on the subject, instead turning his attention to Scully. A slight frown marred his brow as he said, "I saw the little limp, darlin' - you hurt yourself?" Her eyes darted to Mulder, then back to her uncle. Lips pursed, her cheeks lost some of their cold weather color as she murmured, "I twisted it changing a flat. It's nothing, Uncle Mike. Getting better every day." Her smile was brief and listless. Another nail in the coffin of Mulder's guilt; he hadn't noticed her limping last night at her mother's. Of course, she hadn't *wanted* him to notice - he doubted if she let herself show the physical weakness in front of her family, for fear of the inevitable questioning. Mike seemed satisfied by her off-putting answer, though he spread his hands and boomed, "Well then - what're you doin' with your coat oon? Surely you're stayin' for dinner? We've got some fine corned beef and cabbage today." "Um... actually, I really need to -" She faltered, looking to Mulder for help. Which he was in no mood to give. Despite the fact that she could sic her relatives on him in a heartbeat, he was willing to brave the sure pounding in order to get her to stay a while. "We'll have that, Mike," he drawled easily, ignoring her flashing eyes. "And maybe a couple of beers?" Taking in Mulder's uniform and friendly smile, Mike beamed. "Sure. I'll get right on it." "But -" Mike stalled Scully's protest with a firm hand. "Now, if I didn't feed you before I sent you on your way, your pa would take a stick to me. Sit. Mr. Mulder?" When Mike stepped aside, Mulder moved in, turning her gently to divest her of her coat. Mike winked and moved away to the bar while she fumbled with the buttons. "You... you..." Her anger made her stutter, as she searched for the right, albeit ladylike epithet. Mulder could feel her mind scream out 'bastard', but she didn't dare say that in such close proximity to her cousins. "Wretch? Swine?" he offered, his hands gentle on her shoulders as he leaned close. Her familiar scent wafted over him and he closed his eyes, embracing it with his mind as if his arms had cuddled her close. This meeting was destined to be another mistake, but he just had to see her alone one last time. It didn't matter if he had to field barbs all night; anything was worth just looking at her. Shrugging off his hands and her coat, she let him take it from her, facing him. "Too good for you," she bit out. "How about slimy cur?" He grimaced at the vehemence in her voice. "I'd prefer 'friend'," he said softly, waiting for her reaction. "Fiend," she replied, sweeping aside her skirt to sit in the booth. Sighing, he hung her coat next to his on the nearby hatrack and resumed his seat. This wasn't going to be easy. And truth was, he'd never really been all that smooth with women. He'd never had to be; he wasn't an ugly man by any means, and women seemed to find him attractive enough. Not that he treated them badly - usually, he could charm any woman with his smile and rapier wit. But not her. The uniform hadn't impressed her. His smile seemed to fall flat at every opportunity. Though they'd not exchanged more than a hundred words since they'd met again, his attempts at being friendly were met with hostility. Of course, he couldn't blame her one bit. What he'd thought of her back in Utah... what he'd *done* to her, would take a lot more effort to repair than smiles and charming words. Letting his gaze wander over her sky blue knit dress, he drank in the sight of her loveliness as a waiter appeared with their drinks. "I didn't know you'd hurt your ankle," he said. "Is it bad?" Her eyes, which had been making a serious study of the shiny table, snapped up. She waited until the waiter left, then, with ice dripping from her voice, said, "My ankle is fine, Mulder. Just say what you have to say so I can go." "Dana -" At the leap of flame in her eyes, he amended, "Scully. I've been too long without conversation that wasn't edged with suspicion. I realize you have every reason to hate me, but I thought we could talk without growling at one another. For Charlie's sake, I thought we could at least try to be friends." "Friends?" Her question carried the unspoken, 'and nothing more?' "Friends," he stated. His more-than-friendly feelings would have to be squashed, he knew. And if her friendship was all he could ever enjoy, he'd damn well take it. For this brief interlude, it would have to do. And maybe, just maybe - if he played his cards right - they could come together again, on an even playing field. Her animosity slowly faded, but wary reticence still clouded her eyes. She picked at the napkin neatly folded on the table, saying, "I'm - I can't just forget. It's not something I'm very proud of, you know... the way we... met." At last, a peek behind the armor of defiant fury. Using every bit of sincerity he'd thought lost in the past few years, he responded in kind. "I can't say that I was on my best behavior, either. I'm usually more accommodating." "Mulder -" "And I want to apologize," he interrupted, sensing that her anger was giving way to something more fearsome - total withdrawal. He wasn't letting her go that easily. In fact, if he had his way, he'd never let her go again. "I'm sorry, Scully. You caught me at a really bad time." A slight curl of her lips accompanied her reply. "Is there ever a *good* time to catch you?" He shouldn't, the little angel on his shoulder whispered. But the devil on the other side won the argument, and he touched the lump under his hair. "You seem to have found the best way." Steady and truthful, his somber gaze tried to tell her what his lips could not. Signed, sealed, and knocked unconscious... whether she wanted it or not, he was hers. Instead of retreating behind a cool mask of anger, she surprised him by chuckling, which pleased him to no end. "I'll have to remember that - all I have to do is wallop you with the butt of a gun. Got it." Her near smile was winsome and it tugged at his heart. "I need to apologize to you as well." "What for? You did what you had to do." He looked away, disgusted with the remembrance of his behavior toward her. "But it - we never would have reached that point if I hadn't... you know." A fresh surge of color tinted her cheeks, an attractive, blooming tinge of pink. "I don't usually... throw myself at men that way." He looked at her, falling more in love with her with every second that passed. He could feel it burn from his eyes, travel down to the fingers that longed to touch her face. "I know." Her eyes met his, and he could have sworn it wasn't possible for her to become more beautiful. But she did, her flush extending down the vee neck of her dress, the cross glowing above the rush of blood to her skin. "Yes. Well." She reached for her glass of beer, taking a long sip. "So. I have a feeling you're about to tell me who this Chang person is. Am I right?" He lowered his voice to a murmur, clasping his hands together beneath the table to prevent them from reaching for her. "I'd very much like to, if you're willing to listen." The arrival of their dinner made her hesitate, but she gave him an answer as she picked up her fork. "Will it ruin my dinner?" Mulder knew he would never tell her the most sordid, heinous details of his time spent with Chang. As a genteel lady, she really shouldn't be regaled with tales of opium and whores. "Probably. I think I'd better wait until we're done." "Nonsense." She took a bite of cabbage, chasing it down with another sip of beer. "I've seen and heard things you can't imagine." Her face clouded over with a memory unknown to him - but one that intrigued. She was no ordinary female, and he'd best get that straight. He could see her courage etched in every subtle, firm crease of her brow. "And I've done things you can't imagine," he said, regret making his voice husky. She laid her fork on the plate. "Then maybe both our imaginations need enlightening. If you want us to be friends, Mulder, you have to tell me the truth." The truth. However ugly it may be, he knew he owed her that. "Finish your dinner, then we'll talk." "I've got a strong stomach," she pressed, a soft intrusion punctuated by an encouraging lift of her lips. He picked up his fork, lowering his gaze. Much as he wanted to, this was not a moment for soft, re-assuring smiles. "Maybe I don't." ********** Mulder's appetite seemed on a par with hers, as he picked at his dinner. They fell into silence as they ate, and she took the opportunity to study him and gather her thoughts. He'd had a haircut since Utah, but he needed a bit of Brylcream, in her opinion - there was a lock of unruly hair that refused to stay put. Every now and then, he impatiently brushed it back with his fingers. He'd shaved, though a little red scrape on his chin told her he'd either been out of practice, or nervous. She could commiserate, she thought sadly, recalling the butterflies in her stomach on the way over here. All in all, he was a handsome man, with a devastating smile and hazel eyes that were old, but warm. In another time, she might have found herself falling for his charm. And he was charming, she had to admit. An easy intelligence and dry wit - God, she would have fallen hard. But there was an edge to his polished exterior, and though it didn't frighten her, it did make her uncomfortable. He wasn't used to playing the part of the gentleman, that was obvious. But the uniform was spotless, and his manners, while rough, had been taught at an early age. She wondered what had happened to him. His behavior in the cabin had been appalling. Now, he was trying so hard to contain whatever drove him to act that way. And it was high time she found out what it was. As the waiter took their plates away and brought coffee, she murmured, "You weren't kidding." Lost in thought as she'd been, his glance was confused. "Excuse me?" "About your stomach. You hardly ate a thing." Fingers wrapped around the steaming cup of coffee, he seemed mesmerized by the brew. "I wasn't very hungry." She added sugar and milk to her cup, knowing the time had come to hear his story. "Guess you don't want dessert then." His eyes snapped up, as if he'd suddenly been reminded - once again - of his lack of manners. Raising a hand to the waiter, he said quickly, "I'm sorry. What would you like?" Before she could stop it, her hand tugged on his sleeve, pulling his arm down. That slow burn, the same one she'd seen back at the cabin, returned to his gaze. Slowly, his eyes caressed her face, then fell to her hand. She snatched it from his arm, saying, "I don't want dessert, thank you. But I would like some answers." Mulder paled a bit, bringing a hand up to scratch his jaw. She noticed a mole on his cheek; it was quite attractive, actually. Gave him a bit of distinction. Not that he needed any - she'd noticed the admiring looks from the ladies in the diner while they'd eaten. Once again, she lamented the circumstances of their meeting with a heavy heart. But no... they couldn't go back... "You know I work in Naval Intelligence." His statement shook her from her traitorous thoughts. "With Charlie, apparently." "Yeah. He was my contact in Honolulu." "And this Chang fellow?" He sighed, looking everywhere but at her. "I was assigned to Hong Kong back in '39, when the Japanese began stirring up trouble in Asia. The government set me up as a Dutch trader - I'm fluent in several languages." She remembered his barrage of questions, barked at her in languages she didn't understand. Until he got to Japanese. "For what purpose?" "We suspected the Japanese were moving in on the opium trade; they used their profits to finance the military. At first, I was only supposed to keep an eye out and report back any suspicious movements." "At first?" She wished he'd look at her; it was difficult to read him when those expressive eyes were hooded and withdrawn. He swallowed the last of his coffee before answering, "Then I met up with Chang." He raised somber eyes to her. She almost gasped at the pain and guilt in those liquid depths. "I now had a connection. As it turned out, *the* connection. He was - *is* - a major player in the Chinese Triads." "The Mafia?" Surprise lit his face; he hadn't expected her to recognize the term. "This fabulous hairdo *does* sit atop a brain, you know," she said dryly, waving a hand at her hat- covered hair. He smiled, and it was as if the gloom over him dissipated a bit. "Yeah, I kinda noticed." Admiration glinted in his eyes, warming her more than the coffee. She sensed their drift into dangerous waters, and pulled him away with, "So... how deep did you go in?" His smile faded and he leaned back, toying with his empty cup. "Deep. When Skinner - our CO - learned I'd been offered a job with Chang, my orders changed." "Changed? How?" "By that time, the Japanese had occupied Hong Kong. Let's just say Chang was very friendly with the officers - and my job was to make sure they stayed happy." Something in his face told her she wasn't going to like what came next. But she had to hear it all. "And what was your job?" "I ran the China Moon." He hesitated, his lips pursing, then added, "Chang wasn't happy making millions from the opium trade. When the Japanese won, he wanted control of Hong Kong." "Greedy fellow, wasn't he?" Mulder didn't respond to her attempt to lighten the conversation. He knew what was coming next, so she didn't dawdle further. "The China Moon. A bar, I take it." "You could say that." He finally looked at her again, his face an ill-concealed portrait of self-revulsion. "Let's just say, whatever the Japanese wanted, I got it for them. In return, Chang got plenty of blackmail material. I got plenty of military secrets." His eyes spoke of things criminal, of dirty, backroom deals and an easy flow of all manner of vices. Scully was speechless. When he said he'd done things he wasn't proud of, she'd never dreamed he was little more than a common criminal. "Some hero, huh?" His cutting remark spoke volumes of the way he felt about his service in the war. After the initial shock of moments ago passed, she'd quickly realized that it didn't matter how he'd done his job - the fact remained, he'd done it. Charlie obviously knew what Mulder had had to do in Hong Kong, and he didn't hold it against him. In fact, Charlie was Mulder's big advocate. She'd spent the better part of Christmas Day listening to Charlie's subtle praises of his friend, despite the warning looks she bestowed on her brother. Mulder cleared his throat and signaled for the check. "I was supposed to stay until the end of the war, but in February, I'd had enough. I couldn't stand what I'd become. Skinner and Charlie knew I was at the end of my rope, and arranged transport out for me." He couldn't stand what he'd become. That statement, quickly sandwiched between the other two, made her see him for what he was - a flawed, totally human being. He was right. He wasn't a hero. But he was a soldier to the bitter end, taught to fight for his country in whatever way he had to. So what if he finally broke and had to be relieved of his duty? There was still one question that remained. "Chang. I take it he didn't let you go so easily?" At that, a bitter laugh broke from his lips. "Not after I torched his warehouses and blew up a couple of his ships in a fond farewell." Scully blanched. "He's after you." "You could say that. I thought the bastard had gone up in flames with his merchandise. Seems I was wrong." God. Moments ago, she'd been on the verge of sobbing at his story. But that was before the final piece fell into place. Chang was *still* after him - out for revenge. If Chang was the type of criminal Scully suspected he was, he wouldn't let anyone stand in his way. And here was Mulder, sitting out in the open with her, exposing himself in order to explain. Worse - putting her family in the line of fire as well. "I can't believe you," she said, anger at his nonchalant attitude hardening her voice. "Do you think I want you anywhere near me and my family?" "Scully, listen to me -" He put a hand over hers, trapping her at the table, his face desperate. "No." Jerking her hand away, she stood on shaky legs, not wanting to hear any more of his explanations. It didn't matter that she sympathized with his story - the fact remained, he was a walking timebomb, and the explosion could very well take her family with him. Her uncle Mike chose that moment to interrupt, saying their dinner was compliments of the house. Mulder sat mute, watching her tug on her coat. "Dana," Mike said, "what's the rush? Stay awhile. Have another cup of coffee." Feeling as if she had a target plastered to her back, she glanced around the room, looking for signs of menace. Mulder got to his feet and slowly pulled on his own coat, addressing Mike. "Thanks, Mike, but we've got to get going." She pressed a kiss to Mike's cheek and fled, not listening to Mulder's goodbyes. The night air was cold and crisp, and she wasted no time waving at the few cabs on the street. Damn him. Just when she was beginning to feel sorry for him, too. He had no business placing himself in such close proximity to her family, and she was going to let Charlie have an earful when she got home. "Tell him I said I'm sorry." Mulder's soft statement made her flinch, but she didn't turn around. "Tell who what?" she grated out, not interested in anything but getting as far away from the man as possible. "Tell Charlie I'm sorry." Impatiently, she dropped her arm and faced him. "For what?" "He'll know." He turned up the collar on his coat, his face half in shadow. "And I really am sorry for what I did to you, Dana." Furious, she could do nothing but stare. Mulder shoved his hands in his pockets, his eyes sweeping her face one last time. "I know it's not an explanation, or an excuse. But being with you... it was like coming home at last. I felt... whole." He turned and walked away, his tall figure blending in with the night. Her anger fell to ashes at the sight of his hunched shoulders and for a moment, she allowed herself to grieve for what could have been, her whisper humid with unshed tears. "So did I." End Chapter Eight A Familiar Heart Chapter Nine When she came down for breakfast the next morning, she was greeted by the smell of bacon from the kitchen, and a harried Charlie hanging on the telephone in the hall. "Hey," she said, tapping him on the shoulder. "What's up?" She'd been fully prepared to light into him for the Mulder business, but the frown on his face detoured her thoughts. Something was amiss. Charlie's chin snapped up, the receiver cradled between his ear and shoulder. A fleeting, absent smile curled his lips and he said, "Hey, sprite. How was the movie?" Remembering her cover story for the way she'd spent last night, she returned his smile. "Okay. Gable's getting a bit long in the tooth." She nodded at the phone. "Is something wrong?" "Um... nothing. I just can't get a hold of Mulder this morning. We're supposed to -" He turned back to his conversation. "Yes? Yeah..." Scully wandered off toward the kitchen in search of coffee, Charlie's words fading behind her. So Mulder was gone. Tell Charlie I'm sorry, he'd said. Relief flowed through her, mixed with a healthy amount of guilt. Seemed she wouldn't have to tell Charlie anything about her meeting with Mulder; his best man had taken care of it by skipping town. On one hand, she was glad he'd taken his woes with him. Her family was most important in the matter. On the other hand, she felt bad because Charlie was bound to be hurt by Mulder's disappearance. But God - the man was dangerous! Charlie knew better than to expose his family and friends to that kind of threat. "Coffee, Dana?" Maggie worked at the stove, looking up at her daughter's approach. Scully murmured a 'good morning' to her mother, and made for the pot on the stove. "Careful, it's still dripping," Maggie warned. "Breakfast won't be ready for another ten minutes of so - would you mind getting the morning paper in the drive before your father comes down?" "Sure, Mom." She tipped the coffee pot, one finger on the metal basket of hot water that sat on the top. The full, stout aroma of coffee beans wafted up to her when she filled her cup, and she added a generous amount of sugar and milk before heading back into the hall. Charlie hung up the telephone with a sigh. His defeated posture tugged at her heart, and she laid a hand on his arm. "What's the problem?" If she had a hand in Mulder leaving, the least she could do was console her brother. And Bill would make a fine best man, she thought, even though her two brothers always fought like cats and dogs. "Mulder's gone." Slapping the pad of paper he held against his thigh, he muttered, "Damn." "He's what?" Act cool, she told herself. Be surprised, then be sympathetic. Charlie turned back to the telephone, picking up the receiver to dial a number he read off the paper. "He's left his parents' place - they think he put up in a hotel, but I'm not so sure. I knew he was going to do something like this. Idiot. No matter how many times I tell him that it's okay - Yes? Hello?" "Okay for what?" This was more than simple disappointment that his best man had abandoned him. Charlie was genuinely hurt by Mulder's leaving, and was trying his best to track him down. "He's not registered? Okay, thanks." He threw the pad to the table and scrubbed at his cheeks with one hand, muttering, "Where the hell did he go?" He depressed the disconnect button and dialed again, this time more aggressively. He ignored her tug on his arm, telling her with a wave of his hand to wait. "Yeah. This is Charles Scully. I need to speak to Commander Skinner ASAP." She walked around to the living room door, sipping at her coffee, trying to appear nonchalant as she listened in on Charlie's barked instructions. He'd apparently phoned his CO's office at the Pentagon, and was asking them to put out feelers for Mulder's whereabouts. She heard Chang's name once or twice, then, when Charlie noticed her hovering in the doorway, he lowered his voice until she couldn't hear anything at all. Surely he didn't think Chang had gotten to Mulder? Alarm made her heart trip; no - Mulder had just left because of her angry outburst last night. He had the sense to realize it wasn't safe, that was all. The slam of the telephone made her jump, and Charlie brushed past her into the living room. "I can't believe he did this to me." "Did what?" "Skipped out on me, that's what," Charlie growled. "I told him that it was okay for him to be here, and then he goes and does this. Why the hell did he bother showing up if he was gonna end up leaving?" A dull thud set up residence in her head, pounding out the chilling reason for Mulder's pop-in and pop-out: because he wanted to explain. Not to Charlie, to *her*. He'd known who she was - if not before he left Utah, then bby the time he got to Maryland. He didn't come all this way to be Charlie's best man. He came all this way to apologize to her, to try to make it right. It was the only thing that made sense. But the unanswered questions in her mind still lingered, and she was determined to know the whole story. "Charlie." "Yeah?" "Why did you tell him it was okay to be here? Was he not planning on coming to your wedding all along?" Charlie flopped into her father's easy chair, looking at the hall as if he could make the telephone ring with his stare. "I'm gonna tell you something, sprite - but you have to promise it goes no further." He leveled her with a grim look. God, she wasn't sure she wanted to hear all the gory details. But she had to know - if Mulder had it in his mind all along to leave, she had to know if he would have stayed, had she not pushed him away with her anger. And something in Charlie's sad countenance told her that his friend's decision was based on more than her harsh words of reprimand. On legs suddenly rubbery with fear, she walked to the couch, where she perched on the edge. "I promise," she said, waiting with bated breath. Charlie sighed, lowering his voice as he leaned forward. "Mulder had it much worse in Hong Kong that he let on in front of the family the other night." Mulder's voice echoed in her head as Charlie continued, "I knew him before he got shipped there, back in '39. We went through basic training together. Of course, he was the old man of the group." He smiled grimly, shaking his head. "He might have been 25 or 26. Then again, I was only eighteen, so anyone with a heavier beard than me was old. "He's smart, you know. Way smarter than he lets on. I mean, I always knew I wanted to make a career out of the Navy, just like Dad. So I joined up right out of school. It was just dumb luck I happened to get in with Intelligence along with Mulder." She knew that was a modest statement. Charlie was quick and agile mentally, perfect for the intuitive work that Naval Intelligence demanded. "But Mulder? God, Dana - he could speak like seven or eight languages, he could remember things word for word after only seeing them once. The man went to Oxford, for God's sake. His father was wealthy and Mulder could have had any juicy government job he wanted." "Why didn't he?" "He never offered a reason, and I never asked. But it's my guess there's some friction at home. His kid brother was always making good, you know. He'd tell me about how Sam had made all-American in baseball at Princeton, how Sam graduated with honors, how Sam did this, and Sam did that. And it wasn't with envy, either. I think Mulder was very proud of his brother. But I also think he felt very inferior, at least in his Dad's eyes." Charlie paused, linking his hands as they rested over his knees. "Maybe he wanted to make something of himself on his own, without his father's help." She saw how that statement was reflective of Charlie's own inadequacies, as far as Bill was concerned. Dana had never seen her father treat his sons any differently, but Bill often came out on top by virtue of his status as eldest. It was Bill who was destined to be captain of his own vessel one day, not Charlie. But she knew Charlie had come to terms with his life, and he was very good at his job, something her father had recently realized. The wedding was supposed to have been a celebration of Charlie's adult status at last... and she'd gone and put a chink in it. "Anyway, he jumped at the chance to go to Hong Kong. He was perfect for the assignment, and I was set up in Honolulu to communicate with him. Then he met up with Chang." Charlie's face took on a sour look, and he hung his head to stare at his hands. "Chang?" It took all of her strength to keep the emotion from her voice, to act like she'd never heard the name. Still, it left a bitter taste on her tongue, one she washed away with a sip of her sweetened coffee. "Yeah. Chang was - *is* - bad news. He ran one of the major opium smuggling operations in Hong Kong. When Skinner - our CO - heard about this, he ordered Mulder to get in good with Chang. I kept my mouth shut, but I didn't like it at all. It was dangerous, and we both knew it." This was sounding more awful by the minute; she now realized Mulder had glossed over the details not because they were top secret, but because they were quite probably too horrible to speak of. One look at Charlie's face told her of the ominous story to come. Putting aside her coffee cup, she scooted closer, taking one of Charlie's hands in her own. A slight tug, and she forced him to look at her. "Tell me." It was so like the way he'd gently pulled the story of her own imprisonment from her, and she felt tears gather in her eyes. Tears for Charlie, who'd obviously had to stand by and watch Mulder go deeper into trouble... and tears for Mulder, who she suspected with each passing moment had spared her because he cared more deeply for her than she'd thought. "After a while, even Skinner knew that Mulder was in over his head. But he couldn't do anything about it - the orders from above were specific: leave Mulder there. He was getting some good information about troop movements from Chang's Japanese customers - mostly officers who liked to hang around the China Moon." Once again, she fished for already known information. "What was the China Moon?" "Chang tapped Mulder to run the China Moon. A really nice place, from what I understand... crystal chandeliers, teakwood bar... and all the women and opium one could ever want." Dear God. Mulder ran a brothel. Disgust curled in her stomach; had he ever availed himself of the women? Goodness knew he was sexually active, if his performance of the other night was any indication. Of course, she really had no other way of gauging him against other men... damn! She had no business even *thinking* of him like that anymore. Her displeasure at the thought must have shown on her face, because Charlie immediately squeezed her fingers. "He wouldn't have done that, sprite. Believe me." "How do you know?" "Because he's an honorable man. And because that's one of the things he most hated about working in Hong Kong - when he came back to the States, I heard the venom in his voice when he'd talk about the way Chang's women were treated. Like chattel. And he couldn't do a damned thing about it." Yet he'd made love to her. Even his snide bargaining at the end had been laced with self- revulsion, she knew that now. He'd been rough, but he'd been tender. Letting go of Charlie's hand, she stood and walked to the fireplace, squeezing her eyes shut as she gave Charlie her back. The words seemed to drag out of her, each one filled with dread. "That's not all, is it?" Behind her, Charlie sighed. "No. Toward the end, Chang began to suspect Mulder. He got one of the girls to slowly slip some opium into Mulder's food." The vial. His paranoid insistence that she'd been sent there to drug him. "Was he..." she stumbled a bit, then took a deep breath. "Was he addicted?" "When he started feeling the effects, he realized what Chang had done. He couldn't refuse the food, because it would mean his certain death. So he went along, barely eating enough to survive until he could get out. I tried telling Skinner that they should pull him, but it was no use. Skinner's hands were tied like mine. It all came to a head in February." Composing her face into a calmer mask, she turned, arms crossed over her chest. "What happened in February?" Charlie's face was pinched and pale. "I relayed a message to Mulder - his brother had been killed in action." "God," she whispered, feeling Mulder's pain as surely as if she'd been there with him. "It broke him, sprite. I think he went a bit nuts. His message back was so cold, so crazy. He told me I'd better find him some transport, because he was leaving Hong Kong, no matter what Skinner said. And if we didn't find him transport, he was going to go up in flames with Chang. He'd had enough." She had a sudden mental image of Mulder's madness, and it took her breath away. Because it was familiar. Did he see angels when he lit the fuse? Were there voices telling him that no matter what, with death there came freedom? She shuddered at her own memories of nearly crossing that jagged line of instant, permanent insanity, and wondered how Mulder had stepped back from it, as she had. He could very well have gone over the edge in Utah, but he didn't. It was a testament to his strength, a statement of his humanity. "You got him out, though, didn't you?" It was the one hopeful scene in the horrid tale, and she hoped that Chang would never tack on a sad ending. "Yeah, but it wasn't easy. A heavy cruiser doing reconnaissance for a carrier spotted him a couple of days after I lost contact with him. He was floating in a fishing boat a few hundred miles southeast of Taiwan. How the hell he avoided Japanese patrols, I don't know; he'd paddled his way away from Hong Kong. It was sheer luck we found him - he was in bad shape. Another day or so, and he'd have been a goner." "And the opium addiction?" "Took a few months to wean him off of the stuff. He seemed like he was going to be okay, then we found out Chang was after him, looking for revenge." Charlie got up from the chair to look out the window, hands on hips. "Damn it," he growled. "He's been practically on the lam since August; he wasn't going to come to my wedding, you know. He didn't want Chang to follow him here. But I told him a couple of days ago that Chang had gone back to Hong Kong. Mulder didn't have a damn thing to worry about." She watched Charlie's back stiffen with hurt, and she knew she was responsible. Mulder had tried to tell her last night that they were in no danger, but she'd been too caught up in her own anger and selfishness to listen. The wrong she'd done Charlie *and* Mulder pressed upon her like a two-ton pile of bricks. But how could she make it right? Mulder was gone, and even if Charlie could find him, she doubted Mulder would sit still to listen. And no way would she risk getting that close to Mulder again. Yes, he wasn't what she'd thought he was, but he was still too dangerous to her peace of mind to have him around. She was such a coward. A little fool who thought all the hurt in the world had fallen upon her shoulders. It wasn't bad enough she'd burdened Charlie with all that happened to her in Los Banos... no, she had to ruin his wedding by practically running his best man out of town on a rail. The loud ring of the telephone made her jump; it made Charlie whirl and run for the hall. She couldn't help but follow, eavesdropping on Charlie's breathless replies. "Yeah? He did? Thanks." As soon as he hung up, he made for the coat rack, giving Scully a peck on the cheek as he donned his coat and gloves. "Catch ya later, sis." "Wait a minute," she called out, stopping him half in and half out the door. "Where are you going?" "Mulder and I were supposed to meet at Skinner's office this morning - he's already come and gone. One of the assistants says she overheard him on the phone before he left - checking schedules at the Dupont Train Station." A rail. How ironic that her machinations should literally find Mulder catching a train out of town. "Charlie?" "Yeah?" "Do you think he'll come back with you?" She wasn't worried that Mulder would tell Charlie of his dinner with her last night. No, by their common, unspoken, honor, neither would ever say a word to Charlie about any of that mess in Utah. She was more concerned that Charlie would beg until he was blue in the face and Mulder wouldn't budge from his decision to leave. "He'd better. He has nothing to hide from anymore, and I'm damn well gonna make him see that." Scully shifted from one foot to the other, a trickle of nervous energy fluttering in her stomach. Charlie paused, one hand on the door knob, confusion creasing his brow. "Sis?" Damn. She knew she was going to be sorry for this, but it had to be done. ********** It was cold out on the platform, but at least it wasn't snowing anymore, Mulder thought. His body tucked into his heavy coat and scarf, he almost wished he'd worn his uniform. The hat would warm his head nicely. But God, he'd had enough of the uniform already. It hadn't done him a damned bit of good to wear the thing, and actually, it brought back memories he'd just as soon forget. Skinner hadn't been pleased he'd shown up early for the de-briefing about Chang, saying Charlie should be there. But Mulder had lied and told Skinner there was a family emergency in Florida. Truth be known, his parents *were* leaving Washington for Florida early this morning, but only for his dad to get in some sun and golf in Miami. He could have stayed at their house indefinitely, according to his mother, but his father's frown had put an end to that idea. Mulder didn't even have a key to the house. Some welcome home. Besides, after seeing her last night, and hearing her condemnation, he wanted to get as far away as possible. Nagging guilt about abandoning Charlie made his shoulders droop, but Scully had been right - he had no business exposing their happy family to any danger, *or* to anything associated with his seedy past. Including himself. He was not worthy of the friendly, homespun Scully clan, most especially Dana, who still managed to look like an innocent. Jesus. He shut his eyes against the glare of the sun, wondering if he'd ever forgive himself for that transgression. "Mulder!" He turned at the shout of his name, only to look away with a grimace. Charlie, his smile of relief beaming across the platform. He should have known his friend would track him down. Damn. Another ten minutes and he'd have been gone on the 11:15 to parts west. Tucking his hands in his pockets, he straightened his shoulders and prepared for the argument to come. Smiling, he faced his breathless friend. "Come to see me off?" Charlie's relief at finding him faded quickly to a frown. "I should kick your ass. C'mon." He wrapped a hand around Mulder's duffel bag. "I'm not going back, Charlie." He gave Charlie his profile, a proud, implacable show of stubbornness. "Yes, you are. There's nothing to worry about, Mulder. You talked to Skinner this morning - Chang's gone." He hefted the bag over his shoulder. "You want your clothes? You'll have to come with me." "Take 'em. As soon as I get back to San Diego, I'm resigning my commission. I'd have done it here, but Skinner refused to accept it." From the corner of his eye, he saw Charlie drop the bag to the wooden floor. It hit with a dull thud, and Mulder almost flinched at the hurt in Charlie's voice. "You're what?" "You heard me. I'm out." He gave Charlie a sidelong glance, then dropped his chin at the sadness he saw written in the crestfallen face. "I'm just not... ready for any of this, Charlie. Life on the outside." He spoke as if he'd been in prison, and he supposed he had. A dirty, dark place that he was just scratching his way out of; and one thing his short time with Charlie's glowing family had proven to him was that he'd lost touch with normal people, with the simple things like manners and genuine feelings. It hurt, and he wasn't sure it would ever stop. "Mulder, no... you can't crawl back and hide. I won't let you." Mulder's lips curled at Charlie's insistent growl. It was so easy for Charlie to stand there and plead with him to stay. He was the most decent fellow he'd ever had the pleasure of knowing. But Mulder didn't see his own parents standing before him with the same words, nor did he see any of his so-called pals from Skinner's office. And he certainly wouldn't be graced with a plea to stay from her... the very thought of her, standing in the watery sunshine, a smile on her face, a 'please' on her lips... God, it shook him to his bones. No. That was just a dream, and he'd had plenty of those in Hong Kong that never came true. Why would Maryland prove any different? A sharp whistle pierced the air, and he saw the train approaching from his left. "Look, Charlie," he said as he faced the younger man, "I can't -" "Yes, you can." Soft and precise, the words cut through the air behind him, and his mouth dropped, his own protest choked down by the hammering of his heart. No, it couldn't be. She'd throw his bag on the train and shove him on behind it, if she were really there. He was hearing things, that was it. "It's about time you made it, sprite," Charlie said. "See if you can talk some sense into him." "It took me some time to find a parking spot, Charlie." Slowly, Mulder turned to find her standing there, a few feet of distance between them. She wasn't smiling, but then again, she looked at him with eyes that were warm and intense, the corners of her mouth flirting with the effort to let a smile break free. Her coat flapped open in the cold wind, and her cheeks were kissed with a pink blush. She looked as though she'd just woken from a sound sleep, and he thought he'd never seen anything so beautiful. Under his stare, she finally dropped her gaze, her hands sliding into her coat pockets. "You can't let me walk down that aisle by myself, Mulder," she murmured. "I *do* have a tricky ankle, you know." For emphasis, she stuck out one loafer-clad foot. Still, her eyes remained downcast. "Yeah," Charlie pounced, coming up beside Mulder. "You don't do it, and I'll have to ask Bill. And he's got two left feet. He steps on her foot, and it'll be war right in the middle of church. Mom would faint right there." Mulder cleared his throat, wondering if he had the strength to suppress his shout of sheer joy. It was difficult, but he managed it - just barely. "I guess I could stay," he said, feeling his goofy smile cling to his face, despite his attempt to tame it. Charlie nudged Mulder, picking up the duffel bag again. "I knew I was bringing the right reinforcements," he whispered to Mulder. Mulder felt heat creep up his cheeks and he sobered, embarrassed that he'd let Charlie witness his happiness at seeing her. All business, he grabbed the bag from Charlie. "I'll catch a cab to the nearest hotel and call you later, okay?" "Hotel? You're kidding. What about your Dad's place?" "They closed it up for the winter this morning. They're going to Miami to catch some sun." His stern look warned Charlie not to dwell on the subject of his parents. "I can get a room, no problem." "Out of the question," Charlie replied. "We've got lots of room, don't we, sprite?" Mulder, still watching Scully, saw her chin snap up. He waited, knowing one word from her could send him packing on that train. Her eyes widened a bit, then became placid. "The couch *is* pretty comfy." His smile returned, warmth blooming within him at her simple gesture of truce. "I don't mind the couch. Some of my best friends have been sofas." He pursed his lips over the inane remark, looking away. "It's settled then," Charlie stated. "Give me the keys, sprite, and I'll bring the car out front. We can't have you hobbling on that ankle too much." Scully did as he asked, and directed him to the Buick, some two blocks down. She watched him lope away in silence before turning back to Mulder. "Some of your best friends are sofas?" she asked softly. "What are your enemies - ottomans?" At that, he took a step toward her, his voice just as soft as he watched the wind whip her hair about her face. "I once thought that my only adversaries were a Chinese mafia boss and a petite redhead. As of this morning, I seem to have lost both." Gathering her coat close, she cocked a brow. "I wouldn't bet on it, Mulder." Turning, she began to walk to the front of the station. "Now move it, sailor. We don't have all day." He fell into step beside her, grinning. Not because he was staying for the wedding. Not because he was staying at *her* house for the next few days. Not even because she'd personally come to the station to get him to stay. It was because, though she tried her best to hide it, the smile was there. He heard it in her voice. This was shaping up to be one helluva holiday. End Chapter Nine A Familiar Heart Chapter Ten Her mother wasn't at all perturbed to see them return with Mulder in tow. Scully had braced herself for the inevitable round of questions, and had quirked an eyebrow at her mother's enthusiastic greeting. She watched as Charlie hustled Mulder upstairs to deposit his bag in Charlie's room, and took the opportunity to stop her mother's return to the kitchen. "Mom?" Maggie just smiled and winked, gleaning her daughter's thoughts in an instant. "That young man is so very alone, Dana," she murmured. "I saw it from the moment he walked in the other night." She shrugged, wiping her hands on her apron. "And I sort of eavesdropped this morning." "Mom!" Scully blanched, wondering what else her mother had heard - namely, her kitchen meeting with Mulder Christmas Eve. "Don't worry, sweetie - I don't make a habit of listening in on private conversations. I just happened to hear Charlie on the phone with his CO, that's all. He seemed very upset by Mulder's leaving." Scully sighed, relieved that her mother hadn't heard the whole story. Taking in a wandering soldier was one thing, harboring a man with Mulder's shady - albeit faultless - past was quite another. "He was," she agreed, happy that Charlie was now happy. She still wasn't sure how she was going to get through the next few days. Especially since seeing the way Mulder reacted at the train station; his quiet, stumbling joy at seeing her there still had the power to send shivers up her spine when she thought of it. "And you?" Her mother's soft, pointed question broke into her wayward thoughts. "What?" "Seems to me you could have let Charlie collect his friend all by himself, but you didn't. I wonder why?" The corner of Maggie's mouth went up, and she turned, humming her way back to the kitchen. "Lunch is almost ready," she threw over her shoulder. "Go tell those boys to wash up while they're up there." Wonderful. While not understanding exactly what kind of bond existed between herself and Mulder, her mother had intuited that there *was* some attraction of sorts. That's all she needed - first Charlie, now her mother. Thank goodness her father had reported back to the Pentagon today for work, or he'd be offering Mulder a dowry and his choice of Cuban cigars. Of course, her father would be back for dinner, as would Melissa and kids, and Ellen. God. The whole lot of them would be throwing her and Mulder together at every opportunity. She'd have to find a way to talk to Mulder before then, to make certain he understood not to fuel the matchmaking fire in any way. And he wouldn't, of course. Why would he? Just because he'd been gratified to see her in a semi-apology of sorts at the train station didn't mean he expected a love affair to bloom. They were both intelligent adults, able to co- exist as friends for a short time. The clamor of male shoes on the stairs made her look up. She opened her mouth to speak, then felt the words die at the devouring look on Mulder's face, who lagged a step or two behind Charlie. A fine sheen of perspiration broke out on Scully's upper lip. This wasn't going to be easy. "Mom says for you two to wash up. Lunch is ready," she said, her throat dry with nervousness. Back at the train station, she'd had the upper hand. Not so now; Mulder moved toward her with the slow stealth of a panther, his eyes never leaving her face. "Taken care of, sprite," Charlie replied, rubbing his hands together as he made for the kitchen. "Last one at the table's a rotten egg." Mulder stopped at the bottom of the stairs, hands in the pockets of his corduroys. His pullover was forest green cashmere, expensive-looking and breath-taking in the way it made his eyes glow like emeralds. "Thank you," he said expressively, keeping his distance, though he exuded warmth and vitality. She felt it wash over her, and she took a step back from it, licking her lips. "Mom cooked lunch, not me." "That's not what I meant," he whispered. She knew that already. Her back was warm as she turned and walked to the kitchen. ********** "I think I'll go see what Melissa's up to this afternoon." Scully's declaration made all of them look up from their soup and sandwiches. Mulder dropped his chin first, knowing she needed a bit of space. Her mother, however, took exception at Scully's decision. "We have company, Dana," she chided softly, giving Mulder a sidelong glance. "That's okay," he said quickly. "I'm not company - at least not the kind you need to entertain." Charlie piped up, and Mulder almost kicked him under the table. "We can go along, can't we, sprite? I'm sure she could use a break from the boys. Mulder and I can keep 'em busy while you two gossip." There was no way she could refuse, and Mulder saw a slight flutter of exasperation cross her face before she replied cooly, "Of course. You can help them build a snowman before it all melts." In other words, stay the hell outside, Mulder heard in the firm statement. Truth was, he didn't mind one bit. She could huff all she wanted, throw Melissa's kids at him like grenades, and still, he'd come back for more. This opportunity, these few days of encroachment, were a boon he never expected. And he was damn well going to take advantage of their close proximity. The problem was, there was a fine line between subtle wooing and scaring her off - or worse, making her angry again. He'd have to be on his best behavior, seizing ground only when allowed to do so. Scully stood, walking to the sink with her bowl. Her mother did the same, gathering the remaining bowls with a smile. As the women busied themselves taking care of the dishes, Mulder sighed, trying his best to grimace at Charlie's 'thumbs up'. It was very difficult to do, especially when he wanted nothing more than to yell in triumph. A whole afternoon together - well, sort of. He'd been relegated to babysitter duty, but there were ways around that. Didn't kids usually take a nap? If they built a snowman to end all snowmen, they would. ********** "I should have warned your Mr. Mulder that Danny and Donny are known worldwide for their energy." Scully looked up from her coffee to pierce her sister with a cold glance. "He's not *my* Mr. Mulder." Melissa looked outside the kitchen window, her face assessing and curious. She ignored Scully's correction, musing, "He's not bad, actually. A bit too tall and lean for my tastes, but he's got a nice smile." "Missy!" Melissa came away from the window to sit beside her sister. "What? A girl can't look?" It seemed so odd to be sitting in her sister's small kitchen, discussing the merits of a handsome man, even if it was Mulder. The days of teenage angst over the local football hero were long gone, their innocence lost in the mire of war and misery. Scully briefly lamented the loss, then realized the world had moved on, just as she herself would. Melissa's husband had been her perfect match - impulsive yet loyal and loving. But he was gone for over a year now, and Scully could not bear to see Melissa alone. Her judgmental attitude was unwarranted. "I'm sorry, Missy," she murmured. "It's just that, to me, you're still..." She faltered, not knowing how to explain that sometimes, it felt as though she'd woken up from a three-year sleep and nothing should have changed. Yet it had - all of it had changed. "With Rob?" Melissa finished softly. She reached across the table and took hold of Dana's hand, gently squeezing it. "Dana, I loved Rob with all my heart. When he was killed, I thought I'd never go on." She tilted her head at the boyish screams of glee coming from the back yard. "But I did - for them. My boys. Rob left us pretty well off financially, but I need more. Do you understand?" Scully searched Melissa's hopeful face; there was something she wasn't saying. On Christmas Eve, she'd whisked her family away after only a couple of hours, pleading the need to get the boys in bed in time for Santa. Now, Scully realized there was an ulterior motive in Missy's hasty departure. It was written all over her face. A small, knowing grin bloomed on Scully's face. "All right. Who is he?" The better question was - why hadn't Melissa told her parentts? If her mom knew Melissa was seeing someone, she would have spread the news far and wide. Melissa stood, walking to the stove. As she poured another cup of coffee, she shrugged. "His name is Melvin Frohike. He's a nice man, a businessman, actually. He's into shipping." What Melissa wasn't saying set off Dana's inner alarms. "And he's married," she muttered, feeling her sister out. "No..." There had to be some unsavory quality about the man, for Melissa to hedge like she was doing. "He's not Catholic," Scully supplied. She didn't think her father would care, nor would she herself. But her mother would have a hissy fit. Good Catholic girls were made for good Catholic boys. At the thought, she looked out the window where Mulder and Charlie were romping with the boys. Of course, her mother already had her married to Mulder in her mind, religious differences not even spoken of. Maybe Charlie was right - maybe the war *had* changed her mother, just like it had everyone else. Melissa turned, walking to the window again. "Actually, I've never asked." "Then what is it?" "There is nothing wrong with him, Dana. Besides, we're just friends. It's not like I'm going to elope with the man tomorrow." "Missy..." she warned, wondering what Melissa's reticence was due to. From the vague way she described this man, there had to be some trait their family would find objectionable. Rob had been perfect for her, but it had taken several false starts for Missy to find him. One boy after another, most of them rebels. A sudden thought made Dana pale. "He's not a communist, is he?" Melissa laughed, moving toward the door. "No! He's just a man, Dana. In fact, you'll meet him in a bit. He's coming over for dinner tonight." She opened the back door, yelling at the snowman crew, "It's getting dark, guys. Time to come in." Scully knew she wasn't going to get anything else out of her sister, and she stood, saying, "Guess we'd better go, then." "No, stay," Melissa said, shutting the back door. "The boys will most likely poop out after dinner, and we can have a party of sorts. Just the grown-ups." She winked, taking Dana's cup. "I'll tell Charlie to go collect Ellen, and we can maybe play cards or something." A nice, cozy night spent with... Mulder. God, no, she couldn't. The obvious pairing off would leave her very vulnerable to his attentions. "I really can't stay, Missy." While not as attuned to Scully's moods as Charlie, Melissa had always been keen to a brush- off when she heard one. Hands on hips, she said, "And what do you have to do at home? Listen to Dad snore in his chair and Mom sigh over "Queen for a Day" on the radio? Puh-leeze." At the scrape of shoes on the back stoop, she lowered her voice. "Stay, Dana. I'll phone Mom and tell her - she'll understand. I want you to meet Melvin. Charlie likes him, I'm sure you will, too." "Charlie's met him?" "Our little brother has been here a week longer than you have, Dana... and he had enough of "Queen for a Day" after his first day home." Scully saw the late afternoon shadows of her brother and Mulder darken the back door glass. Even with sunset muting their features, their easy smiles and laughing camaraderie were plain to see. Indecision tugged at her heart. "I dunno, Missy. I kind of like "This is Your FBI"." Her comment was tongue-in-cheek, but her meaning was lost on Melissa, who faced her with their father's stern blue eyes. "Then get out of the Navy and join up with J. Edgar so you can do the real thing. But tonight, you're staying, and that's final." ********** Melvin Frohike turned out to be an old man. Scully sipped at her wine, pasting a vacuous smile on her face as she listened to the after- dinner conversation build and lull. She had nothing against Mr. Frohike, per se. He was very intelligent, and had obviously won over Charlie with his easy banter about any manner of subjects. Sports, the latest in business and post-war enterprise; he even made the boys behave with a firm command tempered by interest in their daily activities. He spoke to them often, asking about their friends, school - how it was the monstrous snowman in the back yard had a top hat just like the one he wore only at New Year's. But he was old. At least three inches shorter than Melissa, he was a pudgy little thing with glasses and a balding pate. How her sister, a beauty who could have any man she pleased, had hooked up with this staid, older gentleman was beyond Scully. Scully, in her fascination with Mr. Frohike, had all but forgotten Mulder was even in the room. He sat on a loveseat set apart from the other adults, flanked by the twins. Come to think of it, she hadn't heard a peep from any of them in a good fifteen minutes. Standing, she reached for the tray on the coffee table, intending to kill some time with cleanup while the others carried on their conversation. Melissa, who sat beside Mr. Frohike on the couch (at a very respectable distance, Scully had to admit), also stood, an embarrassed smile on her face. "Let me get that, Dana," she said. "You ask Mulder if he needs another glass of wine." Oh, joy. She knew her peace and quiet had been too good to last. Giving her sister the tray with a nod, she walked to the far end of the living room, where the loveseat and Christmas tree flanked the bay window. She stopped at the sight of the three boys - one of them very much overgrown - fast asleep. They were a trio of windblown exhaustion, their faces in the shadows of the loveseat pink with the afternoon's exertion in the snow and sun. She felt a gentle hand squeeze her heart at the way Mulder slept, his mouth slightly parted, his face relaxed. She wondered when was the last time he'd gotten a good night's sleep; she knew that his war years were probably more harrowing than hers had been, and she knew she that she'd slept with one eye open in the prison camp. And for him to still be pursued by an unseen, deadly enemy? It would very much surprise her if he'd let himself sleep more than a couple of hours a night. Even in the dim light, she could see the faint smudges under his long lashes, and a sudden rush of emotion clogged her throat. He was nothing but a man, seriously troubled through no fault of his own. What he'd done to her... she really must quit thinking of that night as a product of Mulder's actions. *She* had done quite a few things to him as well. Run her fingers through his hair, over his warm, strong body, greedily latched onto his mouth and pulled him to her... As if she still felt him move within her, her hand drifted to her lower belly, where a flutter of apprehension stirred. She hadn't given it any more thought since Christmas Eve, but seeing him slumbering, his arms around Melissa's children, brought home to her once again the possibility of pregnancy. But instead of curling dread, the idea took root as a glimmer of hope; she spread her fingers wide over the thick wool of her slacks, knowing it was foolish to want such a thing, but unable to deny its birth. It was foolish, it was complicated to ponder, she shouldn't be wanting it at all - "Dana! Help us move the furniture, would you? We're gonna have some fun!" At Charlie's shout, she jumped, looking at the four happy adults to her left. When she looked back, Mulder's eyes were open. Narrow and glazed with sleep, they touched her face with their warmth, as if he expected a wake-up kiss. Dark and dangerous with desire, they literally took her breath away with the overt need that shown through. It took every ounce of strength she possessed to break their hold and turn back to the others. ********** She was there. Looking at him, her eyes filled with wondrous hope, her hands set low over her belly. What was she thinking? Did he want to know? He wished for her mind to open to him, for her feet to move her into his arms. Closing his eyes, he waited, knowing any sudden move on his part would likely scare her off. Please come to me, he prayed. "Come on, baby." The child on his left stirred, and Mulder felt a rush of cool air replace the warmth at his side. He opened his eyes, expecting to see her settle beside him. Yes. He'd never been a praying man, but maybe... "Mulder?" He blinked a few times at the soft call of his name, trying to dispel the cobwebs from his brain. Seconds away from reaching out a hand and murmuring her name with a longing ache, he finally realized it wasn't her after all. Had he been dreaming? Melissa gathered the nearest of her sons up in her arms. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I should have known they'd poop out after they ate. I didn't mean for them to fall asleep on you." He say up, wiping a hand across his face. "That's okay. I guess I was just as tired." His stellar plan to tucker out the kids and have Scully all to himself had only resulted in him succumbing to exhaustion. Who knew kids had so much energy? He reached for the twin on his right, and was stalled by another's voice. "I'll get him, Fox." It was Melissa's friend, Melvin. Mulder had liked the little man on sight, but had seen Scully's doubts about his relationship with her sister all night long. It was plain in the way she kept looking at Melvin across the dinner table, her veiled looks trying to pierce the man's confidence. "Just Mulder, Melvin," he said, stretching up from the loveseat. Melvin Frohike hoisted the sleeping child in his arms, giving Mulder a grin. "You know, I never liked Melvin all that much, either. It's a shame what the good intentions of parents saddle a kid with - why don't you call me Frohike? I think I could use a change, and you've provided me with the perfect opportunity." He rolled his eyes at Melissa's departing back, telling Mulder silently that she couldn't object on those terms. "Sure," Mulder chuckled. "From now on, you're Frohike." "Good man," Frohike nodded, turning with the child. "We'll be back shortly." He followed Melissa up the stairs. When Mulder turned to the others in the living room, he found that the pieces of furniture had been moved out, and a wide expanse of tapestry rug laid bare in the center of the room. Charlie was on his knees in front of the radio, Ellen by his side. Scully stood apart, a distinct look of - fear? - on her face. No, she wasnn't scared of a damn thing. And he wouldn't allow himself to consider the possibility it was anything else. Hands in pockets, he walked to the edge of the rug, addressing Charlie. "What's up?" "We have to get some practice in, old boy," Charlie threw over his shoulder. "Practice?" Mulder looked at Scully; no, that wasn't fear. It was definitely dismay - mixed with something else, something she'd hidden very well. What the hell did Charlie have planned? "For the wedding reception. We won't become Fred Astaire overnight, but we don't want to embarrass ourselves, either." Dancing. He was speaking of dancing. His mouth dropped as he looked at Scully again. This time, she didn't even acknowledge his look. Instead, she bristled, her arms crossed. "Charlie, it's getting late, and we really should go." "Late?" Ellen said, her face incredulous. "It's only eight o'clock, Dana. Before the war, we'd be up until midnight - don't you remember? Listening to music and dancing - with each other, if we didn't have anyone of the male persuasion around." She winked, turning back to Charlie; he swatted her hand away from the knob. "I got it," he said. The scratching of the radio gave way to the muted tones of "Sentimental Journey". Charlie stood, wrapping an arm around Ellen. "You're not leaving, either of you. We're gonna learn all the new dances, courtesy of Melissa and Melvin. That's an order." Damn Charlie. Mulder could have kissed him right then and there. His arms already itched to hold Scully, and Charlie had handed him the perfect excuse. When Charlie swung Ellen into his arms, Mulder took a sheepish step to Scully's side. "May I have this dance?" he asked, holding out a hand. To his surprise, she took it, though she was stiff. And very angry, from her whispered warning. "Keep 'em high, sailor. One finger below the waist and that'll be the last time you use that hand, got it?" Oh, yeah. She smelled good. What was she saying about fingers? End Chapter Ten A Familiar Heart Chapter Eleven "Would you please wipe that look off your face?" She didn't meet his gaze as she whispered the plea, keeping her head slightly turned to where Charlie and Ellen glided in perfect sync next to them. Practice, indeed. Charlie looked as if he was born to dance, while Mulder felt like his legs were the two limp appendages of the Scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz. Of course, his very attractive dance partner most probably had a great deal to do with his dance infirmity. "What look?" he asked, in all innocence. Her eyes came back to his face, and her words were dry. "Mulder, Christmas was two days ago, and I'm not a pony." He laughed, catching Charlie's attention, and Scully's annoyance; the hand on his shoulder pinched him through the sweater. He flushed, giving Charlie a grin. Before Charlie could say anything, Ellen had diverted his face back to her with a firm hand. Lowering his head, Mulder murmured, "Funny you should say that." His hand crept up her back, feeling the ridges of her spine through her thin blouse. "Because I've always wanted a pony, but that was years ago, and now, I'd settle for -" "Mulder, shut up," she warned. But he ignored her, continuing, "A little spitfire who can break *me* to bridle." His grin faded into a pointed stare at her lips. Her lashes drooped, and she mirrored his study of her mouth for a moment. Just when he was an instant away from giving them both a brilliant, much needed kiss, she looked up, her cheeks pink. "Mulder, this is not a good idea." He knew she wasn't speaking of the dancing. He could have pursued the train of his amorous thoughts, but he backed off, sensing the time had come for a tactical retreat. "I know. I never was all that good at dancing. If I step on your toes, forgive me." He smiled with an easy show of friendship offered, and was gratified to see her tense face soften into a grin. "You're something, you know that?" "As long as I'm not an ottoman, that's okay." He saw his soft statement harken the memory of their train station conversation; did she still consider him an enemy? Her hair fell over one eye as she cocked her head, her voice lowering to a husky purr. "I'd say you've moved up to sofa status." His own words echoed in his head, and pure joy filled his chest. At the blossoming of his smile, she narrowed her gaze in warning, and he relented, forcing his face to adopt a calm mien. From the corner of his eye, he saw Melissa and Frohike descend the stairs and knew their bubble was about to be popped. One last chance to encroach, and he took it. His own eyes heavy-lidded, he bent to her ear and whispered, "Have I ever told you how much I lov - *like* beds?" Mouth open, he lingered over the shell of her ear, the silky wisps of her hair tickling his lips as he waited for a reply. *If* there was one forthcoming; he'd almost blown the whole shebang with the wrong word, one he was sure she wasn't ready to hear. Sighing, he began to pull away after a second or two, until he felt her warm breath caress the underside of his jaw. "So do I." Mesmerized by her answer, he stopped moving, pulling back to search her face. For the first time, she was fully open to him, her eyes glowing in the light from the fireplace with simple acceptance. Her lips broke into a soft smile and she took a deep breath, in preparation for another profound statement, he just knew it. "Hey - what is this? No hanky-panky on the dance floor!" Frohike's laughing interruption broke them apart, and Mulder flashed the man an irritated glance. It was for naught though, as he realized Frohike's statement had been directed at Charlie and Ellen, who still lingered over a kiss at the edge of the rug. Mulder looked at Scully, who had the same bewildered expression he felt on his face. Together, they grinned, and he reached for her hand. She let it slide easily into his, then kept the clasp a bit hidden between them. He understood. And he would take anything he could get. ********** Dana Scully was having a good time. It amazed her, really. Swinging in Mulder's arms, laughing at she was passed from one partner to another, Melissa's and Ellen's giggles complimenting hers until the room was filled with feminine laughter and masculine preening. The slow tunes of the previous hour had given way to an all-dance program, and the music was bouncy and carefree. She felt as if her body was boneless. Whirling and dipping, her feet having no trouble keeping up with some of Frohike's very capable dance moves - Mulder let him take the lead on the more involved steps, lagging back to watch with admiring eyes that she knew followed her every move. Once or twice, she faltered a bit, her ankle still a bit sore; Frohike was attentive, slowing down at those moments. Mulder, on the other hand, clenched his jaw and jerked as if ready to swoop down in a rescue, his arms crossed at every small grimace of fleeting pain she let show. With a nod, she told him she was fine; with a raised brow, she threatened bodily harm should he make a big deal of it. At that, he smiled, a big show of teeth as he dropped his chin and kicked at the rug. Seemed they were becoming more attuned with each other, with every moment that passed. Their unspoken communication pleased her, but it also scared the hell out of her. Could he read *all* her thoughts? "You're a good dancer, Dana." Frohike's statement pulled her gaze from Mulder's face. He whirled her around Charlie and Ellen to the far side of the room, where he dropped his voice to a low murmur. "I just want to thank you." "For what?" She stole a glance at Mulder, who looked ready to storm across the room. She didn't feel threatened by Melvin's isolation of her from the group, but Mulder apparently had other ideas. "Mr. Frohike, I think we'd better..." "Just Frohike, Dana," he corrected her. Jesus, another one with a preference for last names only? Had there been a change to the US Constitution while she was gone? She could just see it now, in stark black and white: By law, one must now address familiars by last names only. The thought broke her concentration, and she grinned, which made Mulder's face become stormy. "Uh, Frohike, I think we'd better move back." Her eyes darted to Mulder, and Frohike blushed, seeing the way the wind blew at last. "I'm sorry, Dana," he stuttered, "I - I didn't mean anything by this, you know." "I know you didn't," she replied, placating his sudden attack of nerves. "I take it you have something to say about my sister?" Catching sight of Mulder's approach, he quickly blustered, "I just want to say that I respect her and like her very much. Thank you for not saying anything -" He broke off, relinquishing his hold on her. "Mulder. Just in time. I think I need a drink." He moved away, joining Melissa, who'd been upstairs checking on her children. "Little twerp," Mulder growled, watching his departure, his narrowed eyes seeming to throw poison darts at Melissa's friend. "Stop it," Scully said, putting a hand on his arm. Mulder's jealousy, while putting a tingle on her tongue, was fierce and unwarranted. "He wanted to talk to me about Melissa. And you have no business scaring him like that." Mulder turned to face her, hands on hips. "I don't?" Confusion clouded his face. "Just what the hell are we doing here, Scully?" he whispered. Oh, this was going too far, too fast. Then again, she already had carnal knowledge of the man - just how much further could they possibly go? "We're dancing," she said slowly, muting her anger. "At least that's what I thought." He pursed his lips and hung his head, letting out a big sigh. "I'm sorry, Scully. I'm just... sorry." Without another word, he walked to the kitchen. She was so confused, she didn't know what end was up anymore. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she stood apart, watching Mulder disappear through the kitchen door. Charlie and Ellen, too caught up in one another to notice the sudden discord, kept right on dancing. Scully turned her attention to the Christmas tree, avoiding Melissa and Frohike's concerned looks. But she knew it was only a matter of time, and her intuition paid off, as she felt a soft touch at her elbow. "Dana?" Melissa stood beside her, and Scully felt the words bubble up, no longer able to keep her riotous emotions inside. "He wants something from me, Missy. And I don't know if I'm ready to give in to him." She laughed, a mirthless breath that was shaky. "I've only known him a few days. Isn't that ridiculous?" "No." Scully looked at her sister, who stood with a small smile, as if indulging a child. "What?" "You heard me. It's obvious to everyone in this room that you and Mulder... well, I'm not about to ask you for details. But that man has stirred something in you, Dana. The question is - why are you fighting him so?" A spate of tears burned her eyes. Melissa, like the rest of her family, could never be told the whole story. But it no longer mattered, anyway. She and Mulder were walking into new territory, and it frightened her more than the anonymous lure of sex. "I don't know. He's... he's so intense." "And you've always been so cool, so together. Would it be so very bad to just let go?" Let go. She'd done that once, with almost disastrous results. Scully sniffed, another chuckled bursting forth, this one a bit more genuine. "Oh, Missy, if you only knew." "I think I already do," Melissa murmured, with the experience of a woman once pulled under by desire. "Melvin isn't Rob, and he never will be. I had that once, Dana - that consuming passion that you find with the one perfect person. It's something I'll never forget. But that's not what I need anymore. But you? Dana, if anyone *ever* needed to swept off her feet, it's you." Scully felt a hot tide of color creep up her cheeks. "Am I so very rigid, Missy?" Melissa brushed a thumb over her sister's damp cheek. "No... well, maybe. But in a good way." She smiled at Dana's crestfallen face. "You've been in limbo for years, Dana. Don't you think it's time you start to live again?" Scully didn't begrudge her sister her opinions. She *was* rather cool and logical, and something as radical and unpredictable as falling in love had never part of her agenda. Damn, she'd even had to force herself make the decision to give men a try back in the car before she'd met Mulder. Just like everything she did in life, it was planned and thought out, never done spontaneously. And just like most plans, it never did fall into place. Melissa was right. Time to live again - to deal with the emotional rollercoaster that came with love. Whether good or bad, she could do it. "Okay then," she said, stepping into her sister's arms to hug her tight. "How do I do that?" Missy squeezed her back, then pulled away, her eyes wide and determined. "You can start by talking to that man. *Really* talking. None of this conversation about weather and politics." "Got it." Scully moved away, then paused, looking back. "I like Melvin, Missy. He's a good man." "I wouldn't have him in this house if he weren't, Dana." "Just how old is he, anyway?" Missy bit her lip, hesitating. "Forty-two." Her grimace was apprehensive. "Too old?" Scully inwardly sighed with relief. At least Melvin wasn't old enough to be Missy's father. "No, not at all. I'd say he's... seasoned." "Mmm... seasoned. I'll have to remember that - that's a good word to use with Mom." "Speaking of - " She trailed off, wondering when exactly Melissa would introduce her new friend to the family. "The Rehearsal Supper. I think it's time the parents met Mr. Frohike." Melissa waved her hand in the direction of the kitchen. "Now, get going!" Scully took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and headed for the kitchen. She was so easy to read. By everyone but Mulder, it seemed. ********** "I just wanted to tell you that I wasn't coming on to Dana." Mulder huddled in the cold of the back porch, hands in his pockets. He'd listened to Frohike's profuse apologies for five minutes now, and any attempt to get a word in edgewise was futile. Finally, he smiled, breaking in to say, "I should apologize to you, Frohike. My behavior was irrational and rude. I can see how you look at Melissa. I don't think I have anything to worry about." At last, Frohike seemed satisfied. He looked over his shoulder, distracted by movement in the kitchen, and cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah. Well, guess I should be getting back in. You coming?" "In a minute." He saw Frohike move away, and felt the heat of the house spring forth from the door. It didn't stop, however, and he turned, knowing he should close the open door before the kitchen got too cold. The small outline in the door made him freeze. He looked at her for a moment, then turned back to watch the moon hover over the horizon. "Party's over?" Cool. Be cool, he admonished himself. He'd gone too far, too fast. She had every right to distance herself from him. His jealousy was not something he had a right to feel. They were friends, and though he saw otherwise in the fleeting moments they danced, he knew better than to hope for more at this early stage. "Not quite," she answered. He felt more than saw her come to stand beside him. "It's cold, Mulder. What are you doing out here?" He gave her a self-deprecating smile. "Cooling my ardor?" The soft, smooth voice of Nat King Cole drifted from the open door. "Did it work?" Staring straight ahead, he sighed, knowing they were back to friendship. Her voice held no trace of interest beyond mere curiosity. He looked down at his feet, unable to do more than mutter, "Yeah. Look, Scully, I'm sorry -" He stopped, his ears picking up her soft reply a second too late. "What did you say?" Her face was pale in the moonlight, but her eyes were bright and filled with humor. "I said... too bad." One hand crept out from his pants pocket to settle over his heart. He almost staggered, closing his eyes to mutter, "You're gonna kill me yet, Scully." Slim fingers closed over his, pulling his hand away. "Well, if a knock on the head didn't do you in, I don't see how I could ever -" The rest of her words were lost in his kiss. She tasted like heady, rich wine and the cool night air. He couldn't help himself; his arms went around her and his mouth gently pressed hers open. A moment of sanity amidst his growing passion for her made him slow down, and he drank deeply, pulling her close. Her head fell back against his shoulder, and her free hand came up to skitter across his exposed nape, making him shiver. God, she was perfect. Not timid at all, returning his kiss with little moans and sighs that shot like an arrow to his groin. Settle down, he wanted to tell his body. She wouldn't like it at all. But instead of recoiling, she purred like a kitten, her belly rubbing against him. He couldn't stand it, it was too much. Gasping, he pulled his mouth from hers to mutter, "Jesus, Scully. Stop that." "Stop what?" Her mouth skimmed his jaw, and her body cradled his erection. It was electric and frustrating at the same time. Just a few more minutes, he thought. She was a good girl, and he had no business seducing her. It was bad enough he'd not wooed her like a proper gentleman should. Hell, he'd made love to her without thought to the consequences - Shit. His heart tripped, remembering his dream of a couple of hours ago. Melissa's soft murmurs to her child, the hazy image of Scully standing before him, her hands laid upon that slightly rounded belly. It took all his willpower to push her away. He panted, forcing his lungs to take in air as he studied her swollen mouth and heavy-lidded eyes. Cradling her head in his hands, he broke the spell, his voice hoarse as he asked, "Scully?" Blinking, she brought her lashes up. "Yes?" She was a picture of soft confusion, and it pained him to wake her fully. "C'mon." Taking her hand, he pulled her to the kitchen door. "Where are we going?" To the nearest chapel, he wanted to say. Then to the nearest bed, he wanted to shout to the heavens with joy. His recent discovery had given him all he desired, and no way could she protest. Instead, he gave in to the urge to kiss her again, this time a short, bittersweet kiss that made her melt against him. Aw, hell. He may as well go for broke. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead. "We're going find a Justice of the Peace." End Chapter Eleven A Familiar Heart Chapter Twelve They were half inside the back door when she snapped out of the miasma of drugged passion. Snatching her hand from Mulder's, she drew back from the light. "Wait a minute." Hands in fists, she inwardly lamented the loss of his warmth. He looked as though a man desperate - for what, she didn't know. But she *did* know one thing: she was not going to quail under his command, and it was best he know that from the beginning. "What did you say?" His lips pinched, as if he'd said too much. His words had been muffled and terse, and she knew he was lying when he said, "Scully, we gotta talk." "About what?" It was a foolish question, and she knew it. They had *plenty* to discuss, but there was time for all that. Mulder looked like a man who's legs had been cut out from under him. He swayed in the doorway, his face pale in the blare of the kitchen lights. She softened her tone, sensing his anxiety. "What's wrong?" Mulder's jaw firmed up, and he shut the kitchen door with a huff of exasperation. "We have to get married," he stated, as if his decision was carved in granite. "Get married?" She felt Mulder's nervousness pervade her bones, and her legs felt like jelly. "You're not serious." "Of course I am." He ran a shaky hand through his tousled hair as his feet did a little shuffle on the scratchy wood of the porch. "You have to agree with me, Scully. You have to." Okay, something was definitely amiss. Yes, they'd just shared one heck of a kiss. One for the record books, she had to admit. He'd felt so good to her empty arms, like she'd found the other half of herself once again. And yes, they'd had intimate relations with one another without benefit of any other knowledge of each other's pasts or futures... Her thoughts came to a screeching halt. Mulder looked at her differently, his gaze traveling down her chest to her belly. Gulping, he half- turned, hunching over. In the light from the moon, she could still see his arousal bulge the front of his pants, and she knew he was trying his best to maintain control of the situation. But apparently, this was one situation neither of them had control over. Never had, never would. "Oh." It was all she could think to say, and Mulder sighed, closing his eyes. "Yes, oh." She bit her lip, but not from dismay. Actually, back there in the living room, she'd come to terms with the possibility of pregnancy. Though it wasn't the best thing that could happen to either of them, it wouldn't be the worst. She didn't care anymore. A baby would be welcome - to her, anyway. And from Mulder's reaction to the realization, he was willing to accept responsibility and do the right thing. It was obvious from his stance he didn't want to push her into anything; after all, he'd backed down almost immediately from outright insistence. "Mulder, it's too early to tell," she pointed out with an indulgent smile. "Besides, I don't expect you to marry me." "God damn it," he muttered, lost in his own thoughts. "I should have thought of this earlier." "Mulder, I'm *not* pregnant!" She lowered her voice and moved closer, laying a hand on his arm. "Listen to me." He jerked his head around, squinting. "What do you mean, you're not pregnant? You just said it was too early to tell." Now she knew what was behind all this anxiety. He felt trapped. It was the oldest trick in the world, and she pulled her hand away as if burned. "We only... did it once, Mulder. The odds against pregnancy are tremendous." Burrowing in on herself, she turned away, sadness permeating her. "I don't expect marriage, even if I am pregnant. And I mean it." She grabbed the door knob, wanting to get as far away as possible from the situation - from *him*. What was just minutes ago glorious communion had turned suddenly sour and sordid. She wanted no part of it. But she was halted by a pair of familiar arms, two trembling limbs encircling her from behind. His mouth moved over her hair. "Scully, wait." Twisting in his embrace, she tried to get away, her chest expanding with the too-close feel of his arms. God, would it start again? Please, no. This was not a moment for one of her seizures. "Let me go, Mulder." "No!" he whispered fiercely, his arms tightening, his fingers curling around her hands. She had no choice but to keep still or she'd find herself bruised. It had been hard enough hiding the sprained ankle - she didn't need faint smudges on her wrists. "It's not what you think." Taking slow, deep breaths, she forced herself to calm. "You don't know what I think." And he never would, if she could manage it. All her thoughts of a sweet, lasting relationship would be buried forever. "You think I'm unhappy about a baby. I'm not." His words penetrated, but still she wasn't convinced. "I saw your face, Mulder. That wasn't happiness. That was fear. I'm not about to trap you into marriage. Please, let me go." Before I break down into tears and give in to the nausea rising in my throat. She felt Mulder's heart racing against her back. "No, I won't." His shaky words rumbled through her. "Not until you listen to me." Sighing, she knew she had to relent, at least temporarily. "Okay." Hanging her head, she moved her hands under his sweaty palms; he eased his hold, but didn't release her fully. "Talk." "Will you at least look at me?" "Don't push your luck." If she turned, she was liable to slap him. He was such an idiot. *She* was such an idiot for letting herself hope. "You're right, Scully. That was fear." Quickly, his head dipped to her neck. "But it wasn't the kind of fear you think it was." She snorted. "Fear is fear, Mulder. I know it when I see it." "No it isn't. Scully, this was the worse fear I'd ever known in my life. I've faced down guns and men who wouldn't blink twice at carving my guts up." He paused as if he wanted to apologize for his crudeness, then he plunged ahead. "When I realized I might have made you pregnant, I wanted to throw you over my shoulder and find the nearest priest, minister or judge. I had a way to hold on to you." He what? "Mulder, are you saying you *want* me to be pregnant?" "Would I be a horrible person if I said yes?" At her attempt to turn in his arms, he held fast. "No, listen. I can't do this if I'm looking at you." "A minute ago, you asked me to look at you," she pointed out. "That was a minute ago. This is now. I have an awful feeling I'm about to spill my guts to you, and the carnage will be messy, to say the least." "Okay," she chuckled, her mind easing slowly. "But why in the world would you want this? You barely know me. I hardly know *you*. This is not the best way to start..." She trailed off, realizing they'd already begun on an even more uneven footing, back in the cabin. "I don't care. From the moment I saw you again, Scully, I wanted you. You were every shred of decency I'd lost in Hong Kong. Everything good and fine. You made me feel human again." He let go of her wrists, his hands drifting lower to spread over her abdomen. She jumped at the touch with a slight hiss, then relaxed at the gentle pressure of his fingers. "This... *this* would have given you to me, Scully. And the second I tried to rush you into a decision, I knew I'd made a mistake. *That's* what scared me. That you would have found a way to say no. And you did, didn't you?" The disappointment in his voice made her chest ache, and she rushed to say, "Only because I didn't want to trap you into anything." At last, she turned, taking his sorrowful face in her hands. His eyes were a portrait of sadness, the pain at what he thought he could never have, would never *deserve* etching fine lines in his brow. Smoothing away his torment, she whispered, "We seem to have made a mess of this once again, haven't we?" His chapped lips cracked into a slow grin. "I never made a mess of anything until I met you." She smiled in return, seeing his confidence return by degrees. "Neither did I. Some romance, huh?" "Think we can do better?" "Definitely." She raised on her toes, her mouth a scant inch from his. "Dana!" And she groaned, dropping her hands and her lustful intentions. Mulder did the same, brushing his forehead against hers as he growled, "Is there any place in this town that *doesn't* currently have one of your relatives watching our every move?" She pulled away, a playful smile gracing her lips. "Well... Mom did tell Melissa on the phone that she and Dad were going to a dinner and a movie. I figure we have at least another couple of hours before they get home." The light in Mulder's eyes flared to a hot, needy glow. At that moment, the kitchen door swung open. "C'mon, you two. Melvin's gonna show us the mambo. Then we're going to hit a dance hall." Scully looked up at Mulder; she saw the same thought on his face. Amidst Charlie's surprised, "Hey!" they ran off the porch and around the house, hand in hand. "How many blocks to your house?" Mulder said, tugging her up the driveway. "Two," she said breathlessly, slightly limping, her ankle picking a bad time to act up. "We can make it in ten if we walk fast." In answer, Mulder picked her up in his arms, ignoring her squeak of protest. His smile threatened to turn her into a quivering, clinging female. God, she was hopeless. Not her usual self at all. "We can make it in five if I run. Just point me in the right direction." Did she care? Hell, no. One arm around his neck, she turned his chin with the other hand, wordless in her demand for him to get going. "Got it," he said. "Hold on, Scully." Her laughter echoed down the lamplit street; Melissa was right after all. It felt good to be swept off her feet. Damned good. ********** They were both shivering by the time they made it to the Scully house. Groaning, he set her down on the porch and doubled over, gasping for breath. He still wasn't in tiptop shape, but he didn't want her to know. "I'm okay," he said, shrugging off her concern. "I'm just cold." Scully opened the unlocked door, pulling him into the dark, warm house. "You're not. We should have gotten our coats." She moved away, only to come back with a throw from the couch, which she draped across his shoulders. "You're freezing, Mulder." "S-so are you." Damn. Another gallant effort shot to hell. His legs were trembling, and he allowed her to guide him to the couch. "True. But I wasn't..." She moved away to the smoldering fire, where she added a couple of logs. Her hesitance pricked at his brain. He hadn't allowed himself to think much on her sudden turnabout this morning, cheerfully basking in her favor like a damned schoolboy smiled upon by his first crush. Now, his mind started working. Why *had* she come to the station with Charlie? Realization made him cringe. "He told you, didn't he?" "Who told me what?" She didn't turn around. "Charlie, that's who. He told you the whole story, didn't he? About Chang, about me. How they had to put me in a straightjacket for two weeks while I screamed my head off for a fix? About how I couldn't even tie my God damned shoelaces for two months without wanting to throw up?" "Oh my God," she breathed, facing him at last. He fell silent, dropping his head. He'd said too much. Her revulsion shimmered in the air between them, and he couldn't face it. He should have known it wasn't his charming personality that drew her to him at last. "Yes, Charlie told me," she whispered, tears choking her voice. "But I never realized just how bad it was until now." Great. He'd *really* come off looking like a weak, sympathy-inspiring fool. And sympathy was *not* what he wanted from her. "Forget it. I have." He huddled under the blanket, wishing she would just leave him alone. "Go to bed, Scully." In answer, she walked to the couch, where she sat next to him, pulling on the blanket. "Give, Mulder. I'm cold." Her voice had lost its sad quality; he blinked at her stern statement. "You heard me, sailor. Share the blanket." Amazed at her resilience, he stared at her, sitting up so she could pull on the blanket. After a few moments of fluffing and tucking, she had them both enveloped in warmth, her head resting on his shoulder. "You can share anything else with me that you want, you know," she said softly, her hand curling around his arm. Tired of fighting, he propped his chin on her hair, staring into the growing fire. "I don't think you wanna hear it," he said softly. "And I don't know if I can tell you anything else." Please don't make me, he added silently. I don't have the strength to re-live it all over again. "All right," she said, snuggling closer. Her warmth began to seep into his cold bones, and he relaxed, listening to her continue, "Would you like to hear my story?" Her halting statement brought to mind Charlie's warning when he first arrived. She'd been a POW, he'd said. It still tore at him, the way he'd treated her in Utah. Coupled with the certain horrible time she'd spent as a prisoner, he was humbled by the way she offered her own experiences as a cathartic balm. If he was sure she was just doing it to make him feel better, he'd absolutely refuse to let her speak. But something in her voice spoke of her own need to release her demons of war, and he found himself whispering into her hair. "Only if you really want to tell me." "I do." Under the blanket, his hand reached for hers, his fingers entwining with her small ones to hold on. His silent gesture made her sigh, and she began, "They treated us well at first... the Japanese, I mean. We had adequate food and shelter, and the hospital for the prisoners wasn't that bad. We could get supplies fairly easily, and lots of the soldiers we treated survived." "Where were you captured?" "Manila. It was early in the war, only a couple of months after Pearl Harbor." The Philippines. He closed his eyes, tamping down his own sadness at the geography of their combined sadness. "I remember hearing about it," he said, hedging over the location. "But I didn't get very much news. Only what I needed to know." Nodding, she said, "The Army retreated to Bataan and MacArthur declared Manila an open city. Then the Japanese moved in and took us away. It was no big deal, really. Like I said, we were treated well. Actually, there were a few times I thought we'd be released in exchange for Japanese POW's. Rumors always went around about the possibility. After the second or third time, I stopped getting my hopes up." "But apparently their kindness didn't last," he prompted, eager to hear the rest of her story. "No. In '43, Konishi moved in to take control of all the camps. Until then, they'd been run by Japanese civilian administrators. First thing he did was halve the camp, cutting off the south end to the prisoners." "Why would he do that?" She stiffened a bit at his side, and he knew the worst was yet to come. "We didn't really know at the time, and we didn't ask. But then, prisoners started disappearing from the Infirmary. The guards always said they'd died overnight - but these were the least injured men that went missing. They couldn't have died." "Are you sure they weren't traded for other POW's?" It was a stupid question, one spoken as more of a balm than out of curiosity. She knew as well as he did that the Japanese were not famous for their treatment of POW's, nor for their release, even in an exchange. The fact that she and the other nurses had spent years as prisoners was proof. That the Nips hung on to women for so long was telling; no way would they stoop to trade men who had no value. Her huff fluttered over his heart, and she raised her head to look him in the eye. "Nice try, Mulder." She was so beautiful she nearly took his breath away. "What?" "You know as well as I the Japanese weren't so accommodating." He brushed the hair from her face with his free hand. "No, they weren't," he murmured. "I was trying to distract you. Truth is, I don't need to hear the rest of your story." He dropped a kiss to her cheek, which twitched under his lips. "Maybe I need to tell it," she replied with a catch in her voice. He pulled away, serious as he said, "Then tell me." He kept his hand on her face, his gaze steady on hers. "There was a doctor - Zama. He was like a ghost, just fading in and out of the camp. The guards started whispering about what he was doing at the south end. The other nurses were terrified of him, but I made it my business to learn Japanese. Well, enough so I could understand what was going on." Her begging at the cabin came back to him, her explanation now telling him that the guttural Japanese words were something she'd mastered in the camp. But what she'd said weren't common words of friendly conversation. "Douzo" - "Please". Along with others he now remembered as frantic. "Iie" - "No". "Teiryuu" - "Stop". Then, when he was moving within her, a change. One spoken in English as well as Japanese: "Hai" - "Yes". He wanted to beg her now to stop; the way he'd treated her at the cabin was inexcusable. But she kept on, not seeing the way he tried to stop her with the shake of his head. Eyes almost blank now, she had disassociated herself from what was to come next, and he couldn't make her snap out of it. "Scully, I'm sorry -" "He was taking them, to a building at the south end of the camp. At first, you wouldn't hear anything. I guess they were careful not to let anyone hear. Then, when it looked like the war was going sour for them, they didn't care anymore. They began to starve us... and we began to hear screams from the south end. Every day and every night. Zama was torturing those men. I never saw what he was doing, but I knew he was doing some sort of experiments on them. "I couldn't stand it anymore. I kept standing up to Zama and the guards, trying to sneak back there to see what he was doing. The other nurses told me I was crazy, that I shouldn't interfere. But it wasn't just what Zama was doing - he and Konishi were slowly killing all of us. And no one stood up to them." Except for her. He could see her now, dressed in rags, her defiant blue eyes daring the Japanese to strike her down. God, had they beat her? "Scully." He wanted her to stop; she had to stop. He didn't know if he could bear to listen any longer. "Scully." He shook her gently, but she didn't respond, her lips moving still. "They hit me," she said, her face crumpling. But her cheeks were dry, the tears damming up in her eyes. "Slapped me down, but I kept getting back up, demanding more food, more medicine. I wanted to know where those men had disappeared to - but they wouldn't tell me. Then they put me in the hole." Mulder's breath hitched at that. He knew what 'the hole' was - anyone who'd ever lived through war knew that every POW camp, every prison, had some form of solitary. A clapboard shack, a cell separated from the other prisoners, or... quite literally, a hole dug in the ground. No, they wouldn't have done that to her. "It was dark and dirty and so small. The first time wasn't bad at all, but I got so hot in there, even though the ground was cool. They only kept me in there an hour - piece of cake, I thought." "Scully, stop. Please," he begged, but she didn't listen. "Then the next time, it was for a bit longer. Then longer still. It got to where I was in there for hours, maybe even a whole day. I don't remember - all I know is, it suffocated me. The dirt choked me, and I had to sit with my legs tucked close to me because it was so small in there. God..." Her voice finally broke, and she laid her head on his chest, her hands going to his waist to hold on. "I can't stand close places anymore, Mulder. I can't stand to be confined. Even my damn coat suffocates me." The image of her on the train platform, her coat flapping the wind, fell into place, like the others in his mind. Scully fighting against the ropes in the cabin, rushing out of the small foyer when he'd first arrived, he and Charlie sandwiching her, her struggling against his arms on Melissa's back porch - shit. "That's enough." He shook her gently, then carefully took her in his arms. "Enough, Scully," he said hoarsely, breathing a deep sigh of relief when he felt her relax against him. Soft, hiccuping, sobs slowly faded as the minutes passed. "It's you," she said. "It always has been. I just didn't know it until now." ********** She didn't know how long she cried. Really, she hadn't expected the renewed anger and devastation to re-surface; she thought she'd cried it all out with Charlie in Honolulu. She wondered if she was becoming one of those women who lost it to tears at the drop of a hat. Sniffling, she decided she didn't like that at all. But in the next thought, she knew she had no choice in the matter. Emotional distress was a fact of life; Melissa had been right - sometimes she just had to let go. It was fate that all this had happened with Mulder. He wasn't her angel, he never had been. But he *was* her rescuer, by a strength of will and determination that meant more to her than dropping from the sky to brave gunfire. He would have walked away from her, would have spared her more hurt. And she would have let him, if not for Charlie. Just this morning, she realized. What a difference a day made. Her tears gone, she lifted her face from the softness of his sweater, her hand cupping his jaw. "Kiss me," she whispered, eager to seal the release of their common demons to the four winds. He looked at her with warm, dark eyes, but he began to shake his head. "Scully, I don't think that's a good idea." He hadn't finished the denial before she'd reached up and touched her mouth to his. He went still, his arms becoming rigid around her. Oh, no, she thought. You're not going to get all sensible on me, Mulder. Bringing her other hand up to trap his face, she opened his lips with hers, deepening the kiss. Still, he held back, though he groaned deep down, a low rumble that incited her to seduction. Pulling away a hair's breadth, she said into his wet lips, "I want you," before returning to her wanton exploration of his mouth. "Take me to bed." Suddenly, she found herself drawn away. "Scully," he said, his fierce eyes searching her face, his cheeks taut with desire. "I know - back in the cabin - that I didn't -" "That's okay," she said, halting his apology with her fingertips. "We can start over." Taking her hand in his, he kissed her palm before replying, "Will you at least let me say I'm sorry?" "You said it already." She returned the favor, curling her hand around his to brush her lips over his knuckles. It sounded more like a squeak than a question. "I did?" "Yeah. Back at Uncle Mike's." She sidled closer to him, drawn to the light stubble on his face. "Now, where were we?" Mulder let her nuzzle his jaw for a moment, then jerked away again with a soft, half-hearted sigh. "We can't do this. I won't take the chance. We talked about this already." Drifting up slightly from the fog of hazy passion, she realized he was referring to their earlier misunderstanding about pregnancy. "But you said -" "I know what I said," he growled, his hands clasping her waist to keep her still. "And I meant it. But it's foolish to take another chance." If possible, his face became more sensual, his voice more like velvet as he murmured, "But I can help you." Confused, she asked, "Help me? Help me what?" The only way he could help her was to make love to her. She wanted it, she needed the completion he stole from her in Utah. And she wanted him to be there with her, to take her to the heights with him. In answer, Mulder fitted both hands under her bottom, and gently lifted her to stand. "Take your clothes off," he gently requested. He stood as well, the blanket caught in his hand. He wrapped it around her like a curtain, his gaze hopeful that she'd not protest. Biting her lip, her mind raced with facts. Charlie had gone out with her sister and the others, and her parents were sure to be another hour. And making out on the couch, while not ideal, was something she wanted very much. Slowly, her gaze holding his, she began to disrobe, reaching for the buttons of her blouse. He watched her every move, from the way the silk slid off her shoulders to the removal of her slacks and shoes. Her bra came next, and she felt her nipples pucker in the cool semi- darkness. When she reached for her garter belt, Mulder said, "Hold the blanket," licking his lips as his gaze lifted from its perusal of her breasts. She did as he asked, shaking with nerves. He dropped to his knees before her, and her eyes drifted shut. A the first touch of his fingers on her skin, she jumped and shifted on her feet, and he murmured soothing nonsense until she quieted. One by one, he rolled her stockings down her legs, his fingers leaving little goosebumps as they trailed along her inner thighs. His breath was hot and heavy on her abdomen, and she swayed closer. He caught her hips and made quick work of the garter belt and panties before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the patch of curls at the junction of her thighs. She almost squealed, and he chuckled, rising to pull his sweater and undershirt over his head in one move. Sitting back down, he reached out a hand. "C'mere. I want to feel you against me." The blanket settling over them like a tent, she straddled his hips, fists full of scratchy wool going around his neck. "Warm?" he asked, his fingers caressing her waist, his liquid gaze steady on hers. "Mmm," she nodded, arching into his touch, her breasts skimming his chest. He made a sound deep in his throat, one of longing, and she gave him what he silently asked for, leaning down to press kisses to his brow, his face, his lips. The crackling of the fire mixed with their sighs, and she began to move against the rough nap of his pants. His hands urged her on, kneading the soft flesh of her backside. She felt the hardness of his erection under the cool, tight buttons... felt her own body become warm and slick above it, and she moaned, wanting more. She let go of one corner of the blanket, and it slid down, letting in a rush of cooler air. But she paid it no mind, stealing a hand between them to loose his buttons. Mulder pulled away from her kiss, saying, "No, don't." "I want to," she insisted, working furiously. In seconds, she'd peeled open the fly of his pants. His erection, trapped inside his boxers, pushed up under the press of her small hand and he hissed, his hips practically shoving her off. "That's far enough," he demanded in a gruff voice, pulling her back until his cotton-covered flesh was trapped between the heat of their lower bodies. "I can't come inside you, Scully," he said, as if in pain, his head falling back to the couch. She nipped at his neck, understanding, even though she didn't like his decision. "I know," she whispered. "But you have to let me help you, too." Her near-virginal body didn't know exactly how, but she was willing to try - *very* willing. "Just tell me what to do." "Just..." he faltered, one of his hands stealing around to take hers from its slow slide up and down his length, "just don't touch me yet, okay? Later. I promise." "Then what am I supposed to do?" Frustration made her squirm on his lap, but she was soon rewarded by a familiar touch, one she dimly remembered. God. "Just move, anyway you feel like." Mulder smiled, one warm finger feeling its way inside her. "Oh," she gasped, surprised at the sharp point of pleasure that soared up from where he was touching her. The blanket fell from her limp fingers to pool around her spread legs, and she gave in to the urge to circle against his hand. "That's it," he ground out, rubbing her in some spot, the same place he'd found before, but never had he done this. It was heavenly, and she moved up on her knees, striving to get closer. Mulder's other hand splayed on her back and he held her up to his mouth. "God!" she cried out, at the first wet touch of his mouth on her breast. What was he doing to her? He suckled, he played with his tongue, even his teeth nipped at the sensitive skin. "What are you doing?" "Helping you," he said against her skin. "Like *that*?" "Like that." He moved to the other breast, whispering, "Think of it as the mambo." She felt him grin against the underside of her breast. "I don't think that's what Melvin had in - oh!" She was lost to him now, her hands gripping the back of the couch behind his head, as she rode his hand. "Some mambo," she sighed, rewarded by his chuckle. "I like it." Good Lord, so did she. This was a dance unlike any other, much better than the Lindy, or the waltz... "Oh... oh!" Suddenly, she knew it was coming, whatever it was. Reaching... reaching for the unknown... it was so good... there, *there* it was! Her buttocks clenched, the muscles of her legs trembled as she spasmed around his fingers, her head dropping to touch his, her mouth open on a low, keening cry against his damp hair. Still, he kept it up, slowly bringing her down from the pinnacle, his mouth leaving her breast to fasten on to her numb lips. As she settled into his lap, he drank deeply of her cries, his lips stealing them like drops of cleansing rain. She gave this to him, and much more, telling him with her kiss of what she'd come to realize. This man, this complicated, tormented, sometimes arrogant man... had stolen her heart. In just a few short days. He had become her angel, pulling her from the dark void to live again. Sighing against her mouth, he let her slide away, tucking her against him to breathe, "You okay?" A harsh, cool voice answered, piercing the contentment that surrounded them. "She'd better be, you son-of-a-bitch." She stiffened, recognizing in an instant who mouthed those angry words. Charlie. End Chapter Twelve A Familiar Heart Chapter Thirteen "Shi -" Mulder bit his lip, stifling the epithet as he reached for the blanket. He didn't rush; after all, they were adults. Charlie's outrage, while birthed from brotherly protection, wasn't warranted, and he'd be damned if he let it shake him like a teenaged boy. It wasn't like Scully was a timid, underage girl, either. She was a woman, able to do what she damn well pleased. "What the hell is going on here?" Scully, he was thankful, didn't skitter away like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She gracefully got to her feet, giving Mulder a little smile as she wrapped the blanket around her. Facing her brother, who stood just inside the door, she calmly asked, "And what are you doing here, Charlie? Watching us? I never figured you for a voyeur." At the hardening of Charlie's face, Mulder stood. He saw Charlie's furious gaze dip to his open pants, and he took his time doing up the buttons, making sure Charlie saw that he'd never exposed himself. It didn't help all that much, but it made it clear that he and Scully hadn't had sex. Reaching for his sweater and undershirt, he pulled them over his head. "Charlie, calm down. I can explain everything." "*We* can explain everything," Scully corrected him, standing at his side like the blanket she covered herself with was a suit of armor. "I'm a big girl, Charlie. I can do what I want." "In Mom's house? Jesus, Dana." He ran a hand through his hair, and Mulder knew from his look he wished that hand was around Mulder's neck. "Oh, like you and Ellen never did anything in this house? Please." Her eyes rolled, and Charlie flushed. Mulder knew it was time to step in, or there'd be hurtful words tossed around in no time. "Dana... get dressed, please." he whispered in her ear, his hand stealing up to brush over her back with soothing emphasis. "I need to talk to Charlie." She bristled as if her dismissal irked her, but he knew she would do as he asked. It was best for the moment to stand down; this was a delicate situation and Charlie expected him to explain, not her. His affronted rage was normal, and he stood puffed up, guarding her virtue like any male relative would. Mulder felt a tinge of relief that it was Charlie standing before them and not her father. That scenario would have had him standing before a priest with a shotgun at his back before the night was through. Though maybe that wasn't such a bad idea... "Get that right out of your mind," Scully warned. He looked down at her stern face, wanting to smile at the way she'd gleaned his thoughts. "No decisions made about me while I'm gone." As stately as a queen, she gathered her clothes and walked to the stairs, giving Charlie the same, pinched glare. To his credit, her brother had the sense back down a bit, stuffing his fists into his pockets. Mulder waited until he saw Scully disappear at the top of the stairs, then he stepped forward, regret in his voice as he said, "It's not what it looks like, Charlie." "It isn't?" Charlie sneered. "I trusted you, Mulder. And then you go and seduce my sister under my very roof?" Mulder opened his mouth to reply, but Charlie was on a roll. "And don't give me that crap about 'you didn't really do anything'. The intent was there, and you know it. Another ten minutes and you'd have been -" "Charlie," Mulder growled, his own fury at Charlie's near insult of Scully making his face darken. "Fucking her brains out," Charlie finished, his sneer daring Mulder to hit him. "What - the whores in Hong Kong weren't enough for you? You had to make my sister into one?" "That's enough!" Mulder turned his back on his friend in an effort to keep from knocking him flat on his back. He stared into the fire, willing his anger to subside. "Say what you want about me, Charlie. But one more word about Dana and I'll knock your teeth down your throat." Charlie huffed behind him, then, his voice full of hurt, he said, "I trusted you, Mulder. Hell, I even *wanted* you to get together with my sister. She's been through a lot - I figured you for the kind to stick around, not get some tail and run." At that, Mulder swung around. "Do you see me running?" He hated the distrust on Charlie's face. "God damn it, Charlie, I'd marry your sister in a heartbeat if she wanted me to." "Marriage?" For all his bravado, Charlie seemed to be realizing his histrionics could make life very difficult for his sister. Mulder pounced, coming to stand before him. "She's very vulnerable right now, Charlie," he murmured, hearing movement upstairs. "What we did..." He bit his lip, not quite knowing how to say it delicately. "Was something wonderful. Hate me if you want, but don't force Dana into a situation she's not ready for." He had to make Charlie see this unfortunate discovery of his would best be kept secret. For now, anyway. "Your sister is the best thing that's ever happened to me. I would never abandon her or mistreat her. But God help me, Charlie... you make her a pariah with this and I will make you wish you'd never been born. Got it?" Threatening his best friend galled him, but at this moment, he would crush the Pope himself to protect Scully. He waited, watching Charlie's gaze search his face for some sign he was bluffing. Calm but unblinking, he stood his ground, hands clenched at his sides. Until Charlie relaxed into a grin. Not a big one, but a truce, nonetheless. "I knew it." Mulder, confused beyond belief, looked up, sensing Scully was moments away from re-joining them. "Knew what, damn it?" "I knew that you and Dana were made for each other. Of course, maybe it's because I wouldn't wish either of you on someone else." Sobering, he lowered his voice, moving in until he stood nose to nose with Mulder. "But I'm telling *you*, Mulder - you hurt her and you won't answer to me. You'll answer to Bill." "Your Dad?" Impossible. Though a big man, Mr. Scully had a good thirty years on him. Not that he wouldn't do his best to ruin his Naval career, such that it was... "My brother, you idiot." His eyes shifted, hearing his sister come down the stairs, then he whispered, "Think my brawn and Dana's temper. Then kiss your balls goodbye." Jesus. Mulder felt himself pale, just as Scully hit the last rug-covered step. "Charlie, did you hit him while I was gone?" She rushed to Mulder's side, grabbing hold of his arm, her eyebrows drawn together with concern. She'd changed into a soft, fuzzy sweater the color of shimmering pearls. If he wasn't so queasy, he'd have smiled his appreciation. "Only below the belt." He raised his hands at Scully's scowl. "And only in some future universe, if he's not smart." Mulder, at Charlie's pointed look, gently took Scully's hand from his arm and put a bit of distance between them. He had an idea what was coming next, and he started for the stairs. "Mulder, where are you going?" She turned to Charlie, her frustration at their cryptic conversation growing. "And what the hell are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were going dancing." "I was - I *am*. I just came to get my wallet, then I'm meeting the others at The Crystal Ballroom." His voice carried up the stairs with sterling clarity. "*After* I take Mulder to a hotel." "Be right down, Charlie," he threw over his shoulder. "Just gotta get my things." Scully's reply was incredulous, and he was glad to be out of the line of fire. "A hotel? Charles Andrew Scully -" "You know, with that little line in your forehead, sprite, you look just like Mom." "Oooh..." Even with being caught 'in flagrante delicto', Mulder thought, he wouldn't want to be in Charlie's shoes at that moment. He chuckled, closing the door to Charlie's room behind him. ********** "I can't believe you," she growled, flopping into her Dad's chair as she turned on the lamp. The yellow light showed the dent in the middle of the couch where just minutes ago, she'd been wrapped in Mulder's embrace. It made her blush, but she ignored Charlie's smirk, shifting her furious gaze back to him. "You made me feel like a sixteen-year-old." Charlie deliberately sat in that spot, stretching his long arms like an albatross along the back of the couch. "Comfy." His grin faded a bit. "Perfect for a woman who's twenty-seven but *acts* like she's sixteen." She bit back her retort, seeing something in Charlie's face besides sarcasm. From the dip of his lashes to the way he worried his lower lip, he looked as if... someone had taken away his favorite puppy. All her residual anger died at his crestfallen expression; she'd not only put him in an embarrassing situation, she'd disappointed him. Despite their relation to one another and their gender differences, she and Charlie were best of friends. Coming upon her and Mulder in the throes of passion was bound to tilt his nice, orderly world off-center. He'd gone through the war just as they had, but he was relatively unscathed, thank goodness. And she didn't have the heart to disillusion him further by telling him of her true first meeting with Mulder. "Charlie?" "Yeah?" Dropping a hand, he picked at his coat. "I'm sorry. Not for what we did... I only wish we'd shown more discretion. I know it upset you, and I'm sorry." "I'm a big boy, sprite," he stated, finally looking up at her. "It just... shocked me. I can't say I was too happy about seeing my sister naked." "Ewww." She made a face, feeling the mood lighten. "Yeah, ewww." He grinned and added, "Thank God Mulder still had his pants on - I probably would have been scarred for life otherwise." From what she'd seen of Mulder back in the cabin, he put most men to shame - and that was while unconscious, much less fully aroused. Of course, if the sensation of being filled to almost painful proportions was any indication... "I *don't* want to hear it, Dana," Charlie growled, apparently seeing her blush. He wasn't angry, just embarrassed because he'd seen her thoughts written plainly on her face. "There's such a thing as too much information, you know." Her smile was fleeting. She wanted to tell Charlie what she was feeling, and Mulder's absence had given her the opportunity. "Charlie?" He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, his face serious. "Yeah?" She'd always been close to Melissa, but Charlie was a sibling with a like soul and heart, and she thanked God for it. "I think I'm -" She was what? In love with him? Sure, it was easy to think so when still shuddering under his capable hands and mouth. But Charlie would think she was nuts if a declaration of love spewed from her lips. "I care for Mulder," she amended. "Very much." Charlie's eyes widened, then he hung his head with a soft 'whoosh' through his lips. "Jesus, Dana." Oh, God, she thought. More arguments. "Look Charlie, I think I'm old enough to know -" "It's not that." "Then what is it?" "I think he's in love with you, too." Charlie laughed nervously, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Beats me how you two managed it..." His head snapped up. "And I *don't* want to know." Scully's head still reeled from the possibility. Mulder in love with her? "Charlie, I didn't say anything about love." "You don't have to. Neither does he." They fell silent as she contemplated the night's revelations. During the war, it was common for overnight romances to blossom; she'd learned this when she got back home. Last chances before an iffy future, men and women married within a week's time of knowing each other. No one looked askance at those unions. And now, the marriage market was growing by leaps and bounds - sweethearts for years weren't waiting any longer to seal their unions. Ellen and Charlie had waited six months for the church and reception hall at the Governor Calvert House. Of course, that was Ellen - the whole nine yards. Charlie would have been satisfied with a quickie in Vegas, though her mother would have croaked. Groaning silently, she pressed a hand to her head. Her mother. Her father. Always the sensible one, they'd said of her. If they ever got wind of this... no. This torn, unworthy feeling would have to go. She could do what she pleased with her life. "Ready, Charlie?" Mulder's soft words brought her head up. "You can't leave, Mulder." Just the sight of him standing behind Charlie, his gaze traveling over her like he was remembering what every bit of her skin looked like... God, it made her shiver all over again. "Sorry, sprite," Charlie said, standing. "This one I insist upon." "But Mom thinks he's staying with us - won't it look odd if he just up and leaves?" Between them like a brick wall, Charlie looked first at Mulder, then her, before remarking dryly, "We can just say the couch was... too small. And Mulder has a bad back, or something." He colored, as if his thoughts were descending into remembrance of his arrival. "Geez. C'mon, Mulder. I'm late already. Ellen'll begin to wonder where I am." As he turned for the stairs, Mulder held out a hand. "Got it for you," he said, handing Charlie his wallet. "Can we have a minute, Charlie?" Scully's heart leapt in her chest at Mulder's request. Though they'd done just about everything with one another they possibly could, suddenly, she was nervous to be alone with him. What was he going to say? It's been a riot, Dana. See ya next time I'm in port? No. He wasn't the type. "Sure. I'll wait in the car. *One* minute only, Mulder." Scully barely registered the slam of the door behind him. Oh, God. What if he brought up the marriage thing again? She turned to stare into the dying fire. She'd have to throw some more logs on before her parents got home, because they liked a late-night drink... She jumped at the arms that circled her from behind. "Mmm... I knew it." "Knew what?" she breathlessly replied. "I kept catching a whiff of something upstairs... something on my skin. You. I smell like you." Gulping, she closed her eyes. "Yeah... I noticed that, too." She knew there was no way she was bathing before bedtime; just the prospect of sleeping while wrapped in his scent was heady. Of course, she'd much rather the real thing snuggled under the covers with her. "Scully?" His mouth tickled her ear. "Yeah?" Here it comes, she thought. "Sweet dreams." He pressed a kiss to her collarbone. "I'll call you tomorrow." His warmth was snatched from her in an instant. Oh, no. That's not the way their goodnight was supposed to happen. She whirled, seeing him pick up his bag slowly. "Mulder!" Turning, he looked at her, his face hopeful, yet guarded. Walking slowly toward him, she said, "Get Charlie to put you up at the Belmont. The day after tomorrow is the Rehearsal Supper. I'm supposed to be spending the night with Ellen." Dropping his bag, he crossed the distance between them, a smile emerging. Her arms went around his neck as his gathered her close, his gaze wandering over her face. Shaky now, her voice lowered, "You owe me a bed, sailor. Make sure it's a double because -" He kissed her like a drowning man, devouring her mouth until she was gasping for breath. And then, he let her pull away only to cradle her head in his hand as his lips traversed her cheek and jaw. "The Belmont," he murmured absently. "Do they have big bathtubs, too? 'Cause I love bubble baths." Laughter rumbled through her and she kneaded the muscles of his back, not wanting to let him go. "It's across the street from Uncle Mike's - that's where we're having the supper. And I think they have bathtubs, yes. Nice place." Groaning into her neck, he said, "Uncle Mike's? Not again." "Leave Uncle Mike to me," she whispered, moving to kiss him again as she heard Charlie blow the car horn. "You just remember to call me tomorrow, okay?" "Is six a.m. too early?" Tears filled her eyes at the question; he was so beautiful, so eager. So unabashed in his wooing, his eyes alight with desire and... was Charlie right? Did Mulder actually love her? Time would tell, she knew. And they had all of that to spare now. "Make it seven. I like to sleep in." "In what? Silk? Satin? Nothing at all?" She practically pushed his grinning face out the door, then stood on the porch until she could no longer see Charlie's car. A half hour later, she was getting ready for bed when the phone rang. Breathless from running down the stairs to answer it, she said, "Hello?" "I just wanted you to know that I miss you already." He paused, then added, "And that this bed is nice. Very big. Good night, Scully." She stared at the phone for a good minute after Mulder hung up, her smile watery. So this was what happiness felt like. End Chapter Thirteen A Familiar Heart Chapter Fourteen True to his word, Mulder phoned at seven the next morning. Then at nine, and again at noon. His calls were so persistent, they couldn't fail to arouse her mother's suspicion, and it was over late afternoon baking that Maggie put her motherly curiosity to work. "Did Mr. Mulder find his glasses?" Maggie looked over her shoulder at Dana, who was up to her elbows in flour at the kitchen table. Scully smiled, taking out her frustration at Mulder's absence on the pile of dough, punching it vehemently. "Yes. They were in the bag with his toothbrush and razor." "What a forgetful young man," her mother remarked, turning back to her cookies, seemingly satisfied with Scully's explanation for the phone calls. Forgetful? Scully was glad her mother had looked away once more, as she felt her face get hot. Mulder remembered every moment of their tryst last night; she could hear it in the tone of his voice over the line. The phone calls had been brief, but filled with husky promises of everything he was going to do to her once they were alone again. He described the way he was going to touch her in vague double entendres, cloaked in descriptions of the merits of good furniture. He was smart as a whip, realizing without having to be told that it was quite likely her parents' neighbors were listening in on the party line. "I'm thinking of buying a new couch for my cabin," he'd murmured last time. "The thing is - should I go with soft, buttery leather? Or sturdy, long-lasting corduroy? The first is more comfortable, but kind of... slippery, you know? The second could be kind of harsh on the skin, but should withstand any kind of, uh, punishment? By the way - you didn't happen to see my dogtags around there anywhere, did you?" Laughing, she'd replied, "I'm hanging up now, Mulder." Now that she thought about it, they'd made no plans to see each other until the Rehearsal Supper, and that was tomorrow night. Maybe a bit of time apart was needed, she had to admit. It was all moving so fast, to a point that thrilled her as well as frightened her a bit. After the wedding, who knew where they'd end up? He was stationed in San Diego, as far as she knew. And she was stuck in San Francisco. Not that great of a divide, but there, nonetheless. She had a feeling her whole life was about to change once again, and it scared her more than facing down the Japanese. The ringing of the phone startled her, even though she'd become quite accustomed to it by now. Wiping her hands on the dishtowel, she ignored her mother's quizzical glance and went to answer it. "Yes, Mulder." "Dana?" "Bill?" Damn. This was not how she wanted to greet her brother after last seeing him stony- faced in Honolulu. He never did come see her in San Francisco, either, though she knew he'd been through once or twice in the last six months. "Merry Christmas." He paused over the line, then said, "Same to you, Dana. How's it going?" "Fine." Her mother peeked around the entrance to the kitchen, and Scully waved her over. "Here's Mom." Covering the receiver, she handed to her mother, who gave her a disappointed whisper. "Talk to him, Dana." "When he gets here," she whispered back, going back to the kitchen over her mother's hello to her eldest son. Bill was an ass. No other way to put it, she decided. He had all of her father's stoicism and none of his compassion. Cold and almost emotionless, he'd been unable to deal with her recovery like Charlie had. The military was the military, in his mind. Suck it up and move on to the next battle. It didn't matter that she was female; a soldier should not cower from fear and nightmares. Her father and mother had been most supportive, as well as they could, anyway. Her father had been granted a couple of days' leave to be with her in Hawaii, and her mother had spent time with her in San Francisco. But Bill? He'd turned tail and run the first time she'd had a seizure, disgust written plainly on his face. His wife Tara had come to see her a few times with the kids, but it was more of the same. Bill's wife had to be strong, too. And God only knew what choice words he'd have to say about Mulder. She was not looking forward to that. "They won't be here until the day of the wedding," her mother said, coming back into the kitchen. "Snowed in." Scully couldn't help the relief she felt, and it showed on her face. "He's not all that bad, sweetie," her mother murmured. "He just doesn't know how to be any other way. You're not known for your embracing ways, either, you know." She knew she had some of those same aloof qualities, but since meeting Mulder, her calm facade had taken quite a beating. He wasn't one for keeping his emotions hidden, and he wouldn't let her hide behind a false mask of control, either. Just another way her life had been turned upside down. The corner of her mouth turned up at the ringing of the telephone. Upside down? More like inside out and front-to-back. She rather liked it. This time, she didn't take any chances. "Hello?" "Scully, it's me." "What now? Your hair brush?" "I can't find my dogtags." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "You used that one already." "Seriously, I can't find 'em." He sighed, and she pictured him licking his lips. Hoo-boy. "I think they're in your *living room* somewhere?" The slight emphasis on the location made her heart jump to her throat. "They... uh, the chain sometimes catches on... uh, stuff." A flash of him pulling off his sweater and undershirt last night made her groan. "Yeah," he said, their shared memory sending a jolt of electricity over the line. His voice scratchy, he added, "Do me a favor and go check, would you?" "Hang on." She dropped the receiver to the small table with nerveless fingers, wincing at its loud contact with the wooden top. Hurrying, she rounded the corner of the living room door, skidding to a stop at the sight of her father, who sat reading the afternoon paper. At her noise, his head popped up, slight confusion creasing his brow. "Starbuck? What's up?" "Uh... nothing, Dad," she hedged, her eyes searching the carpet for the telltale, shiny metal. She'd forgotten he'd come home early today. He was the quiet sort, content to sit and read with his pipe and slippers. Speaking of - "Damn," she muttered, under her breath. There they were, half hidden under the sole of his left slipper. Not totally obvious, but shining like a beacon in the light from the lamp. Their presence could be explained in an innocuous way, but then again - the chain normally hung around Mulder's neck. His *clothed* neck and chest. Why would he have any reason to disrobe? In her parents' living room, of all places. "What did you say?" "Ham," she replied with a smile. "Would you like ham for dinner?" Wringing her hands, she walked slowly forward. "I thought we were having leftover roast beef, Starbuck." Folding the newspaper in his lap, he sat straighter. "Are you sure you're okay, Starbuck? You look queasy." "I'm fine, Dad. Just a bit hot from the kitchen." And from the prospect of discovery, just a slide of his foot away. "Bill?" Scully jumped at her mother's voice behind her. Together, she and her father looked up at her mother, who stood in the door. "We need some more logs for the fireplace, dear." She turned to leave without waiting for an answer. Scully's dad grimaced, raising his paper again. "Get Charlie to do it. Where is that boy, anyway?" "He's at Ellen's," Scully supplied, eager to get her dad up out of that chair. Her father sighed, finally curling up out of the chair and depositing newspaper and glasses on the lamp table. "Young fool," he murmured, then, looking at his daughter, he amended, "Ellen's a nice girl, Dana - I didn't mean anything by that." "I know, Dad," she smiled, reaching up to give him a kiss. "Love does strange things to people, don't you think?" He smiled in return, giving her a wink. "Makes 'em queasy, too," he replied, heading for the front door. "Tell Mr. Mulder I said hello, Starbuck." Had he seen the dogtags? Scully gulped, assuring herself that he hadn't. Though he was as astute as her mother, sensing there was something between her and Mulder, he was more likely the recipient of an earful of speculation, courtesy of that same meddling, well-meaning mom. She shouldn't be surprised; just because they were in their late fifties didn't mean they still loved as though they were younger and recognized the same in their children. She shuddered at the mental picture of her parents doing what she'd done with Mulder last night, shaking it off. That was *not* what she wanted to be thinking of - not now, not ever. Picking up the dogtags, she scrambled back to the telephone. "Got 'em." Mulder laughed with relief on the other end of the line. "Trouble?" "Dad was practically sitting on them." "Ouch." He allowed a moment of silence, then said, "I really need those, you know." Longing made his voice husky, and she felt a similar rush thread through her reply. "Then come over. Dinner will be in another hour or so." "So I can have your Dad and Charlie frowning at me from across the table? I don't think so." "Dad would not frown at you. He likes you." "But you can't deny I'm on Charlie's shit list at the moment." A stifled gasp bled over the line, followed by a click. Scully laughed. "I think you just offended Mrs. Bowman with your language." "Good. Wonder who else I can get rid of if I say -" "Mulder," she warned, knowing something worse was on the horizon. He chuckled, then said softly, "Have dinner with me, Scully. Somewhere more private. My treat." "Chicken." "Beautiful." He was way past the point of furniture analogies; then again, so was she. Hell on the neighbors. Seemed everyone who counted approved of their match, so they might as well let the cat out of the bag, big time. "Handsome." His breath hitched, and she sensed he was a moment away from saying something really meaningful. But he backed off with a laugh. "Short stuff." "Bean pole." "Meet me somewhere... Red." Red. God, the nickname still had the power to move her. It was high time she told him the rest of the story - the rescue from Los Banos. He would probably think she was nuts, but she wanted him to know why she'd been so startled back at the cabin. It hadn't been him, she knew that now. But it went a long way to explaining her frame of mind just a few short days ago. There was also something she wanted to give him besides the truth; she wanted him to know she was ready to give herself to him in soul as well as body. This was the perfect opportunity, before they were sunk knee-deep in wedding celebrations. The calm before the storm, so to speak. "Uncle Mike's at seven?" A short huff of breath, then, "That's not exactly the privacy I had in mind, Scully." "Too bad. That's what you're going to get, sailor." "But -" "I have a plan, Mulder. Trust me." The Rehearsal Supper could prove to be a sticking point, should her Uncle Mike spill the beans about their previous dinner there. What had she been thinking when she suggested that a couple of days ago? No, she'd thought Mulder would do just as he had - leave. No worries after that. Now, it seemed some pre-party reparations to their story was in order. "As long as none of your cousins beat me up." "They'll have to get past me first, okay?" "Oh, that makes me feel a whole lot better." She smiled at the sarcasm. "It should. I used to kick their asses regularly." Another gasp and click made Mulder bellow with laughter over the line. "Who was that?" "My guess is, Mrs. Kennedy. See - I know what I'm doing." His laughter faded and he purred, "I hope you do, Scully. Because I'm a tenacious bastard - I never let go once I latch on." Silence reigned for a few seconds as she held her breath, her happiness at his soft statement filling her chest with warmth. "Just tell her you'll meet her already, boy!" The elderly female voice, laced with a hint of a brogue, made Scully gasp this time. "Mrs. O'Malley?" Her face, unseen to anyone on the line, still flushed with embarrassment. "Aye, and you should latch on, too, girl. Take it from me - the lads are headin' up the aisle right and left. Just look at yer brother!" Mulder was obviously rolling with mirth at the other end, if his snorts and guffaws were any indication. Scully was speechless, and she wished he would say something before she put an end to their mutual embarrassment by slamming down the phone. He did, much to her relief, clearing his throat before saying, "Mrs. O'Malley?" "Yes, son?" the old lady murmured, pleasure in her voice at the way he addressed her with subtle warmth. "I really hate to put a damper on your afternoon eavesdropping, but would you kindly fuck off?" She expected a tirade like no other; Mrs. O'Malley was not the sort to hold her temper. Instead, the woman said, "Son, I've heard worse on the docks in Dublin. You'll have to do better than that." "What if I told you I'd like to take Dana and -" "Mulder!" Scully found her voice at last, just as her nosy neighbor hung up with a snort of laughter. "What?" He sounded as though he'd done nothing wrong. Truth was, she herself was tired of all the poking into their business as well. "Uncle Mike's, Mulder. Seven o'clock. And no cursing, either." "Spoilsport. I can't stand nosy people, Scully. You know your relatives will be hovering like vultures." "Then I'll cuss 'em out, okay?" "My hero." She could picture his smile fade into a slow burn. "I can't wait to see you, Scully." "I miss you, too," she answered, before bidding him goodbye. ********** Dinner was enlightening, to say the least. She now knew he was thirty-three years old, as of October. She pulled from him his first puppy's name, his favorite color, and the remembrance of his first kiss - at the age of seven, behind the garage with his second cousin Emily. He was experimenting only - he never liked Emily, he told her. Too much of a tattletale. In other words, he got a spanking that day. Didn't stop him from kissing again, he told her with a wink. He now knew she'd broken a leg when she was twelve, courtesy of a fall from a tree. He knew she liked her coffee with cream and sugar, and her hamburger with ketchup and pickles. She was dainty in everything except her laugh - when it came, it startled him. So broad and fun-loving, showing a mouth full of teeth and crinkling the corners of her eyes. He loved it all. He loved her. "See... if Uncle Mike happens to say something about us having dinner here together, no one will know it wasn't tonight. Got it?" "Smart," he said, giving her a smile. "I like the way you think, Scully." She looked like a Christmas present, wrapped in green wool, her red hair tamed into a sleek bob. Her face, this time not half hidden by a hat, was warm and pink, her lips almost cranberry red and so tempting to him that he kept biting his own to keep from leaning over and chewing on hers. She smiled, she laughed, her eyes were twin blue stars that hypnotized him. He do could nothing but stare and do his best to follow the train of conversation. "I told you before - I *do* have a brain," she remarked, sipping at her after-dinner coffee, her little finger crooked at the end. Yep. Dainty. He wondered if that finger tasted as good as the rest of her. Her gaze swept the room, his rapt attention to her pinky going unnoticed. "Looks like Uncle Mike gave us the best table in the house this time." Mulder looked around, feeling all eyes upon them as he replied softly, "Yeah. Close to the dance floor, away from the kitchen... and right smack in the middle of the room. One more curious look thrown our way, Scully, and I'm standing on this table to declare my intentions." Blue mischief danced beneath coquettish lashes. "And what would those be?" To nibble on that pinky, he thought. To do what I wanted to last night, and bury myself in you so deep I may never come up for air. To marry you, no matter what you say. All this and more clamored for release on his tongue; it would be so easy to tell the world at this moment she was his. But their playfulness of the day was a beginning once more, and he knew she was more comfortable with banter than talk of commitment at this stage. "I don't think I can go into detail in this crowd, Scully. Something tells me I wouldn't make it out with my gorgeous face intact." She laughed, eyeing the swarm of redheads doling out ale among the customers. "I told you I'd protect you." "My guardian angel?" Her smile faded, and he knew instantly he'd said the wrong thing. Uh-oh. Scully dropped her gaze to her purse, surreptitiously reaching in. Hand fisted, she extended it across the table. "Here you go, sailor," she murmured, nodding. Mulder opened his palm beneath her fist, feeling the metal of his dogtags fall into his hand. Before she could snatch her own hand away, he curled his fingers up, holding fast, the cool chain caught between them. The easy atmosphere they'd enjoyed all night had changed to something far more serious in an instant. "Why do I get the feeling I just got my class ring back?" he quipped with a guarded smile, his heart pounding with fear. "You going with someone else to the prom, Scully?" Instead of stupid phone calls, he should have camped out in her living room all day, Charlie be damned. At that, she relaxed a bit, chuckling nervously. "No... it's just that I'm about to declare my *own* intentions, and it scares the hell out of me." His shoulders sagged with relief, but his reply was still shaky. "Declare away." Maybe, if he was lucky, he'd find *himself* carted off to the minister tonight. "Mulder, do you remember how I thought I knew you back at the cabin?" At the time, he was sure she was one of Chang's operatives, bent on killing him. He never gave her cryptic comment much thought after he found out who she really was, but now it resounded in his brain. "Yeah," he said, keeping her hand in a tight grip. "I know better now." "The reason I said that..." "Scully, you don't have to explain." "No, I do. It's all part of my declaration." She was firm, and he relented, squeezing her hand. "Go ahead." "You were familiar to me, Mulder. I was sure I'd seen you before. But then again, at the time I'd thought I'd seen you, you were like some sort of angel... swooping down from the sky to save me." POW camp. Angels from the sky. Manila. The connection began to take form in his mind. Along with it, a trickle of dread pooled in his chest. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear this, but he had to ask. "You were in Los Banos, weren't you?" Don't say yes, Scully. Please don't. She nodded, a light sheen of tears glistening in her eyes. "And I thought you'd been the one... the one who died saving me that day. He looked like you." She rushed ahead before he could speak again. "But I know now *you* are my angel, Mulder. My savior. Not some ghost I barely spoke to." "Scully..." he whispered, unable to look at her any longer. He pulled his hand from hers, dragging the chain with him. The cheap silver tags hit the table top, and a glimmer of gold caught his eye. It had all been too good to be true. Her giving herself to him, him thinking of marriage and kids... *everything*. He should have known better than to let himself want it so badly. "It's all I have of value," she said, "and I want you to have it. My class ring, so to speak. I don't want to run away from you any longer, Mulder." Her cross. Gleaming on the chain with such brilliance it took his breath away. He didn't want to take the happiness from her face, but he knew his next words would do just that. "Scully, my brother died at Los Banos." She was still for a moment, sitting up straight, shock making her pale. "What?" "Sam. He was only one of two who died that day." "No. That can't be true." "It is. Scully, he looked like me, he had a voice like mine." Though it hurt him to say it, he went on, the details spilling from him. "He was a paratrooper with the 11th Airborne. He was supposed to be shipped home after that mission." A wan smile cracked his face. "I've spoken to a buddy of his, some guy named Franklin. He said Sam was hoping to make it home for spring training. He wanted to try out for the Yankees." Scully closed her eyes and swallowed, looking as if she was about to lose her supper. Grabbing her purse and coat, she slid from her chair. "I... I have to go, Mulder." All he wanted to do was grab her and make her stay. Instead, he sat there, his body shaking with shock of his own. "I know." They said no goodbyes, made no further plans. He waited a full five minutes before paying the bill and walking to his hotel room, the chain still fisted in his hand. He didn't know what else to do. End Chapter Fourteen A Familiar Heart Chapter Fifteen The phone didn't ring once that day. It seemed as if the damp, cold rain had even put an end to holiday greetings for the houses on her mother's party line. Christmas was over, and she felt as if she'd never smile again. She missed him. His smile, his laugh, the way he had of making the most innocent remarks simmer with sensuality. The memory of the way she'd left him last night was burned on her brain; the utter sadness in his eyes when he realized the man she spoke of in Los Banos had been his brother. Much beloved, by the halting, proud way he'd told her of Sam's baseball aspirations. But he was dead, felled by a bullet meant for her. Guilt washed over her, as fresh as if she still held her hand over the hole in Sam's chest. Mulder's brother would still be alive, if not for her. He'd taken the bullet meant for her, and had perished for it. She was as much to blame for his death as if she'd pulled the trigger herself. It was no wonder Mulder stayed away today. Would he show up for the rehearsal? Or stay for the wedding? God, she hoped so. For Charlie's sake, she hoped Mulder fulfilled his obligation as best man. She'd almost run him off once, and she didn't think Charlie would forgive her if she managed to do so again, albeit not on purpose. She hadn't known. God, she hadn't known! Standing by the Christmas tree, she looked out the living room window, sniffling quietly. Her parents had gone ahead to the church, and she was waiting for Charlie to come down so they could take his car together and pick up Ellen for the rehearsal. He knew she was supposed to be spending the night with Ellen, and she was to take his car while he rode home with her mother and father after the party. Little did they know she'd planned to drive it nowhere; it would have stayed parked behind her Uncle Mike's while she spent the night with Mulder. It was to have been so easy - Ellen would have been told she was going back to her house, her parents would assume she was at Ellen's. Perfect. Except she knew now there would be no night spent in Mulder's arms. No making love on his very big bed, no whispering words of trust and commitment, no making plans for the future. His silence of today had told her just one thing: he wanted nothing more to do with her. "Dana, are you ready?" Though she tried to avoid Charlie's eyes by quickly turning away, she wasn't successful. "Hey," he said softly, gripping her by the arms to turn her back. "What's with the tears?" She swiped at her cheeks, trying her best to smile. "I just realized I'm about to be all alone," she whispered, hoping the half-truth was enough to satisfy him. "I'm losing my best friend." Charlie enfolded her in a warm embrace. "You are not," he admonished softly. "I'll always be here for you, sprite. Right here." "Yeah, three thousand miles away." It wasn't like her to give in to melancholy, but she couldn't help it. Charlie was being assigned to Washington, and here he'd stay. The telephone was a lifeline, but suddenly, she wanted more than a voice. She wanted physical closeness as well. Her world was rocked to its foundations, with no end to her sadness in sight. "You could always transfer here, you know," he pointed out. "Though I guess with Mulder in California, too, you wouldn't want -" "Mulder has nothing to do with this," she stated flatly, pulling away from Charlie. She walked to the couch, retrieving her coat. "Uh - oh," she heard behind her. "Trouble in paradise?" Putting on a calm she didn't feel, she turned, shrugging into her coat. Charlie stepped forward, concern in his gaze as he helped her with the sleeves. "Charlie, Mulder and I are just friends," she said, knowing that sounded so trite, given the way he'd seen them night before last. "Just friends? Sprite, I don't know anyone who's 'just friends' who gets naked on the couch." The wince in his voice was palpable. "I'm sorry, Dana. That was crude." "But true." She looked up at her brother, giving him a small smile, knowing she had to say something to ease his mind. It wasn't good to be with Mulder one day and totally apart from him the next; bad move. Charlie didn't need to worry about anything other than his wedding day. She'd tell Mulder so when she saw him at the church; they'd have to at least speak to one another for the next couple of days, act like friends. Any other course would cause suspicion. Then, when all was said and done, he could go his way and she would go hers. Maybe a move to Washington wouldn't be a bad idea, after all. "Look, Charlie, Mulder and I have decided to take things slow. Your wedding is what's most important right now, and we don't want to detract from it, okay?" Please believe me, she prayed. "What we did... it happened way too fast. We both agree that we need to take some time to get to know one another." Then, after a couple of months in San Francisco, she could just tell Charlie things didn't work out, and move back home. Nice plan, she thought, ignoring Charlie's questioning look as she moved to the front door. If only she didn't feel so lost without Mulder, it would be wonderful. ********** The priest moved them about like dolls, his heavy Irish brogue demanding compliance. Not that Mulder felt like arguing at all; on the contrary, every time Father Corkery pushed him together with Scully, he took full advantage, brushing his arm against hers, folding her hand in the crook of his arm like a good little groomsman. She was so pretty tonight it almost hurt to look at her. A slim silhouette in navy blue wool, her tiny waist cinched tight by a matching belt, she was covered from neck to knees, and made a very demure picture, complete with white lace collar. Too bad he knew what every inch of her looked like under that dress, and his fingers itched to undo the buttons down the front one by one. Her hair was pinned back, but there were a few wisps that refused to be tamed, falling down to caress her cheek. Every few minutes, she brought a hand up to brush them away, never once looking at him, though she had to know he couldn't take his eyes off her. And he could not stop touching her, taking sinful pleasure in doing so, all with the permission of the priest. But that sigh. Damn it, that sigh he received every time he touched her pierced him to his heart like a stiletto. He was sure the next time he heard it, he'd bleed like a stuck pig. It wasn't fair, God damn it. He'd stayed away today, though it was the hardest, longest day of his miserable life. Finding out she knew Sam had opened his eyes, and not for the better. If only he'd known about her angel before he'd met her... "Okay, ladies and gentlemen," Father Corkery said, breaking into his thoughts. "The mass has ended, the bride's been kissed - it's time to move out, bride and groom first, then the best man and maid of honor, then the parents. Go, go!" This time, when he met Scully at the front of the alter, he practically latched on to her, his other hand folding over hers on his arm like a vise. "Slowly, children, slowly!" Father Corkery said. Mulder slowed his steps, which were already at a leisurely pace. Scully huffed a bit, matching her steps to his; he knew she wanted to get as far away from him as possible, as fast as she could. "Mulder?" Her soft question surprised him, and he almost stumbled. "Yeah?" he whispered back. Maybe she wanted to talk, maybe all hope wasn't yet lost... Staring straight ahead, Scully said softly, "You *are* going to stay for the wedding, aren't you? Charlie would be disappointed if you didn't." He looked away from her, clenching his jaw. Scully certainly had a soft spot for her brother... hell, *anyone's* brother. "I wouldn't do that to him. I'll be there." Then I'm catching the first train, plane or boat out of town, he added silently. "Good. And Mulder?" He didn't answer, not trusting himself to just scream at her to stop being so damned cool. She continued, taking his silence for acceptance of her words. "We need to try to be civil to one another, okay? It would look very bad otherwise." Considering that just the night before last, they'd been naked on the couch, he snorted, seeing how their aloof behavior toward one another could rouse suspicion. "Sure," he said snidely. "Like we're best friends, Scully." From the corner of his eye, he saw her face pale, and he let her go to reach for his coat. He didn't look at her as he put it on, sensing her physical withdrawal by the warmth that disappeared from his side. "Mulder, you riding with us?" At Charlie's question, he looked up from his perusal of the church bulletins in the lobby. He tried to tamp down his discomfort, and he quickly said, "I'll meet you guys there. Um... I have to go back to my room for something." It was a lie, and he saw Scully turn away to don her coat. He knew she was avoiding his company. Pride prevented him from asking why, though he had a pretty good idea. It was probably the same reason he could no longer bear to spend every second in her presence. Some things didn't have to be said. He'd make a short appearance at the party and then beg off. Spend the day tomorrow hounding Skinner at the Pentagon for news of Chang, then the wedding on New Year's Eve. He wondered if there was a midnight train headed west that night - the sooner he left all this hurt behind, the better. For him and for her. He'd tried, he really had. All day long, he'd told himself the conclusion he'd drawn couldn't be right. But then again, if it wasn't - if he'd finally found true happiness with the right woman - how the hell could he be so lucky?? He'd never had anything so valuable, so beautiful, fall right into his lap. It wasn't this Mulder who'd been smiled upon by the Gods all his life; Sam had taken all that good fortune with him to his grave. Even in death, he'd nabbed the last, best prize. As he walked out of the church, he heard Charlie call his name. His friend left his fiancee behind with a murmur, catching up with Mulder halfway down the block. Mulder saw Scully and her parents drive away in the opposite direction, and he hunched over, scraping the sidewalk with the toe of his shoe. "What is it, Charlie?" Impatience laced his words; he wanted to be alone, to lick his wounds back to semi-closure before braving the party. "What's up with you and Dana?" Cut right to the chase, he thought. "And how was your day, Charlie?" he said, sarcasm breeding on his tongue. He wasn't up for explanations, and besides, it wasn't any of Charlie's business. He turned, walking to the corner, one hand waving down a cab. A strong hand whipped him around. "Don't give me that, you son-of-a-bitch," Charlie snarled. "She's avoiding you like the plague. What the hell did you do to her?" "Nothing!" Mulder wrenched his arm from Charlie's grasp. "It's Dana who wants nothing to do with me, in case you hadn't noticed!" He hung his head, knowing he'd said too much. Scully had probably not said a word to Charlie about Sam, and he'd just blown the whole shebang with one angry, hurt-filled statement. "What the hell happened, Mulder?" Charlie was softer of voice now, and Mulder looked up to find his face tight with concern. "Just yesterday, you couldn't get enough of one another -" "That was yesterday," Mulder interrupted, trying again to flag down a cab, though it seemed like he was stuck with Charlie on the corner for a while. He cursed inwardly, feeling he was seconds away from losing his mind, again. "A lot can happen in a day." "She told me you'd decided to take things slow, but I could tell yesterday she was ready for anything. Anything, as long as it was with you, Mulder." Mulder closed his eyes, pain making him drag in a ragged breath. "I'm not the right one, Charlie," he muttered. "She didn't know... and I didn't either. Not until last night." "What do you mean - not the right one? Jesus, Mulder, you love her, don't you? Tell me what I'm thinking is wrong. Tell me you didn't just use her for a little holiday sport." At that, Mulder brought his face up, his gaze slashing into his friend with fury. "Fuck you, Charlie. I wouldn't do that to her, for Christ's sake! You know I -" He broke off, his words of love utterly useless at this point. Number one, he was telling the wrong Scully. Number two, the right Scully didn't want to hear them. "Then tell me, damn it. Tell me why you haven't called once today. Tell me why I found her crying in the living room a little while ago. Tell me you're not going to leave as soon as you can..." "She was crying because she got the wrong one." He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets, giving Charlie his profile, the cold biting into his tense face. It was probably going to snow later - he'd have to remember that. Snow, a good reason for leaving early. "She got the wrong one," he said again, his heart turning to ice right there on the street. "The wrong one? Mulder, are you feeling okay?" Suddenly, he'd had enough. Enough of people looking down on him as second-rate, enough of his friends treating him like an invalid, enough of the prying of others and the pretending in front of them he didn't need what everyone else needed. "You know, I never begrudged him a God damned thing." He looked at Charlie, who stood there bemused. But Mulder spoke what was in his sad, jealous heart, not the explanation Charlie wanted to hear. "He was my brother... the class president, the baseball star, the war hero. Good at everything he did and loved by everyone, including me. I never once coveted what he had. Until now. Because you see, Charlie - she never wanted me. I was just the substitute, the guy who happened to look like an angel." He stepped off the curb, tired of waiting for every fucking thing in his life, including taxicabs. "I'm no angel, never will be. And she knows it. It just took me a little longer to realize it, that's all." A sad smile graced his face as he finished softly, "And I can't change a damn thing. I may have the look, but I don't have the heart." Dodging the cars on the street and Charlie's shout of his name, he melted into the night. ********** "So, you really think I'm doing okay so far?" "You're doing fine," she whispered back, feeling as if she were floating across the small dance floor in his arms. He really was a great dancer; just one of his many good traits, she was glad to discover. Loyalty, humor, intelligence... and he really cared for Melissa, a major plus. "I think Mom likes you." "What about your dad?" Frohike asked nervously, eyeing the older man who stood with crossed arms on the edge of the crowd, pipe in his mouth. "He keeps watching me." "Melvin, he's just a bit thrown by you," she said, smiling. "Once he sees how well you get along with Melissa, it'll be fine." "You think?" "I'm sure." She didn't say that it was probably going to be a long while before her father *quit* watching him. Maybe even never. Her dad was very protective of his children; but once you had his trust, you never lost it. "Try talking to him, Melvin. See if you have anything in common. Dad loves golf, you know." Frohike's face lit up with a smile. "Besides being a mean dancer, I play a pretty good round of golf, myself." "There you go." "Can I cut in?" For a second, Scully forgot to breathe, sure the quiet question came from Mulder. But it was Charlie who stood with his hand on Melvin's shoulder, a sympathetic look on his face. Damn. He was up to something, and it was destined to make her cry. Again. The whole evening so far had taken a monstrous effort on her part to remain unemotional. First came the breakdown at the house, then the rehearsal, where every time she touched Mulder she practically purred with longing. Even now, she could still smell his cologne around her and feel his hand take hers. All she needed now was for Charlie to stick his nose into it; her brother knew something wasn't right, and he was determined to get them back together. As Melvin excused himself, she walked stiffly into Charlie's arms, keeping her eyes downcast. As expected, Charlie launched right into his campaign. "Mulder's here." She stepped on his foot at the announcement. Murmuring an apology, she said, "That's nice," though her heart sped up and she scanned the room covertly for the tall, handsome form in a black suit. The crowd had long since had dinner, and had been dancing for an hour or more; she thought he wasn't going to show. "Dana..." "Charlie, please," she whispered, tired of denying there was a problem. Not that she was going to explain fully, but if she could get him to see how much talking about it upset her, maybe he'd leave it alone. "Please don't do this." "Aw, sprite." Charlie was truly upset now, his mouth thinning with displeasure. "If it's anything I said or did, just hit me, okay? But don't let it come between the two of you." Damn it, here they come, she thought. Looking up at her brother's blurry, contrite face, she said brokenly, "It's nothing you did, Charlie. It was me. All me. And I don't know what I can do to make it right. I *can't* make it right. It's impossible to fix." Once Mulder found out she was the coward who'd distracted Sam into a bullet in the chest, he wouldn't want anything more to do with her. She was so cowardly, she didn't even want to tell him, wouldn't stand before him to watch him re-live his brother's death all over again. Charlie said it had driven him over the edge. She couldn't chance making him slide into madness once again. "Funny, but Mulder said basically the same thing to me a little while ago. Except I had the distinct impression he was speaking of himself, not you." Blinking back her tears, she chuckled, mostly to keep herself from bawling like a baby. "He would." Mulder was so good, so willing to take blame for something he could never, ever be responsible for. "Believe me, Charlie. This one's all mine." "It wouldn't have anything to do with his brother, would it?" Charlie's dead-on guess slammed into her, making her feet stumble to a stop. Mouth open with dismay, she stared up at her clueless brother. "Oh, Charlie. Please don't say anymore." I can't stand it, she tacked on in her mind. In a moment, I'll break down and sob in the middle of the dance floor. "I have to, sprite," he said quietly. "Because I can't stand to see either of you so miserable." Scully dropped her chin, silent with sadness. Her whole chest ached now, and it hurt to breathe. She tried to wrench herself from Charlie's embrace to seek the safety of the ladies' restroom, but he was having none of that, holding on tight while he kept on speaking. "All I could get out of Mulder was some nonsense about how Sam was a hero and he'd never been jealous of him until now." Her head snapped up. "What?" Mulder couldn't think that she... "He also said he looked like an angel, but he didn't have the right heart, or some crap like that." Taking her hand from Charlie's, she pressed trembling fingers to her lips, looking up at him with eyes swimming with tears. "Oh, Charlie," she whispered brokenly. "Shit," her brother muttered, reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief. He pressed it into her hand, looking around at the dance floor at the crowd of relatives and friends. Most of them just smiled, sure she was just being emotional over her brother's marriage. "I didn't mean to make you cry." She snorted into the fine linen and mumbled, "All day long, I thought he blamed me. That he couldn't get past Los Banos." "Los Banos? What the hell does that have to do with anything? Quit crying, Dana. Dad's on his way over." She spied her father's approach from the corner of her eye. "Charlie, you have to sidetrack him while I find Mulder." "What the hell am I supposed to tell him?" "That I got something in my eye, what else?" She began to move away, but was stopped by Charlie's firm grip. "Don't you dare let him get away, sprite. I'm not gonna play the fucking fairy godmother again." He released her, straightening his tie with a smile. "Bad for my image as a he-man." She chuckled, reaching up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. "Thanks, Charlie. I owe you one." "Or two." "Or two, if you'll do me another favor?" "Make it quick, sprite." "Tell Ellen I'm not feeling well, and tell Mom and Dad I'm spending the night at Ellen's. But I'll really be -" Charlie groaned, lifting a hand to stop her. "Don't tell me. As long as you don't do it in my car, okay?" She giggled, loving her brother more with every second that passed. "Well, I think the room has a very nice bed." "Argh!" he cried, grimacing. "Just go, already!" "Where is Mulder?" Her father was almost upon them, held up by Melvin Frohike, bless his kiss- ass, Melissa-loving heart. "Last I saw, the end of the bar. Mighty close to the door, sprite. Better make tracks." Again, she took the time for a kiss to Charlie's cheek. "I love you, Charlie." "Get going," he mumbled with a sniffle, turning to greet their father. Seeing the press of well-wishers between her and the bar, she made a quick decision. She made more than tracks on her way there... when they saw her complete, albeit fake, collapse into tears, they were more than happy to let her by. She heard murmurs of concern as she ran through the parting of the sea of red hair. "Poor darlin'. She's gonna miss Charlie." "Someone get her a drink of water." "Fresh air, that's what she needs." Hiding her grin, she made it to the end of the bar. Nope. She didn't need fresh air. She needed the man who was shrugging on his coat to leave. That long, cool drink of Mulder. The not-so-perfect angel. ********** "Private party, man!" Mulder winced at Mike's shout, but he didn't pause in donning his coat, nor did he look over his shoulder at the entrance behind him. "There a problem, Mike?" Mike swiped at the bar with a rag. "No problem, lad. Just a customer peeking in. Maybe I shoulda put a sign out, eh?" His smile faded as he looked Mulder up and down. "Where ya going, Mulder? Dana should be in the bar somewhere - let me get Charlie over here. We'll find her in a flash." "That's okay, Mike," Mulder replied quickly. "I'm beat. Gonna turn in early, I think." Mike looked to his left, then back, his smile returning. "Too late for that, lad. Looks like the lady's ready to dance." Mulder knew it was her before he even faced her; his breath lodged in his throat and he wondered if she was going to instruct Mike to toss him out on his ear. "Buy me a drink, sailor?" Senseless, happy surprise threaded up his throat. He turned, taking in her damp face and hesitant smile. Before he could speak, she wiped her face into dry composure and stepped forward, sitting in his vacant stool. Unable to stand her proximity without snatching her up and hauling her off into the night, Mulder moved slightly away as she addressed the man behind the bar. "Two whiskeys, please, Uncle Mike." He found his voice after her uncle poured two stout drinks, leaning over her shoulder to reach for his drink. "Need courage, Scully?" She pulled the other glass to her, saying softly, "Maybe." Before his glass touched his lips, he replied, "Mind telling me why?" More revelations to come? What was it this time - she'd had a secret affair with his father? Fallen in love with Frohike on the dance floor a half hour ago? Grimacing, he chided himself for his ill feelings. She couldn't help what she felt, any more than he could. Too bad those feelings weren't directed at him, but at a ghost. She toyed with the amber liquid, swirling it as if hypnotized by the little whirlpool it made. "Because in a minute, I'm going to ask you for your room key. In five minutes, you're going to nonchalantly make an exit, and join me in your room. In ten minutes, we're going to have a little talk... well, I'm going to talk, you're going to listen." He knew he looked stupid with his mouth wide open. She wasn't serious, was she? "As a heart attack, Mulder," she said, reading his dumbfounded expression. "But Scully, we can't just..." Make it all go away, he finished silently. "We can, and we will," she stated. "Now, are you man enough to work this out with me?" He felt a slow grin emerge on his face and he leaned in, shoving his glass and hers aside. "I don't need this, and neither do you." "Why?" He couldn't believe his good fortune; here she was, willing to talk. About what, he had no idea. And at this moment, he didn't care if she told him she saw Sam every time she closed her eyes. He wanted her. He could make her want him, and only him. With sex, with love, with whatever it would take. He wasn't about to spit in the face of the gods who'd handed him this opportunity. "Because in thirty minutes, after we've *both* said some things that need to be said, we're gonna put that big, comfy bed in my room to use. And we're both going to be sober when it happens, with nothing between us. Absolutely nothing. Agreed?" Looking up at him, she fastened her gaze on his lips, her tongue darting out as if she could already taste his kiss. "Agreed." She swivelled on the stool, facing him. He felt a small hand brush over his pants, and he sucked in a quick breath. "My keys are in my right coat pocket, Scully. Not in my zipper." "Just checking," she said, lifting her eyebrow with mock innocence. Her hand shifted, and he felt her hand wrap around his hotel key. "See you in five, sailor. Don't be late." He helped her put on her coat, then turned back to the bar and downed both drinks. Mike, who'd discreetly faded to the other end of the bar, walked back to him with a grin. "Want another, Mulder? You look like a man who's got legs o'lead all of a sudden." Mulder chuckled, nodding. "Not lead, Mike. Rubber, more like it. Hand me the phone, would you?" He wanted to call the front desk at the Belmont. Champagne, flowers, food - the works. No way would they be leaving that room before dawn, and he wanted her to want for nothing. Quickly, he dialed, wondering if he could order bubble bath as well... "Jesus! It's a private party, for Christ's sake!" Mike practically screamed in his face. "Good, he's gone. Can't have a Chinaman loitering outside the window. Ain't good for business." Mulder's blood ran cold and he dropped the phone from his ear. "What did you say?" "Damn Chinese fella. He's been trying to get in all night - just took one more look in the window and then got in a car - hey! Where ya going?" But Mulder didn't hear him. He was already out in the street, stiff with panic. He was imagining things, right? She was already in the hotel room. He took a step forward, then stopped, his shoe scraping against a bump in the pavement. Bending down, he almost cried at the object in his palm. He gripped the key so hard, it bruised his palm, and he cried out into the night with anguish. "Scully!" End Chapter Fifteen A Familiar Heart Chapter Sixteen No broken bones. That was the first thing she realized when she woke up. That, and she had the most awful taste in her mouth. The aftereffects of chloroform, most likely. Chopped, guttural words filtered through the ringing in her ears. Eyes still closed, she listened, trying her best to understand the language. It sounded familiar, but not. Not Japanese. Chinese. She groaned, knowing exactly what was going on without understanding a word of the conversation. Chang. She'd been taken by Mulder's nemesis, who obviously intended to use her to lure Mulder into a trap. But why not just shoot him on the street, if he wanted to kill him so badly? Chills ran down her spine; this wasn't payback of the normal variety. Mulder, from what little she'd learned from him and Charlie, had apparently decimated Chang's holdings - in a big, bold statement of hatred punctuated by the middle finger of arrogance. An Asian like Chang, even though the most ruthless of gangsters, lived and died by his honor. Embarrassment of the scale Mulder had put him through called for a statement of his own. Torture. Dismemberment. Mulder's body hung in effigy in a very public place, where Chang's enemies - and his friends as well - could catch wind of just how ruthless he'd been in his revenge. Nothing else would satisfy him. She should have it stamped on her forehead in big bold, letters. BAIT. She had to get out of there before Mulder came. She would not be used as a pawn in Chang's game, nor would she stand by helplessly as Chang carved Mulder up into little pieces. It was dark where she was, and she was lying on the floor in a fetal position, her head resting on something dank and musty, though soft. She brought one hand up and felt of it... a mop. Jesus, they'd locked her in a closet! No, no, nononono... Arms and legs suddenly spread wide, she struggled with the suffocating blanket around her face, whimpers of distress trickling up her throat. The darkness seemed to swallow her whole, a black expanse of nothing before her wide eyes. Her nostrils filled with the smell of dirt and cloudy, hot air. The hole, God no... not the hole. A scream trickled up her throat as she gasped for breath... The sharp bark in Chinese pierced her panic, and suddenly, her face was blessed with cool, clean air. "Ni hao, Miss Scully." ********** "It's me he wants, Charlie, not her. You know it's Chang as well as I do." Mulder paced the kitchen at the Scully house, finally alone with Charlie for a few minutes. Her parents, her sister and Ellen - even Frohike - were all congregated in the living room with the police. The party had come to a screeching halt when Mulder had burst in after scouring the neighborhood for her. He'd even looked in the hotel room, hoping against hope that somehow, she'd just dropped the key from her hand as she crossed the street. No luck. No one had seen a sign of her, though there were several witnesses who saw a black Rolls screech away down the alley by Mike's about the time she'd walked outside. Mike and her relatives had fanned out in a wider circle with the help of the police, who Mulder later found out, contained a healthy contingent of distant Scully cousins. He would have laughed at the presence her family seemed to have in Annapolis, had he felt like it. But he didn't; later, he'd tell her later when she was back safe and sound. If she came back at all. He made a face at his thoughts, reaching for the coffeepot. He poured a cup, then set it down, not wanting it. The pacing began anew. "Mulder, we don't know it's Chang. I phoned Skinner - he hasn't heard a damn thing about Change being back in the states, but he's checking every available resource. If it is Chang, we'll find him." "No you won't," Mulder replied. "He'll find me first. He'll dangle her out as bait to make me come running." He knew his old boss wanted him badly. Just as he knew he wouldn't get off easily once Chang got his hands on him. Neither would Scully; she would most likely die as soon as Mulder walked in Chang's door. If Chang didn't use her as an example of what he was planning to do to Mulder. God, no, he prayed. Please don't let her body turn up floating in the Severn River. He knew then he'd walk up to Chang with arms wide open. Mulder would have nothing left to live for if she was dead. The ringing of the doorbell startled them both. It had been a couple of hours since Scully had gone missing - had they found her already? Was she dead? He ran to the front door, Charlie hot on his heels. It wasn't another round of police. It was Skinner, flanked by two of his assistants. "Bill." He addressed Scully's father, ignoring Mulder and Charlie for a moment. "I'm sorry to intrude." "Walter," Bill Scully nodded. "What brings you here?" It made sense that the two knew each other; they were Navy through and through, both Old Guard and patriotic down to the bone. Skinner hadn't come to offer sympathy to Bill Scully. He was here for a different reason, and the proof was in his next statement. "Bill, I need to speak to my men," he said, glancing at Mulder and Charlie. "Alone, if at all possible." Dana's father didn't hesitate, turning to his wife. "Maggie, could you get us some coffee, please?" His wife huffed a bit, but he was adamant, turning to Frohike. "Melvin, please escort the women to the kitchen." "Of course," Frohike replied, offering his arm to Maggie. Displeasure written on her face at her dismissal, she took it, and they departed, Melissa trailing behind with a similar scowl. The policemen faded out the front door with Skinner's assistants, and the men found themselves in a tight semi-circle, Mulder itching to speak. "It's Chang, isn't it?" he rasped, jumping right into the fray, uncaring that Scully's father would soon know the whole sordid business of his past. Skinner sighed, hands in his coat pockets. "We thought he'd left the country, Mulder. He was seen in Hong Kong just a few days ago -" "Who's Chang?" At last, Bill Scully got in a few words. It was Charlie who answered his dad, saying softly, "Mulder worked undercover in Hong Kong for a man named Chang. This man was a major source of information from the Japanese. He was also bad news. Very bad news." "What does he want with Dana?" Mulder stood still, facing Dana's father. "It's not her he wants, it's me," he said quietly, regret making his voice sorrowful. "He's just using her to flush me out." He waited for the inevitable tirade; after all, he'd heard it all from Scully before. Why should her father react any differently? His father looked at Charlie for confirmation; he got it in a short jerk of Charlie's head. Sighing, he stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Don't say anything in front of her mother." He gave Mulder a nod, adding, "I don't blame you, Mulder. You were just following orders. It may not even be him behind this." Mulder groaned, turning away to pace once more, his hand pressing against his pounding head. Skinner stopped his sure attack of guilt with a terse, "We're pretty sure it's him, Bill." "Damn it!" Mulder turned, intent on wearing a hole in the rug, just like he had in the kitchen. "I should have known better than to trust your intelligence, Skinner." "Mulder!" Bill Scully admonished. "You're speaking to a superior officer, son. Show some respect." Walter Skinner sighed, "He's right, Bill. We should have been more on the ball with this. But we never dreamed Chang would have the guts to get so close." "Yeah, well, you don't know him like I do." Worrying the back of his neck with his hand, Mulder knew this crying over spilled milk was useless. "That's all you came to say? If it is, then get out." Skinner's face tightened, but he held back his anger, saying, "We think we have a lead to his whereabouts." "A lead?" That was Charlie, who, other than explaining about Chang to his father, had simply absorbed Skinner's news like a sponge. "Where is he?" "I've had my men check out all points of entry into Annapolis. No one matching Chang's description has been seen at the airport, train or bus stations. But - several ships have docked on the Severn and South Rivers the last few days. We can't get hold of anyone with the Port Authority - the administrative offices have closed for the holidays. I have people tracking down the director and his minions, but we may have to wait until business hours tomorrow to actually scour the docks -" "No, you don't," a voice broke in. All eyes darted to the small man in the doorway. "Just point me to the telephone, gentlemen," Melvin Frohike announced. "He may not like being interrupted with his mistress, but the Port Authority Director owes me a favor." ********** "Dana, be still." In the instant away from total insanity, she calmed. "Mulder?" she whispered, cracking open her gritty eyes, though she couldn't really see anything in the sudden bright light. It hurt, so she slammed them shut once more, realizing the voice was very familiar. No, please no. Just hearing his voice meant he'd been captured with her. They'd never get out now. Still crying, she laid her head on the concrete floor and curled up into a tight ball, wanting him to go away. "It's all right," he said softly, just above her ear. The light pierced her closed eyelids and she sat up, wincing at the glare, one hand raised to the figure standing before her. No, swaying slightly. A ship. She was on a ship. "Get up!" the man barked, waving his gun. "Get up now!" She looked around, dazed. Mulder wasn't there; had she been dreaming? She shoved away the blanket she'd been wrapped in with leftover panic, not wanting the thing near her. "Get up, I said!" The staccato shout, delivered with a definite Chinese accent, finally registered in her panic- dulled brain. Get a hold of yourself, she thought. Be courageous. Don't let your guard down this time; don't make Mulder pay for your cowardice. She rose on stiff legs, smoothing down her skirt. The man before her stepped aside, and she had her first glimpse of her host. "Ni hao, Miss Scully." He was a small man, seated in the captain's chair of the bridge, his suit impeccable but his smile evil. Black, slick hair matched the dark, beady eyes, and a cigarette hung loosely between two fingers. "Sit, please. Allow me to introduce myself..." "I know who you are," she said, her voice hoarse. "You're Chang." His smile became satisfied, and he lifted an eyebrow. "My reputation precedes me, I see. I hope you haven't yet formed an opinion, Miss Scully. Rumor and innuendo follow me everywhere." He sighed. "Though it seems you aren't enamored of my world-famous hospitality, Miss Scully. I asked you to sit." A strong hand clamped on her shoulder, and she was pushed into a chair directly across from Chang. "Mulder won't come for me," she spat out, wrenching her arm from the gorilla's clasp. "We are nothing to each other." "Oh, but that's where you're wrong, Dana. I believe he will." Chang took a deep drag on his cigarette, saying through the haze of smoke, "I so enjoyed hearing about your telephone conversations yesterday - oh, *day* before yesterday, as it happens now. Silly to the extreme - do you Americans value nothing but material goods? Too bad I didn't arrive a day earlier - I seem to have missed some big scene with your brother." "You listened in on my telephone?" Geez, did the man have his fingers in everything? "The Stuarts leave a key under their mat. But you knew that, didn't you, Dana?" She breathed a short sigh of relief; at least he'd picked a neighbor gone for the holidays, and not one at home. His kind of persuasion would surely include death, and she shuddered inwardly at the thought of her neighbors falling under his knife. So Chang knew she and Mulder were close. He'd probably even guessed they were lovers. And he knew Mulder would have no choice but to come for her. But she wasn't going to make it easy for Chang. "What do you need me for? Why not just kill Mulder?" "That would be too easy, Miss Scully. No, you're coming back to Hong Kong with me." He killed his cigarette and lit another, adding, "I assume Mulder told you what kind of work he did for me in Hong Kong?" "He said he ran the China Moon." Distaste sharpened her tongue. "A brothel, from all appearances." "He was really good at it, you know. The girls liked him... so did the boys." For an instant, she allowed sheer contempt to curl her lips and nausea to roil in her belly. But knowing Chang expected his comments to stir her to anger, she tamped down the sick images his words evoked, lifting a brow as she said in a cool voice, "The boys?" "Surely you can't believe that everyone's tastes run to the heterosexual, Miss Scully." He grinned at her discomfiture. "You will do well there, Dana. You are young, pretty and white. I can't think of better revenge on my friend Mulder than to make you into what he despises most. A whore. *If* he even makes it out of my twin traps alive." God, it was worse than death. She'd once thought back in Los Banos she could withstand anything, as long as she was alive. It wasn't the thought of her servicing men that scared her. No. It was the fact Mulder would be forced to return to such horror. He hated what he did in Hong Kong, said it had made him into something he couldn't live with any longer. He would simply go mad if forced to go back there, and Chang knew it. She had to find a way out. "Your twin traps?" Keep him talking, she figured. Kill some time. "Two ships besides this one, Miss Scully. Red herrings, if you will. Naval Intelligence will home in on them first, believe me." He cocked his head to one side. "So heroic, these men. And all for naught, as I will soon be away with you. Mulder will follow me, I'm sure. But by the time he finds you, Dana, you will be well used. If he finds you at all. I don't have to kill him, my dear. The knowledge that you are lost to him will do that most effectively." "You bastard," she snarled, stopped from rising by the same hand as before. She struggled, but was pulled up out of the chair on Chang's nod. "Enough talk. From what I understand, they're making slow progress at your father's house. It will be quite a while before they figure out where I am. And by that time, Mulder's friends will be too busy picking up the pieces of the other ships to notice us chugging by." Eyes narrowing, he continued, "Yell all you want, my dear. There's no one around to hear you." Turning to his man, he snapped out a command in his native language; Scully knew it wasn't a pleasant farewell, as she found herself dragged out of the bridge. The corridor was narrow and dim, and she heard the faint sound of water. As her captor shoved her along, she looked right and left, up and down the hallways that branched off the main. She faltered at the sight of an open door at the end of one such hallway, pretending to lose her shoe. The man behind her grunted, and she looked at the escape route from under her lashes, taking her time slipping the shoe back on. The river, it's night-blackened water rushing by beyond the railing. They were on a boat on one of the nearby rivers, or in Chesapeake Bay itself, possibly. No, not on the bay. They were docked along the riverbank; she could see clearly across the river at the numerous, lighted warehouses. Another smaller boat was tied to the rail, a speedboat, from the looks of its sleek outline. An Asian drifted into view, his cigarette hanging from a mustached mouth. He stopped, his machine gun hanging from one arm, his glare menacing. Nope. No escape route there. The man behind her, tired of her tarrying, gave her a shove, and she continued forward. They went down a short flight of metal stairs at the end of the corridor, and she was forced into the nearest room. Which turned out to be a closet. Dark and so small, it made her freeze with apprehension. ********** "We've got two good possibilities, gentlemen, and one not so good." Frohike hung up, satisfaction lacing his voice. "The Sheilong, docked below the Naval Academy on the Severn, and the Desheng, anchored on the South River. Both putting in a couple of days ago, offloading goods from Hong Kong." "Chang wouldn't be so foolish as to dock so far up the Severn from the Bay," Bill Scully said. "He's got to be on the Desheng. Easier access to open water." "I wouldn't be so sure about that," Mulder said, worrying his lip. "He's an arrogant bastard." Besides, Chang would know they'd eventually get this far. He'd know Skinner would hit the Desheng first... just as he'd know that Mulder would insist they hit the Sheilong. "He's on neither." "What?" Skinner was incredulous, voicing the question before anyone else could, though they all looked at Mulder like he was crazy. "He's on neither boat," Mulder insisted. "My guess is, he's laid a trap on the other two. Explosives, most probably. Believe me, he's smarter than you think." Turning to Frohike, he asked, "You said there was another on the list. Where?" "The Meifeng. But it's docked above the Naval Academy, and it sailed out of Taiwan -" "That's it!" Mulder ran for the foyer and his coat, Charlie and the others lagging behind. "What makes you so sure, Mulder?" Charlie asked, eyeing him with skepticism. He paused, stealing into the holster of a nearby policeman for a gun. The man blustered, but fell silent at Skinner's glare. "The Meifeng... in Mandarin Chinese, it means 'beautiful phoenix'. He wants me to know he's risen from the ashes." ********** "No, don't put me in there - please!" She struggled against the man's hold, fright making her tremble. The closet beckoned with dark menace, and before she could say another word, she found herself locked in, suffocation closing in around her like the tentacles of an octopus. She slapped her hands against the walls, looking for a light switch. But she felt nothing but cold steel. There wasn't a string hanging from the ceiling, either, and her legs gave out as she realized she was trapped without promise of light and air. Falling to the floor, rocking against the screams that threatened to consume her, she told herself not to cry out. She would not give him the satisfaction of hearing her scream. Chang not only wanted Mulder, he wanted all of his associates. Surely Charlie, her father, and countless law enforcement and military police, would go up in flames when they boarded the other ships. Then Chang would be on his merry way, smiling all the way back to Hong Kong. It would take forever for the US government to find him once he'd made it out to sea. He could debark at any port and find sympathetic friends. Cuba, South America, Africa. Just because he said he was going home didn't mean it was so. A man like Chang had interests all over the world. Mulder would never find her. Oh, no. No. Sweat broke out on her face, and she stifled the urge to yell. "Miss Scully?" A knock on the door startled her and she looked up into nothing. "I just wanted to know if you were comfortable? Do you have enough air?" She could tell from his tone he was prodding her into madness. Somehow, he'd gotten hold of her records at the hospital, knew of her fear of enclosed places. Of course, that wouldn't be too difficult to do for a man like Chang, who had money to burn and connections with the Mafia worldwide. She didn't answer him, tears streaming down her face as she fought to hold in her panic. A muffled laugh reached her ears, then, "Too spacious for you? Let me see if I can find a crate... I know how you love to re-live your days at Los Banos." His laughter faded away. Scully began to hyperventilate almost immediately, falling back to the wall in a rigid pose of absolute terror. A crate. Even smaller than the closet; most probably set in the hold, where no one would hear her. Infinitely dark and cold as the bowels of hell. "Dana." Caught up as she was in the impending evil of Chang's plans, she barely heard the call of her name. "Dana." Louder now, the voice - it couldn't be Mulder, it just couldn't - called to her. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing her illusions of safe harbor to leave her so she could concentrate on staying calm. "C'mon, Red. Open your eyes. I wanna make spring training next year, you know. And this delay is gonna make me late." ********** "You serious about this, Mulder?" Charlie crouched beside him, the both of them concealed by huge crates some twenty yards away from the Meifeng. "As a heart attack," Mulder replied, the memory of Scully saying those words to him back at Mike's tearing a searing hole in his chest. He tamped down the ache, checking his gun. He would not be distracted at this stage by should-have-been's. Yes, he should have left with her. Yes, he should even have walked out on her family that day at the train station, then *none* of this would have happened. But that was all water under the bridge. No use thinking about it, especially now, when he needed all his wits about him. "Chang's on that ship," he stated firmly. "The only way to get Dana out alive is to go in with all we've got. Shoot anyone who isn't wearing a navy dress and heels. Got it?" "Got it," Charlie answered. Mulder noticed his face was pale, and he grabbed Charlie's shoulder in reassurance, knowing the younger man had never faced down an enemy in his life. "I can do this, Mulder. Don't make me stay behind." Mulder sighed. He'd had a hard enough time convincing Bill Scully and Frohike to stay with the women. For on thing, Frohike wasn't a soldier. And though Mr. Scully was well-seasoned, Mulder didn't want his possible death on his hands. It was bad enough he'd gotten Scully and Charlie involved in this mess. Looking around behind him, he saw Skinner wave a couple of men to the left, and he knew they were almost all in position. He closed his eyes, saying a quick prayer for success, though he wasn't a praying man. His hand touched his chest through his cotton shirt and his fingers curled around his dogtags, feeling the cross dangle between. He prayed to her to stay alive. He prayed to her angel, his brother, to keep her safe. He prayed. ********** She opened her eyes slowly, disbelief acting as an anesthetic of sorts, her breath coming easier now through her lax lips. "Sam?" He was nothing but a glow against the door, a disembodied soul without face or form. She squinted in the darkness, and heard him chuckle. "Sorry about that." Suddenly, he stood before her, albeit a bit skimpy on the solid side, as she could literally see through him to the door. "I still don't have the hang of it." He was dressed as she last saw him, in fatigues, but his face was clean and so Mulder-like it took her breath away, with a brilliant, warm smile. "Oh, Sam," she whispered, beginning to cry anew. She couldn't help it; he was really there with her. Unbelievable. "I'm not your angel, Red." His smile faded into a serious look. "I'm only in your mind. Tell yourself that." "You're only in my mind," she repeated after him, knowing it was a lie. "Why are you... why do I -" "See me?" Off her nod, he said, "Because you think you need help. But you don't. You can do this alone." "I can?" "Stand up, Dana. We have to get going." "But how?" "Use your hairpins to pick the lock. All hell is about to break loose and we have to be gone before it does." He became brighter, more intense, lighting up the closet. "Come next to me. All you have to do is open the door. You can do it, Red." On the strength of his words, she stood, reaching into her hair. Her fingers trembling, she moved to stand beside him. "This is not going to work." She had no idea how to pick a lock, and even if she did, Chang's men were right outside the door. But the lock opened easily, on the first try. She sucked in a breath of surprise and looked up at Sam, who nodded. "Go on. Jump overboard then find a place to call home. But be careful, they're still listening." Right. Chang had a man listening from the Stuart's place. "But how will I get to someplace safe?" "Trust me, Dana. I still have things to do here." He faded away into nothing, though his voice still hovered in the air. "I may have been a hero, but his heart was always better and stronger than mine, Dana. Don't let a ghost stand between you any longer. You have nothing to be sorry for, either of you... just be happy." She stilled at the soft words, turning around. "Sam?" But he was gone. She shook off the lingering goosebumps the visit had stirred and opened the door a crack. Her guard, minutes before pacing outside her door, laid in a heap in the corridor, dead to the world. Quickly, she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, sniffing the scent of chloroform in the hall. Someone had snuffed him out with the same stuff used to nab her. Was everyone else unconscious as well? She didn't wait to find out, stealing down the corridor to the next hallway, and freedom. She paused, giving a quick look down its dimness. The same man she'd seen before was also down, his limp form half inside the open door. Should she take the boat? No, too noisy. Sam had said to just jump, and jump she would. Her steps were silent, and as she came upon the unconscious man at the railing, she looked at him closely, catching sight of something sticking out of his jacket pocket. His wallet! Quickly, she stuffed it down her dress into her bra, feeling its weight. More than enough money to hail a cab, even if she was going to be wet and bedraggled. She could blame it on the rain that seemed to have stopped for the time being, though the clouds over the river hung heavy with more inclement weather approaching. Making it to the railing on tiptoes, she looked down into the freezing water and grabbed hold of the rope hanging down. The icy water threatened to take her breath away, but she sucked up her courage and swam around the stern of the ship. Then another fifty yards or so, to the next ladder up. By that time, she was almost numb, but she made it up the ladder, and to freedom. It was dark, and she was cold, but she was alive. Walking on stiff legs, she disappeared into the night. ********** The Rolls pulled to a stop by the boat, and Mulder saw Skinner wave his men down as a skinny man ran out from behind the wheel, his words carrying over the dock. The warning in Chinese was precise and to the point, telling Chang's men the police were on the way. Damn, Mulder thought. They must have listened in on the party line somehow. In moments, Chang would pull anchor and leave. "Now!" Mulder hissed, signaling Skinner. They could no longer wait for Skinner's reinforcements to travel upriver and surround the boat. What little men they had moved forward as a group, their guns ready. The ping of gunfire greeted them immediately, and they dove for cover. "Damn it," Charlie said beside him. "What now?" "Skinner has men coming up alongside any moment now. Chang is pinned down. He's not going anywhere." But a man trapped was a dangerous one, Mulder knew. He popped his head over the crate they'd ducked behind, pulling the trigger. As soon as it had started, the gunfire ceased. They heard an engine roar to life, but it wasn't the massive engines of the Meifeng. No, it was a smaller boat. Damn. Chang was getting away - and he most likely had Scully with him! Mulder stood amidst Charlie's shout of "Get down!" and he ran toward the ship. Skinner and his men did the same off Mulder's wave to join him. Mulder knew there would be no more gunfire from the ship. "She's no longer there, Fox. Trust me. She's safe. Don't board the ship." The voice in his ear made him stumble, and he stopped for a second, looking around to see who had spoken. Skinner stopped as well, and, seeing Mulder's confusion, said, "What is it?" "She's not on board," he stated calmly, sensing the voice was true. Chang must have taken her with him on the smaller boat. "What?" "Just stop the other boat!" He ran to the dock by the stern of the Meifeng, just in time to see Skinner's men on the water fire at the small boat speeding away. "No!" he shouted, but it was too late. The smaller boat went up in a fireball downriver. He felt heat sear his back as the larger ship exploded as well, and he fell to his knees on the dock, numb with shock. ********** "Seems Chang wanted us all to go up in flames," Skinner said, grimacing at the iodine Melissa applied to his forehead. "It was a setup from the beginning. We had no idea he was listening on the party line, but we've taken care of it." Mulder stood at the window and watched the sky grow lighter. He was numb. Unhurt, but numb. All the men had returned unharmed from the docks, and Chang was presumed dead, his boat having been blown to bits by the Naval bombardment. No one could have survived the blast, Skinner told him not long ago, after hanging up the phone with the police captain in charge of the investigation. Chang had booby-trapped all three ships, never intending to make his getaway by anything other than the speedboat. Several men were captured on the docks, but there was no sign of Scully. She must have been with Chang aboard the smaller boat. But Mulder knew better. Because the voice had told him so. She was safe. But where? Was she out there in the cold and rain, trying to make her way back home? Her mother and father were dazed, so was Charlie. They sat in the kitchen, her mother making small talk and coffee in an effort to keep her emotions under control. Skinner and Mulder stayed away in the living room, keeping Melissa and Frohike company. Melissa hadn't cried once, quietly watching him stand by the window. He knew she thought he'd lost his mind, but he hadn't. He was waiting for Scully to show up. And she would. It was only a matter of time. "I've got to check on the kids," she murmured, excusing herself. Frohike came to stand beside him. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I know she meant a lot to you." "She's not dead," he stated, looking down at the shocked man with a scowl. "So don't even say it." The phone rang, and Mulder ran from the room, reaching it before anyone else. "Hello?" Charlie stood in the kitchen door, his face hopeful. "Hello, boy." His heart sank; it was Mrs. O'Malley. He wanted nothing more than to hang up on the old biddy, but she was probably calling to offer her condolences. The news had spread far and wide in just a few hours, which didn't surprise him. "Let me get Maggie, Mrs. O'Malley. Hold on." "Wait," she said, "I want to speak to you, lad." Sighing, he murmured, "I'm afraid I can't talk right now, ma'am." "Then listen." He closed his eyes with displeasure, anxious to get rid of her. "I'm listening." "I have a couch for sale, Mr. Mulder. I understand you're in the market for a new one? This one's a bit damp at the moment, though. The humidity, all that seawater around here. Tsk. Makes a body cold... but alive. Yes, indeed, Mr. Mulder. Alive." He was out the door before she could say another word, the phone dangling amidst Mrs. O'Malley's bewildered, "Hello? You there, lad?" End Chapter Sixteen A Familiar Heart Chapter Seventeen He made it out to the street before he realized he had no idea where the old woman lived. In his shirt sleeves, his tie askew, he began to shiver in the pre-dawn light, the rain that had changed over to snow stinging his cheeks. "Damn it," he muttered, shifting on his feet, hands on hips. Aw, to hell with it, he thought. He brought his hands up around his face, taking a deep breath. "Scully!" He whipped around, shouting her name in the other direction. And again and again, until he was hoarse from the effort. She had to be close by - why wasn't she showing herself? "Mulder, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Charlie stood on the front porch, his confusion apparent in his wide, worried eyes. Mulder could see that Charlie assumed he'd gone off the deep end, and he supposed he made a perfect picture of madness, with his red-rimmed eyes and cries for a sister thought dead. "Mrs. O'Malley," he said breathlessly. "Where does she live?" "One block over, third house on the left," Charlie answered, pointing to his right. "But -" Mulder took off in a sprint, ignoring Charlie's shouts for him to stop. The pavement under his feet was slippery, and the fresh snow quickly soaked his shoes and made his toes numb. But he kept going, the cold air he drew into his laboring lungs almost piercing with pain. Rounding the corner, he almost collided with a milk truck; the driver cursed him soundly, waving a gloved fist. Mulder slid to the curb, falling to one knee. Still, he didn't linger, though he heard a little crack as bone met concrete. Struggling, he picked himself up and kept on, still calling her name, limping his way to the O'Malley place. The slightest pressure on his leg made pain radiate up to his hip, but he didn't care. "Scully!" One, two, three houses - where the hell was she? "Damn it, Scully, answer me!" He was sure he was at the right place; a few fingers pulled a crack in the blinds. "Scully," he breathed, heading for the sidewalk and the front door. "Shhh." The hiss came from the open garage. In the dimness of the cloudy dawn, he couldn't make out exactly where; everything blended in with the black Pontiac parked inside. Taking a limping step forward, he squinted in the direction of the sound. "Scully?" "Mulder, will you shut up!" she whispered. "Chang is listening! He has a man at the Stuart's just a few doors down!" Mulder smiled, with giddy relief, holding out his arms. "Scully, would you mind coming out here?" "No! Shut the hell up and go inside the house, Mulder!" "Chang is dead, Scully," he said wearily. "We found his man at the Stuart's place." "He's dead? Are you sure?" "Yes." Arms dropping, he began to shiver, knowing he was going into mild shock. "Now, would you please come to me, because I think I'm about to..." He landed flat on his back in Mrs. O'Malley's front yard, a whoosh of breath leaving his lungs as he hit the icy ground. Suddenly, he was assailed by warmth, as a curtain of Scully surrounded him. Cracking open his eyes, he finished, "Fall." She hovered above him, concern making her face pale. His gaze swept over her and he smiled at her sheer beauty, his hands coming up to grip her waist. "Nice outfit, Scully." She looked down at the pink, flowery housecoat and blue rubber boots, taking the blanket from her shoulders to settle it over him. "It's Mrs. O'Malley's," she said tremulously. "Like it?" His shivers expanded into deep tremors and he felt the wet snow seep into his shirt at his back. "Are those snaps or buttons?" "Snaps." Her hand brushed over his forehead; it was warm and familiar, and so soft. "T-then I like it," he smirked, one eyebrow raised in a leer. "Con-convenient." "You would," she remarked dryly, then her eyebrows drew together with concern. "Mulder, you're going into shock." "N-no shit." He closed his eyes, wondering if he had the strength to get up. "Dana?" "Charlie, get over here! Mulder's hurt!" "No, I'm not," he said weakly, though he knew shock was nothing to laugh at. Other than the shakes and a busted knee, he felt fine. "I- I just scraped my knee, that's all." Still, she looked up at her brother, who came skidding to a halt on Mrs. O'Malley's driveway, his face happy, yet worried. "Call an ambulance, Charlie. Now!" Charlie, after a moment's hesitation, ran up the driveway. Mulder could hear the clamor of other Scully relatives coming up the street, and he tightened his grip on Scully's waist, forcing her to look at him. "Scully, I don't need -" "Yes, you do," she insisted, then looked up again to address the crowd descending on them. "Mulder's hurt!" she cried out. He was getting warmer, and the shakes weren't quite so bad anymore, but all the bobbing up and down of her head was making him dizzy. "Scully, damn it, stop moving!" She did, leaning down, her frizzed hair blowing in the snowy wind. "What? What's wrong? Do you hurt anywhere else besides your knee?" "Will you just listen to me?" He had to tell her, before her family made it impossible. Before another 'Chinaman', as Mike was fond of saying, took her away again. Before he himself let another ghost come between them. "What? What's so important you have to tell me now? Jesus, Mulder, you talk too much. Keep still. We'll get you to a hospital as soon as -" "I love you, Scully." " - we can..." Her eyes changed from concerned blue to silvery, soft clouds and she whispered, "What did you say?" "I said I loved you. I know we've only known each other a few days, and I know we didn't get off to the best start... and Charlie says your brother Bill will rip my balls off when he finds out about us - but I don't care - and, and..." His voice trickled to nothing as he watched her face crumple. Sucking in a sharp breath at her misery, he pulled her down to him. "Shit, Scully. I didn't mean to make you cry. Just forget it. Forget everything." "Not on your life, sailor." Her face nuzzled his neck and her hands cradled his head. "I'm going to hold you to every word." Laughter rumbled through his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. "Even if means your brother castrates me?" "He lays one hand on you, he answers to me." Mulder laughed even harder, knowing he had nothing to worry about. She'd proven herself a most capable partner, able to watch over him better than any guardian angel. "That's my girl." The wail of a siren pierced the air around them. His chuckles dying, he said, "I'm not going to the hospital, Scully. If anyone is, it's you." "Wrong. Mulder, you may have broken something." "Scully, the only thing broken is my ass, and only because I think it froze before it hit the ground." He gently pushed her away. She rose to her feet and, grabbing his outstretched hand, helped him to his. "Mulder..." she warned, eyeing the way he favored his right leg. "Scully..." He was just as stubborn, wrapping his arms around her to hold himself steady. "Hardhead." She returned the gesture, a soft 'oomph' coming from her lips at the precarious way he teetered in her arms. "Listen who's talking." Steady now, he allowed her to guide him to the sidewalk, and the greetings of the group rapidly gaining on them. "Look who's limping. And it's not me, Mulder. Not this time." Her hand came up to caress his cheek. He looked down at her lovely, cold-white face and beaming smile. "It's you." Her thumb ran across his lips and she said it again, this time meaning so much more. He saw it in her eyes, felt it in her touch. He was an angel after all. Her angel. "It's you." ********** No amount of arguing, threatening or cajoling could get him to go to the hospital at the beginning. It was only when she offered to go herself to be checked out, though she knew nothing was physically wrong with her, that he relented. They spent the better part of the day in the emergency room, where she kept grumbling about the slow service, especially when she realized Mulder was in increasing pain. His knee was swollen, and the doctor seemed in no hurry to come back with the results of his x-rays. Scully paced, having been released an hour before with a clean bill of health. "Did the rabbit die?" She whirled on Mulder, hands on hips, taking in his smug look as he laid on the bed, one arm propping up his head. He looked so hopeful and sweet, she found her anger at the shoddy treatment fading. "That's not a routine emergency room test for someone who's been abducted by the Chinese Mafia, Mulder. Sorry to disappoint you. Besides, I think it's still a bit too early to worry about that." He laid back, his grin turning into a wince. "Who's worrying? You see anyone here worrying?" Now wasn't the time to be speaking of possible pregnancy. She moved forward, moving the sheet aside to prop his bare leg back on the pillow. "No, I see you. In pain, I might add. Where is that doctor?" Her fingers brushed over his leg as she studied his knee; it was a hellish shade of fiery red that promised to transform into black and blue before long. "If you can't walk down the aisle for the wedding, Charlie will be crushed." Not to mention me, she added silently. "I know. Let's keep our fingers crossed, okay?" "Okay." The corners of his eyes crinkled with his grimace. "Um, Scully?" "Yes?" Biting her lip, she concentrated on making him more comfortable, feeling awful for him. "I may be hurting, but if you keep playing with my leg like that, the doctor's gonna see something besides a swollen knee when he walks in." He sucked in a hiss, and its tone spoke of frustration more than pain. Her gaze wandered up, and she blushed furiously at the growing evidence of his arousal under the double layers of gown and sheet. Quickly, she pulled the sheet back over his knee and said, "Mulder - we're in a hospital, for goodness' sake!" She was still dressed in Mrs. O'Malley's housecoat; she'd sent her relieved parents home for some of her clothes an hour ago. With a pinch of his wandering hand, she added, "And Charlie is right outside." Some watchdog, she mused. Her father had no idea just how much Charlie had witnessed already when he asked him to stay behind with her and Mulder. "So what? He knows better than to come in here." Mulder waggled an eyebrow, bringing back the tryst on the couch in a heartbeat. Scully leaned over the bed, one hand coming to rest by Mulder's tousled head. His face broke into a wide smile at the way her face hovered above his, but she resisted the urge to kiss him. Just barely, as she licked her lips. "I'm not about to add to Charlie's education by having him walk in on us in a hospital emergency room. He's getting married tomorrow, you know. If we make him sick this time, Ellen will never forgive us." But her eyes told him she wanted to... God, how she wanted to. "Guess we'll have to wait, then." "Besides, you still owe me twenty minutes of listening, sailor." Mulder's eyes darkened as he picked up on the seriousness in her face. He brought a hand up to caress her cheek. "Scully, about Sam." "Yes, he was the one who saved me at Los Banos, Mulder," she said, forging ahead with what she'd planned to tell him before so rudely sidetracked by Chang. "That's why you looked so familiar to me in Utah. I just didn't put it all together until you told me at Uncle Mike's where he was killed." "Scully, listen to me -" "I felt so guilty, Mulder," she interrupted, trying her best to stay level and not get all teary. There was *way* too much of that going around for her tastes these days. "That's why I just left without saying a word that night. I was there when he died, Mulder. If not for me, he'd still be alive. He took the bullet, the one meant for me. All I could do was sit there and cry in Japanese. I couldn't stand for you to know that." Mulder's confusion was evident, and he rushed to keep her there. Not that she was going anywhere, but she let him wind his other arm around her waist, anyway. "Scully, men died in battle every day of the war. All of it was senseless, but necessary. Don't you believe that?" "Now I do," she whispered, smiling through her tears. Damn it, she was going to cry, no matter how hard she tried not to. "Mulder, Sam came to me." "What?" She still had trouble believing it herself. She was not one to embrace the mystical, even if she believed in the power of God and angels. But despite Sam's gentle swaying of her mind into safer, more logical pathways, she knew he'd been there. An angel, a ghost, a specter - whatever name she put to it, it had been him. His soul had manifested itself before her. To give her final guidance back to life... to Mulder. "He appeared to me on the ship, when I was about to go crazy in that closet Chang locked me in." "He locked you in a closet?" Mulder tried to sit up with concern, but she stayed his anxiety with a soft hand to his shoulder. "He did. And I almost lost it, but Sam spoke to me. He calmed me, showed me a way out." It sounded so ridiculous to her ears, but she had to get it out. "He told me to let go of my guilt. To be happy. Silly, isn't it?" After a moment of searching her face with his solemn gaze, Mulder replied, "No, it isn't. Because he came to me, too." "You're kidding," she breathed, amazed at his admission. "Outside the ship, when we were about to storm aboard, a voice stopped me. He told me you were safe, not to go on the ship." Smiling sheepishly, he added, "Then it all blew to hell. He saved me, Scully. He saved *you*. Again." "Stop it right there," she warned. His eyes still held lingering clouds, and she made him focus once again on her with her adamant statement. "I did not fall in love with you, Mulder, because you looked like Sam. Let's get that clear right now." He groaned with realization. "Charlie." "Yes, Charlie. See? My nosy relatives are good for something now and then." Mulder paused, mid-laugh, as if his brain had finally caught up with his ears. "Scully?" "Yes?" Narrowed eyes still heart-wrenching with disbelief, he asked, "Did you just tell me you loved me, or was that still the ringing in my ears from the explosion?" "Well, I suppose I can take pity on you and say it again." "Please do." "I love you, Mulder. Only you. You may look like your brother, and talk like him, but it was you who saved me. You who made me feel alive again." The tears were flowing freely now, and she kept going, lowering her head to kiss his brow. "Your soul is beautiful to me, Mulder. Your mind captivates me, and your body makes mine sing. And your heart is filled with courage and loyalty and trust." "Oh, Scully," he breathed, pulling her until she had no choice but to lay beside him, her body curling into his. She trapped their clasped hands between them, and felt their heartbeats soothe and slow, falling into a lifelong rhythm. "You were familiar to me from the beginning, Mulder. Not because of your looks, but because of your heart. My heart understood your pain and saw your capacity to love, despite your sadness. Because I had lived through the same thing... and together, we survived it. Sam didn't save me, Mulder. You did. And I saved you." She felt shaky fingers tilt her chin up. The kiss was soft and warm, without a trace of physical desire. She returned it as he gave it, a simple touch to seal the pact their hearts had made days ago. "Aw, geez. In the hospital? Give it a rest, already!" Mulder let his head drop back to the pillow with a groan; Scully lifted hers from the cozy corner of Mulder's chest and gave Charlie a glare. "Don't you ever knock?" "Very funny." Leaning against the door jamb, he crossed his arms, a satchel hanging from his hand. "Just thought you'd want to know - Dad dropped off your clothes on his way to Uncle Mike's for a beer. Oh, and the doctor's coming down the hall." Scully scrambled from the bed, murmuring an apology to Mulder, who grimaced at the jarring of his knee. "Please tell me there's somewhere in this damn country where there isn't a Scully for a hundred mile radius," he growled through clenched teeth. "Hey," she said, nudging him with an elbow trapped by pink flowers and elastic. "I'm a Scully." "I meant *another* Scully." He trained deadly eyes on Charlie, who held up his hands as he moved into the room. "Don't look at me, pal. In just about twenty- four hours, my ass is honeymooning." Grinning, he added, "Of course, Bill will be here by then. Did I ever tell you, Mulder, what we used to call Bill when we were kids?" "Charlie..." Scully, straightening her pseudo- dress, looked up in warning. "Elmer." Charlie lifted his eyebrows like Groucho Marx. "Because he sticks like glue. Try keeping him off your tail tomorrow, Mulder. Ain't easy, believe me." This time, Mulder's groan came deep from his chest, and Scully rounded on her brother. "You little..." An instant of indecision flitted through her mind while she pondered retribution. The middle finger? No. Stick her tongue out? Nah. Instead, she turned back to Mulder, and, taking his surprised face in her hands, planted a kiss on him. With her mouth open, her tongue doing a dance over his lips, and her throat purring like a kitten. It didn't take but a second for Mulder to respond, as his arms flew up to pull her down to him. "Shit! That's it!" Charlie cried. She heard the satchel hit the floor at her feet. "I'm outta here!" "And how's our patient doing?" Scully, almost too far gone to break out of Mulder's embrace, pulled back just in time to see a bespectacled man walk into Mulder's room. The doctor who, thankfully, had his nose stuck in Mulder's chart. "Pretty good," she heard Mulder say behind her, a smile in his voice. She watched Charlie huff out, his mumbled, "I'll be in the hall," thrown over his shoulder. "Good, good," the doctor said, making notes. "Your kneecap isn't broken, Mr. Mulder. But your knee is badly bruised and sprained. I'm giving you some pain medication and sending you home..." Scully turned, her gaze meeting Mulder's, her smile as broad as his. Maybe the wedding wasn't out of the question after all. "... on crutches, naturally. No weight on that leg for at least a week." He muttered a few more instructions, then made a hasty exit, telling Mulder he could leave whenever he wanted. "Looks like I'll have to get Bill to substitute for you, Mulder." Charlie had obviously overheard from his vantage point outside the door, and he looked like he'd just lost his best friend. In a way, he did, Scully thought. To injury, but after all they'd been through, it was horrible to think Mulder wouldn't be able to stand up for him. "Like hell you will. I came all this way to be in a wedding, and I'll be damned if I let a sprained knee stop me." Charlie's smile was beaming. "I'll pull the car around, okay?" He practically bounced out of the room, and Mulder pulled on her arm. "Give me a hand, would you, Scully?" He swung his legs over the side of the bed with a bite of his lip. An arm wrapped around him, she helped him stand, then found herself flush against him in an embrace that told her his ardor had definitely not been one of the things frozen on Mrs. O'Malley's lawn. "You're shameless," she whispered, looking up at the eyes that skimmed over her face with burning desire. "Think we have time before Charlie gets back to - " "No." Her face got hot, despite her adamant refusal. "He's quick, you know." "I can be quick." "I'd rather slow but sure." His gaze deepened to the point where she thought she'd be consumed in flames in another second. "Just name the place, sweetheart, and I promise you I'll be so slow time will stand still." His soft vow made her shiver, and the image of him fulfilling that promise took her breath away. They had to stop before she threw him back on the bed and put those snaps to the test. "A wheelchair?" she asked. Her swift change in direction did the trick, startling him into pulling back before he could kiss her. "What?" "We could wheel you down the aisle." Eyes filled with a silent, mock reprimand at her diversion, he said, "No wheelchair. Think you can carry me, Scully?" She put a bit of distance between them, her arm going around his waist as he hopped on one leg. "No way, Mulder." "What? I would have carried you, remember?" He gave her booted foot a pointed look. "In fact, as I recall, a certain someone used that very excuse to get me to stay a few days ago." "I can get Bill to carry you, if you'd like." "Very funny. Will you at least help me put my clothes on?" She thought about it a moment, then called out, "Charlie!" Mulder leaned down and nipped at her ear. "Chicken." "Brute." "You know, I kind of like that housecoat. Five'll get you ten it doesn't look that good on Mrs. O'Malley." She smiled, leaning up to give him the kiss she'd denied him moments ago, hearing the door open behind them. "Car's by the - Christ, not again!" End Chapter Seventeen A Familiar Heart Chapter Eighteen The day started out well enough, he supposed. After all, he got to sleep in Scully's bed the night before, which was a plus. Of course, she wasn't there with him, but he dreamt of her, his sleep-induced fantasies fueled by the subtle scent of her that clung to the sheets. He was one lucky bastard, he had to admit. Via Charlie, Mulder learned Mrs. Scully had insisted he stay at the Scully house. A hotel room was no place for an injured man, especially one who'd become like part of the family in the last week. Said with a roll of his eyes, Charlie had departed the news as he'd helped Mulder hobble to his car, Scully trailing behind with specific, barked instructions. Mulder was helpless to intervene, or protest. Not that he wanted to, by any means. But he knew Charlie wouldn't pass a peaceful night at all, between pre-wedding jitters and pacing the upstairs hall at hourly intervals to make sure Dana wasn't sneaking in for some late-night cuddling. "Don't *even* think about it," he'd warned them both as he pulled in the drive. "My room is right next to yours, sprite. I hear one creak of those bed springs and I won't be responsible for keeping your secret this time." "Charlie, you have my word we won't do anything," Mulder had assured him, catching Scully's wicked glance as she sat beside him in the back seat. "Will we, Scully?" "Nope. We'll be perfect angels." She'd reached for his hand with a smile. "Besides, I think Charlie has more pressing things to worry about than whether or not we're having sex in his room." Charlie's face colored at his sister's frank statement. "Shut *up*, will you?" She'd calmly angled her head to meet Charlie's embarrassed gaze in the rearview mirror, as it happened, leaning her head on Mulder's shoulder. "You're the one who keeps bringing it up, you know." She had a point. She also had her other hand wrapped around Mulder's thigh. He knew then he'd awakened a sleeping beauty - one who wanted him just as much as he wanted her. And they *were* perfect angels, though it nearly killed him to think of her sleeping downstairs on the couch they'd christened not long ago. The wedding today would have to be endured before he could even consider being alone with her. He groaned as he pulled on his pants, wondering how he'd ever stand the wait. The laborious journey downstairs took some energy, despite the good night's rest he'd had courtesy of the pain pills. But he pasted a smile on his face as he walked into the kitchen. Mrs. Scully was the only one who greeted him. "Mulder! Good morning!" His disappointment must have shown on his face. Maggie pulled out a chair for him and said softly, "Dana is at Ellen's, Mulder. I thought you knew? Let me get you some coffee." "Where does Ellen live, by the way? In Annapolis?" He tried to make his question nonchalant, and thought he'd succeeded, until Maggie turned, coffee in hand, a sly look on her face. "I'll tell you what I told Charlie this morning, Mulder. Leave the girls alone." She sat across from him with a wink. "Wedding preparations take time, and men underfoot do not make it any easier. You'll find out when you get married yourself." From beneath lowered lashes, she gave him a curious look as she sipped at her coffee. Uh - oh, he thought. Seemed he and Scully's display on Mrs. O'Malley's front lawn yesterday had only confirmed to everyone what, before now, they'd only speculated about. He could tell Dana's mother what he'd told Charlie days ago - that he'd marry Scully in a heartbeat, if she'd have him. But something told him Scully wasn't the type to have her business broadcast citywide, especially since he had yet to pop the question. "Good coffee," he murmured, avoiding Maggie's gaze as he brought his cup to his lips. "Mulder!" Mulder almost dropped the hot brew in his lap. Looking up, he gave Charlie a grin, despite his friend's almost disastrous slap on the back. "Charlie! Need some help this morning?" Facing away from Maggie, he shifted his eyes in her direction as if to say, "Please rescue me!" Charlie cleared his throat, putting his hands in his pockets as he wiped the smile off his face. "Um... sure. You can come with me to Melissa's, if you want. Melvin is there by himself with the kids and I'm sure he could use some help." Giving Maggie a smiling goodbye, he walked ahead of Charlie to the front door. One step closer to Scully. ********** "I know I'm not part of the family, per se, Mulder. But as Melissa's friend, I feel I should tell you..." More coffee, this time at Melissa's kitchen table. Charlie played outside with the boys in the new snow, and Mulder sat with Frohike, who suddenly looked more like a banker than a fellow man enamored of a Scully woman. "Tell me what?" "That you'd better do right by Dana." Frohike punctuated his statement with a raise of his eyebrow. "Charlie," Mulder muttered, angry at his friend's blabbing. "Charlie hasn't told me a damn thing, Mulder," Frohike corrected his assumption. "I know you and Dana were alone in the house a couple of nights ago, and Charlie showed up at the dance hall looking like he'd lost his lunch." He leaned back in his chair, tucking his thumbs in his vest pockets. "Besides, I may be old, but I'm not dead. I take my chances when I get 'em, too." Mulder rolled his eyes, the mental image of Frohike doing with Melissa what he himself had done with Scully almost making him ill. He struggled to his feet and wrenched open the back door. "Charlie! Time to go!" Jesus. Didn't these people know he'd been bugging Scully that very same subject for three days? Who else was going to corner him today with advice to 'do the right thing by Scully'? ********** Bill. Junior, not senior. Mulder sipped at his beer, half sitting on the stool at the bar, and trying like hell to avoid the man's narrowed stare. Instead of sneaking past Ellen's - Mulder had tried his best to talk Charlie into making a surprise visit - they found themselves having a late lunch and afternoon beer at Mike's. Dana's father was feeling pretty good by mid-afternoon, telling bawdy jokes one moment, then frowning into his beer at the next with the prospect of facing his wife after having had one too many. But Bill, Jr. - who'd arrived with family in tow around noon - didn't say a damn thing. He only nodded when introduced to Mulder, not even shaking his hand. Bad news, Mulder thought. Somehow, he'd been informed of the goings-on yesterday, and he wasn't too happy. Instead of pulling Mulder aside and letting him have it, however, he just stood there at the end of the bar, not saying a God damned word. It was unnerving, to say the least. Mulder knew he was in for it eventually, and he hoped Junior had the sense to make it *after* the wedding. Sighing, Mulder scratched the side of his face, feeling that stare burn his skin. He didn't feel like making small talk, or sitting under Junior's stare like a bug under a microscope. All he wanted was to see Scully. But she was getting ready for the wedding, and he was getting mighty lonesome. The reception promised to be no better, with hordes of Scullys descending for a New Year's Eve party like no other. It would be well into the next morning before they'd even have a chance to breathe, much less talk, and already Maggie had the pot of cabbage on the stove for New Year's Day dinner. More celebrating. Jesus, he thought. He had to do something to get her alone or he'd go mad. "C'mon, Mulder." He was roused from his feverish planning by Charlie's tap on his shoulder. "It's almost three. We gotta get going if we're gonna be ready and at the church by six-thirty. Bill and his bunch have to use the bathroom, too, you know. Hey - did you ever meet Uncle Mike's kids the other night? He has ten, you know. They'll all be at the wedding tonight." That did it. Looking up at Charlie, he said, "You go on with your Dad and Bill. My dress whites are still in my room at the Belmont. I'll meet you at the church, okay?" "But how will you get around?" Charlie eyed Mulder's crutches. "I'll take a cab. Don't worry, Charlie. Even if I have to drag myself down the aisle, I'm gonna do it." Junior walked up and helped Charlie rouse his dad, who'd succumbed to a nap at the bar. He still didn't say a word, though if looks could kill, Mulder would be a dead man. After they all staggered through the door, Mulder looked at a laughing Mike. "Can I use the phone, Mike?" With a big grin, Mike laid the telephone in front of Mulder, his beefy hand covering it like a clamp. "Now, you wouldn't be thinkin' of callin' Dana, would you, lad?" he asked with a wink. The hand was a deterrence, an obvious one that made Mulder growl, "You, too? Jesus, Mike, give me a break, will you?" "Me, too? What're you flappin' your jaws about, boy?" As if even the telephone company was against him today, the phone rang abruptly, startling them both. Mike picked it up immediately, while Mulder seethed in his stool, half-listening to Mike's laughter. Suddenly, he found the receiver thrust under his nose. "For you, lad." Mulder had no idea who'd tracked him down at Mike's. If it was Skinner with news of Chang's vengeful brother, or some such nonsense, he was liable to scream. "Hello?" "Hi, sailor." Just the sound of her voice made him relax, and he smiled. "Hey yourself. I've been trying to find you all day." He flashed Mike a 'bug off' glare, and Scully's uncle moved to the other end of the bar with a belly laugh. "I know." "I don't see how the hell you could. You're avoiding me, Scully." "I am. And I know because I know *you*, Mulder." "Scully, you've only known me a few days. A week at the most." Her voice lowered to a sultry purr. "I feel like I've known you forever." He blinked, wondering what he could possibly say to top that, especially with his throat suddenly clogged with annoying, leaping little frogs. He missed her, and the phone call, while welcome, only seemed to be making his need worse. "Mulder?" Finally, he found his voice. "Yeah?" "You know why I'm avoiding you, don't you?" "I have a pretty good idea, yeah." If she felt half of what he was feeling, then she was climbing the walls with frustration. "Good," she sighed. "Then you know it'll be another day or so before we can do anything about it." "Yeah." He still had his room at the hotel, but that was out of the question. They could no more sneak off for an hour than they could for a day. Her family would be on them like hounds on the scent. "I miss you. I just wanted you to know that." "I do." I do, I do. He whispered his longing for her in a sweet goodbye, the vow echoing in his head. He had to think of something, or they'd both go crazy. "Bye, Scully. I'll see you at the church, okay?" "Okay. I'll be the one with the pinched, impatient face." He chuckled, imagining the sight. "Then we'll be a matched pair." He hung up, and watched Mike come back to his side of the bar. "Lad, it's no use. No way to get rid of the clan. Short of carrying her off to parts unknown, that is. And you'd better make sure it's damned far away, or you'll find yourself under the gun." Mulder sighed, downing the rest of his beer. Looked like he wasn't going anywhere near Scully today. "I want to marry her, you know. I'm not going to leave her high and dry after this wedding, and I'm tired of people thinking that I'm some kind of heel." "Simmer down, lad," Mike said, leaning closer. "This ain't the way to get her alone. Take it from me - you don't want an hour when you could have a whole lifetime." As if embarrassed by his statement, he coughed, straightening to add, "Besides, that nephew o'mine took a dislike to you." Mulder snorted, knowing Mike was speaking of Junior. "Yeah, I kinda noticed. Is he always that sociable?" "You caught him on a good day, lad." "Thought so." "Yeah. You fuck this up, lad, and he'll make sure you never darken their door again. Lotsa Scullys in this town, boy, and Billy wouldn't hesitate to put 'em on your ass. Best cool your heels for a couple of days." Mike moved away to tend to a customer at the other end of the bar, his words echoing in Mulder's head. An idea took root in Mulder's mind, and he smiled, reaching for the telephone. He dialed the number quickly, his plan taking shape. "Get me Skinner on the line," he barked at the underling who answered. Old Walt owed him one, the way he saw it. His heels needing cooling, all right. So did hers. ********** So beautiful. All in white, like the most innocent virgin God ever created. Except this man was no virgin. Far from it, Scully thought. She was damned glad he wasn't, too. No innocent would make it through a church untouched by lightning if he looked at her that way. Even hunched over crutches he made an impressive, handsome figure. Of course, his smile was so bright it created an ache deep inside her, one that would not be assuaged until she could kiss that relaxed, happy mouth. And his eyes. They shone like the calm, sunlit surface of a summertime pond, brilliant in their reflection of her love; yet underneath, the depths promised something more... a deep, cool embrace designed to strip away her last defenses against its drowning pull. She couldn't look away, hypnotized by the promise in those gray- green pools. Though he'd come as a show of friendship for Charlie, he'd stayed because of love for her. Tonight, it was almost as if the wedding had become, for them, an afterthought. He told her this with his steady gaze - assured her that the change for Charlie signaled a change for them, too. The swell of music in the church made her break from Ellen's side. Gliding up to Mulder, she asked, "Ready?" Before she could say anything else, he put aside the crutches and took her arm. "Don't fuss," he warned. "I want to walk up that aisle with you without those damn things. Just don't walk too fast, and I'll be okay." It took some effort, but she managed to get herself and Mulder to their proper places on the altar without disaster happening. The actual ceremony was short, wedged in the middle of a full Latin mass. In the candlelight surrounding the altar, she watched Mulder watch her. Facing each other, Ellen and Charlie between them, they couldn't seem to take their eyes off one another. It was bound to be noticed by her parents in the front row, she thought, but she didn't care. The priest droning on about love and commitment, she saw Mulder's sleepy, desirous gaze sweep over her from head to toe, taking in the silver gown that draped provocatively off her shoulders to fall in a floor-length full skirt from a cinched waist. It was copied after the bride's, just a shade or two darker, its satin bodice different in that it was not embroidered with pearls. She felt beautiful in his eyes, and so very feminine, for the first time in a long, long time. And she could have punched him when she saw him lean to his left, trying to look at the fastenings on the back of the gown. With a suppressed grin, he straightened, turning his attention back to the priest. The rings exchanged, communion over, Father Corkery gave the final blessing and it was over. When Scully reached for Mulder, she noticed his face was rather pasty. "You all right?" she murmured. "Just let me hold on to you, okay?" Instead of taking her arm, his hand went around her waist. She smiled at the parents with reassurance, and began walking. In a second, his hand had stolen under the drape, and she gasped, whispering, "Mulder!" "Hooks," he whispered with satisfaction, his face showing no sign of their conversation as he nodded at the crowd, guiding her out behind Charlie and Ellen. "Did I tell you how much I like your dress, Scully?" "You don't have to," she said, wondering how much longer Mulder would wait to fulfill his promise back at the hospital. The phone call today had only made her own need soar to lofty proportions, and she knew he was chomping at the bit as well. She almost cried when he let go of her. The family crowded around them outside the church as rice showered down on Ellen and Charlie. Lifting sad eyes to Mulder, she watched the influx of well-wishers separate them. His look was just as mournful, as if they'd come from a funeral, not a wedding. Reaching for his crutches, he limped off to hail a cab. How would she ever stand the wait? ********** The Governor Calvert House was one of Annapolis' oldest establishments, steeped in Colonial charm and expensive as all hell, he noticed, feeling very out of place among the ritzy place settings and tuxedo-clad men. He'd been born to parents, who, while not wealthy by any means, were pretty well-off financially. But he'd always thumbed his nose at the snobbery associated with wealth, and he felt uncomfortable with the trappings of riches. He knew damn well it wasn't Scully's family responsible for this extravagant display, and his suspicions were confirmed when Ellen's father made a big show of nodding at the mayor and several other big names when toasting the happy couple. He could pick out the Scullys in attendance, though, by their understated suits and dresses. Not frumpy, just modest. He naturally gravitated in their direction, his crutches preventing him from traveling too far, too fast. Besides, from the moment they'd arrived at the reception, Scully had been whisked away to attend to Ellen's needs during the photographs, adjusting her wedding dress at appropriate intervals. Mulder had taken the required photo with the happy couple and Scully at the very beginning, using his temporary handicap to beg off any others. Now, he sat at the bar, sipping at champagne and counting the hours until his plan could be set in motion. He glanced at his watch yet again, wondering if Scully would be finished shortly with the required attendance to Ellen. "No use watchin' the clock, lad. Women live for weddings. You couldn't pry Dana from Ellen with a crowbar." "Mike," he greeted the older man with a smile, reaching out to shake his hand. He nodded Scully, shifting on his stool. "She's beautiful, isn't she?" "Brides are always lovely, Mulder." "I was talking about Dana." "I know you were. And if you don't quit starin' at her, you're gonna get a visit from Billy." Mike jerked his chin at someone Mulder hadn't noticed sitting across the bar - Junior. Great. He'd managed to avoid the inevitable confrontation so far with the eldest Scully brother, and he certainly didn't want it to take place at the reception. Looked like his plan to dance with Scully at least once would have to be thrown by the wayside. He had other, more pressing plans to put into motion, and having old Elmer there do the glue thing promised to put a definite crimp in those plans. "Mike?" "Yeah?" "Do me a favor, would you?" "Anything, lad." "Keep Junior busy a while." He shoved himself up on his crutches, and picked up his hat. "Then ask Charlie and Ellen to meet me in the lobby. But don't tell Dana - at least not now. In about a half hour, have her meet us there, too, okay?" "You're not leaving, are ya lad?" "I'm afraid so," he said, looking at his watch again. Time was running short. "Gotta collect on a debt." "A debt?" "Yep. Someone owes me for a flat tire." "She wouldn't happen to be a little hellcat with red hair, would she?" Mike called after him, laughing. ********** A half hour later, Scully felt a hand on her arm, turning her from the breather she was taking at the punch bowl. She'd not seen Mulder in at least fifteen minutes, and she planned on downing the sweet stuff, then searching for him before Ellen grabbed her again. "Dana, darlin'!" "Uncle Mike!" She gave him a hug, saying, "Have you seen Mulder?" "Now, is that any way to greet your favorite uncle - by asking about another man?" Pulling away, she said, "I'm sorry. You're right." Too much Mulder on the brain, she thought. And they still had tomorrow's New Year's celebration to get through before they could even think about being alone together. "Did you get some food? There's roast beef at the -" "Last I saw Mulder, he was heading for the restroom," Mike interrupted, jerking his eyes in the direction of her brother Bill, who was stalking toward them. He lowered his voice, adding, "Then he said something about collecting on a flat tire?" A flat tire. Back in Utah, she'd charged the cost of her flat to Mulder's name. Was he leaving for Utah? Did he expect her to go with him? Indecision made her bite her lip, as she looked at Bill, who was fast approaching. "Just go, girl," Mike murmured. "Whatcha waitin' for? Go." "But Mom and Dad -" "I'll tell 'em you eloped," Mike beamed. "*Eloped*? Jesus, Uncle Mike -" "Better than telling them you ran off without benefit of marriage, am I right? Just don't make me into a liar by showing up in a few days without a ring on that finger, Dana." She laughed, though it was nervous with uncertainty. "That's entirely up to Mulder, Uncle Mike." He leaned down to give her a kiss on the cheek. "Then I think you have nothing to worry about, darlin'. Now, get going." ********** She ran into the lobby, breathless, her gaze searching the crowd that had spilled out from the reception. No Mulder. "Damn," she muttered, heading for the front door. He better not have left her behind; she though he understood they would no longer run from each other. Her breath hitched at the two shadows that moved in a dimly lit alcove near the front. One, dressed all in white, from the smooth, gold- braided top of his hat to his toes, his arms propped up on crutches. The other, hidden by the man's tall form, only a pair of slim, feminine arms visible. And *those* were wrapped around his back. A sudden rush of jealousy made her storm forward, her anger already on her lips. "Mulder?" The man lifted his head, having heard her bristling approach, his whisper vehement. "Cool it, sprite. It's me." Stopping cold, she saw Ellen's nose peek around the man's shoulder as she said, "Charlie?" Ellen gave her a grin, then tilted her face up to receive another kiss. Lips against his bride's, Charlie murmured, "Look out the door, sprite." "What?" "Just look, Dana." She moved to the front door. A white-gloved footman held it open with a smile, and another held open the door of a limousine, gesturing for her to take his hand. Inside, a pair of long, white-clad legs stretched out in the back seat, one hand tapping impatiently against a knee. His face was hidden in shadow, but suddenly, as if sensing her stare, it popped into view. Hopeful, yet unsure, he smiled at her, the hat on his head cocked back at a rakish angle. Still, she hesitated, shock at the switcheroo in progress making her stammer, "Charlie, t-that's your limo." Distracted from his exploration of his new wife's mouth, Charlie said, "Hell, Dana. It'll come back for us. Just *go*, already, before Bill comes along." "Come *back* for you? Just where the hell -" Her curious question was cut short as her brother descended upon her, the crutches shoved into Ellen's hands. "That's it," Charlie growled. "You don't know when someone's trying to help you elope?" He practically shoved her into the footman's hands. "Will you please shut her up?" he directed at Mulder. Last thing she saw before climbing in the cab was Charlie, taking the crutches from Ellen - and Bill, standing in the back of the lobby with a scowl on his face. Charlie swooped down on his bride, pulling her back into the corner. Bill's gaze gravitated in that direction, and he took a step forward, his call of her name furious. "Dana!" The door closed on her chuckles and the limousine sped away. Hook, line and sinker. Bill was so easy to fool. But her laughter was short-lived, as she felt a tug on her chin. Looking up, she came face to face with a pair of somber eyes. "If you don't want to do this, Scully, just tell me. I promise you we'll go back there and I'll sit through well-meaning Scully comments, and Elmer's flypaper routine until the end of time. But I'd rather not. I can't stand to waste another minute apart from you." She felt a tug on her heart at the sincere statement. He was promising her freedom in his soft words, something she knew she'd never have if she went with him. But his imprisonment would not be confining, she also knew. It would be a simple holding of her heart in his loving hand, a commitment to keep her safe and loved. One hand went up to caress his cheek. "Mulder?" "Yes?" "You promised me time would stand still. I'd like to see you do it, if you wouldn't mind." "Ten minutes to the station, Scully," he said, his relief transforming his face into a happy smile. "Even *I* can't work that fast." "Shut up, Mulder." And she kissed him. End Chapter Eighteen A Familiar Heart Chapter Nineteen There was something to be said for riding in a limousine, Mulder thought, as he came up for air. The ride to the train station was cushiony and warm - perfect for a little preview of the main event, though he really couldn't get all that comfortable because of his damned knee. It didn't stop him from taking advantage of her willingness to neck a little, however. The dark interior and huge back seat gave him plenty of room to stretch out, and it didn't take long before she was laid out on him like a blanket. But the ride was definitely too short, as he realized he could hear the whistle of the soon- departing 10:30 train. He sighed, looking down at his beloved with regret. "Scully, we're almost there." Scully's mouth still parted, she looked dazed and slightly bruised, her lips a little swollen from his kisses. One off-the-shoulder strap of her dress could now be considered 'off-the-elbow', and a lacy bra enjoyed the caress of his hand, the breast it cupped heaving with her panting. She looked as if she'd been thoroughly kissed, all limp and wanton against him, drugged with passion. If he had the use of both legs, he'd not disturb the picture, carrying her onto the train to immediately take up where they were being forced to leave off. But he had to rouse her enough to walk to the train, and damned if it wasn't killing him to lose the dreamy, pliant woman in his arms to the efficient, logical nurse. What he suspected would happen, did, and he almost groaned as she slipped from his arms to sit up. Pulling up the strap of her dress, she said, "And where is there?" "Train station. Got us a room on the 10:30 out. Last train until tomorrow night; we were lucky. Skinner pulled a few strings and got us on." He waited with bated breath for her reaction; yes, she'd gotten in the limo with him, on Charlie's half-ass detailing of Mulder's plan. But he didn't think she'd really been listening at the time. Pressed as she was to make a decision before brother Bill hounded them both down, she'd trusted instinct and fallen into his arms without further thought. But now, did she really realize exactly what was going to happen? "A train? To where?" Her fingers still shook a bit as she patted down her hair. He bit his lip and looked out the window; the driver was turning into the station. They'd be there in moments, and she was backing out. He could see it in her darting gaze, one that didn't quite settle on his face for any length of time. "Does it matter?" He was tired of tiptoe-ing around her. As far as he was concerned, when she'd gotten into the back seat with him a while ago, she'd made her choice. He shoved himself up to a sitting position, turning back to say, "I want you to myself, Scully." "We could have... gone to the Belmont, like we'd planned earlier," she ventured, still not looking at him. "You don't have to do anything special for me, Mulder. A room at the hotel would have been fine." The limousine came to a halt at the edge of the platform, and the steam from the train's engine enveloped the car. Mulder grabbed the door handle, though his grip was mostly to steady himself against the way she'd rocked him with that statement. She thought him so hard up for her that he'd take anything, anywhere he could get? Of course, he'd been doing nothing but practically pawing her for several days now. "Get out," he muttered, opening the door. With some difficulty, he got to his feet and held out a hand. Stunned, she stayed where she was, and he said again, "Scully, please get out of the car." To his surprise, she did, taking his hand more to help him than herself. Swaying a bit in the bite of the wind, Mulder leaned down and told the driver to hold a moment before walking her a few steps away. Taking her hands, he looked down at her with all the love he felt shining in his eyes. "Scully, are you related to any Mormons?" "Mormons?" Confusion crinkled her forehead. "Mulder -" "Just answer the question." "Okay. No, I'm not related to any Mormons. Not even distantly, to my knowledge." "Good. Because one of the stops of that train there is Salt Lake City. And as I see it, Utah is probably the only place in this God damned country where we won't run into a cousin of yours. Or an uncle, or a brother. Now, are you coming to Piedmont with me or not?" His words were edged with impatience, when all he wanted was to coax her back into compliance. This was not the way he wanted to live this life-altering moment. "But my parents, and Charlie -" "Charlie's got a wife of his own now, and your parents have each other." Frustration made him release her and he limped back in an effort for some calming distance. "I want you to come with me, Scully." Did she not believe what he was offering? What he was pleading for? "Mulder, Charlie wasn't serious about our eloping," she chuckled. "I know better than that." "All aboard!" At the interruption, Mulder glanced over his shoulder, then back to her, the ache in his heart compounded by the sudden silence between them. ********** Oh, God. She'd said the wrong thing. She could see it in his face, the way it hardened to stone. The crowd around them, once fascinated by the sight of the limousine, scurried to make the train. "You think I don't want to marry you?" His question was incredulous. "Scully, I told you back at Melissa's that was all I wanted." Ignoring the crowd around them, she shouted, "You only said that because you thought I might be pregnant!" The few people on the platform perked up at her declaration, and she found herself flushing, even with the way she shivered in the cold. "I don't care if you're pregnant," he said through clenched teeth. "I don't care if the world ends tomorrow. I don't care if your brother shows up here and beats the hell out of me." Grimacing, he took off his hat and shifted on his feet, trying to - what the hell was he doing? He collapsed at her feet and she rushed forward, his name burst from her with concern. "Mulder!" But he put up a hand and struggled to bend his bad knee, which hit the platform amidst his grunt of pain. "Stay right there," he ordered, his hat clutched to his chest. He looked up, and suddenly, she realized the pose, however painful to him, was familiar. "Oh, God," she breathed, her hands coming up to hold in her rush of tears, her fingers pressed against trembling lips. "Scully, I can take you on that train as my friend. As my lover. As the other half of me. But I'd much rather take you as my future wife." He smiled through the pain, with hope and so much love it took her breath away. "Now, I don't have a ring, and I'm seriously giving some thought to leaving the Navy, which means I'll be out of a job. And, while it looks like most of your family likes me, *my* family isn't the best, so you'd be walking into a mess, really -" "Yes," she whispered, not wanting to shut him up, but not wasting another moment for happiness. "Yes." He stopped, his eyes wide. "Yes?" "Yes." He opened his arms, and she walked into his embrace. His arms around her back were shaking, and his voice was unsteady. Head cradled against her stomach, he muttered, "You didn't even let me ask." She pressed kisses to his soft hair. "So ask. The answer's still the same." "Okay, here goes." He took a deep breath, one that tickled the satin above her navel. "Scully?" "Yes?" "Will you... help me up, please?" "Mulder!" She tried to act offended, but it didn't wash. Her joy overwhelmed any pretense. "I'll marry you if you do." "You will?" she asked, nipping at his ear. Mulder squirmed under her mouth, his hands settling above her hips. "Will I what?" "Marry me." Lifting his head, he grinned, his eyes wicked. "Thought you'd never ask, Scully." Instead of answering him, she lowered her head, intending to kiss him. But the insistent train whistle pierced the air around them, interrupting Scully's intentions. She looked up, and noticed the platform was empty. "Last call!" the conductor shouted, from his perch at the entrance to the first car. "Hold on!" she cried, then grabbed Mulder under the arms. "C'mon, Romeo. We're missing the train." "Jesus," he hissed, ungainly and almost too heavy for her to lift. But she finally got him to his feet, and, with one arm wrapped around her shoulders, helped him forward. "That was stupid, Mulder," she scolded him, gasping under his weight. He limped beside her, trying to keep his big body from smothering her by putting more of his weight on his injured leg. "I had to show you I was serious, didn't I?" "You know what this means, don't you?" she asked, relieved the trip to the train was a short one. "If you think I'm not making love to you as soon as we get in our room, you're mistaken, Scully." "I'd like to see you try, sailor. You've really done it now with that stunt back there - I wouldn't be surprised if we have to cut your pants from your leg. Your knee is liable to be twice the size it was." "Who needs knees?" he laughed. When they reached the car, the conductor held out a hand to help. Mulder took it, but lingered, leaning close to whisper in her ear, "You look pretty fit to me, Scully. Wanna ride a pony?" He winked, letting the conductor pull him up. Scully thought she couldn't blush any more than she had already. She was wrong. ********** Mulder was feeling no pain. Literally. Scully had insisted he take one of the pain pills in his pocket before they went any further, and though he knew before long he'd be down for the count, he also knew they tended to make him more loopy before sleep kicked in. He was smiling like a giddy fool, the rumble of the train beneath his back massaging his aching body into a blissful, relaxed mood. His jacket and shoes gone, he laid on the single bed, his hands behind his head, watching Scully putter around the small room. Earrings came off first, then the strand of pearls. She stood before the small mirror in the tiny bathroom, the door open so he could watch her clean up. "You didn't happen to bring a hair brush, did you Mulder?" "Uh... no." Who needed a hair brush? "A toothbrush?" "What's a toothbrush?" She rolled her eyes, though she grinned, reaching behind her for the hooks of her dress. "We're going to be pretty rank by the time we get to Piedmont, Mulder." "I didn't tell you? This train is practically non-stop. Far as I know, we stop for fuel in Kansas City. We'll be in Salt Lake City by noon tomorrow." His mouth went slack at the way her dress fell to the floor. "Damn." Her bra wasn't just lace - it was a strapless scrap of lace that left little to the imagination. "I wanted to practice on those hooks, you know." "I know you did," she murmured, looking as if she was thoroughly enjoying the control she had over him. "But I wanted to practice myself, you know." When she slipped off her shoes, her height diminished by several inches. She was a petite, curvaceous bundle of pink skin and tousled red hair that fell over warm blue eyes. His mouth suddenly felt like it was filled with cotton, especially when she slowly divested herself of panties and stockings. The bra, which a moment ago held such fascination, went the way of the rest of her clothes, and she stood before him in the lamplight, her smile wide but a bit bashful. He knew she was fighting the urge to cover herself, but her courage won out. Straightening her shoulders, she moved toward him with pride, her hands reaching for the hem of his t-shirt. "How did you manage to get us on this train, anyway?" Her breasts swayed before him, and he lifted his torso a bit, gulping at the lovely sight that beckoned for the touch of his mouth. Before he could succumb to the urge, however, she pulled the t-shirt up, trapping his head in a cotton veil. "Hey!" Her hands left him, and he struggled with the t-shirt, whipping it off as he blew the hair from his eyes. "Watch it, Scu -" he began, only to sputter to a stop at the feel of her fingers on his zipper. He sucked in a ragged breath as he watched her nimble fingers slowly pull the zipper down. "Lift up," she whispered, and he didn't know how he was able to make the connection in his brain, but he did. In seconds, she had both pants and boxers off, tenderly pulling them over his bum knee. At her gasp, he followed her worried gaze down, and was dismayed to find his knee had, indeed, suffered a bit from his semi-traditional proposal. "Don't," he said, reaching for her. "It doesn't hurt, Scully." "Of course not," she snapped, her eyes flashing up to meet his. "You have enough painkiller in you to numb an elephant." "Not quite," he murmured with a smile, his gaze darting down once again. It was her turn to follow his lead, except this time, her eyes came back up immediately, and she blushed, licking her lips. He wanted to nip at those same lips, to tell her he was sorry for teasing her. Despite her bold moves of late, she was still very much an innocent, and he'd better remember it. Grabbing for the sheet, he pulled it up to cover his hips. "Umm... sorry. That's not something I have too much control over, Scully." In answer, she lifted the sheet and climbed in beside him, pulling the soft linen over them both as she cuddled into his side. He gritted his teeth at the contact, sensing her need to take things slow from now on. His arm clenched under her cheek, and he bit back the urge to pull her over him. "I know," she said softly, her arm settling over his chest. She tugged at his dogtags, her fingers playing with the cross that he'd taken possession of. "Mulder?" If she wanted it back, she was out of luck. He'd buy her the biggest diamond in the state of Utah, but she wasn't getting the gift he considered the most precious thing he'd ever received. Besides her heart, of course. "Yeah?" "Umm... about the China Moon." *That* floored him. "What about it?" And why the hell did she bring it up now? "There were lots of women there, right? Experienced women." Now he knew what she was after. Anger at her self-imposed inadequacy made him haul her up, so he could look in her eyes. "Not a one of which I slept with, Scully," he growled, "so get that right out of your mind." She smiled ruefully, shaking her head. "Charlie said you hadn't. I should have believed him." "You asked Charlie?" "The subject just came up." She shrugged, and dropped her gaze to his chest. "I feel like I'm so young, Mulder. Yet I'm not. I should have lived through many things by the ripe old age of twenty-seven, don't you think? Instead, it feels like I'm always trying to catch up - and I'm failing miserably." Tilting her chin up, he said, "You could never fail in my eyes, Scully. Besides, before you, it had been close to six years since... uh, since I..." Great. Her embarrassment had become his. Her eyes went wide. "What did you do? I mean, you had to have some..." She trailed off as well, seemingly mesmerized by his ear all of a sudden. "My right hand." "What?" She was bright red now, and he suspected it covered more than her face, as the flush extended down the shadowy valley between her breasts. "Want me to show you?" His sincere, sober question elicited the response he was looking for, though he knew this play was liable to cause him more pain than his knee. "Please do," she said with a small smile. "Then show me how." Mulder groaned, closing his eyes with brief regret. "Mulder?" Scully's touch on his face brought him around again, and he moved her slightly to the side, keeping one arm firm around her back as he reached down with his other hand. In the dim light behind her head, he knew what he was doing wasn't very clear to her, but he decided to leave it up to her whether or not to pull back the sheet. At the first touch of his hand on his erection, he stiffened slightly, trying to keep still. Knowing there was a softer, more feminine hand just inches away sort of put a damper on an activity that, before now, had been guaranteed to get him off in moments. Despite what she thought, he was not a very experienced man. There had been a couple of sweethearts before the war, and he'd had his share of intimacy with them. In Hong Kong, he'd always had to watch his back, and giving in to the luxury of a warm female wasn't wise. He'd learned to fall back on the reliability of self-gratification, and only when his body seethed with frustration. Now, he wanted *her*. Her touch, her caress. But he was determined to give her anything she wanted, and she obviously wanted this. It was new for them both; from the wide-eyed stare she bestowed upon him, she'd never witnessed this, and he'd never done this in front of a woman. His hand, hidden by the sheet, began the slow movement up and down his shaft. He kept his gaze on her face, watching the her fascination with his play. When her tongue darted out to lick her lips, he imagined her mouth on him, and his teeth grabbed his bottom lip to keep from crying out. He thought that he wouldn't be able to find any enjoyment with his performance, but he'd been dead wrong. Just the sight of her amazement made him speed up, and he felt like he would soon explode with satisfaction. "I knew..." she whispered, "I knew a man had a way of satisfying himself... but I didn't know it was so..." She trailed off, watching his movements under the sheet with an open-mouthed stare. "So...?" he prompted, fast losing himself to approaching orgasm. "So erotic," she finished, looking up at his face. Her hand came up to touch his cheek. "Mulder, you're beautiful. May I?" "Only if you feel like it," he said, his voice hoarse with strain. He was still not sure she was offering because of curiosity; he didn't want her to feel obligated to please him. "I do." The hand on his cheek slid down his chest and abdomen, leaving little goosebumps of pleasure. When her fingers touched the wiry hair at his groin, he let go of himself, and curled his fingers around hers. "Like this," he murmured, touching his lips to her forehead as he guided her hand to his straining flesh. Her hand was much smaller and softer than his, and he moaned against her hair, his arm pulling her close to his side. She required no further instruction as she picked up where he left off, her rhythm sure and steady. "God, Scully," he muttered, sure he was in heaven. "That's it. Feels so good." She was way too good at this, he thought. Much as he didn't want to make her stop, he had to slow her down somehow. His hand skimmed over her breast, then down her belly. She faltered with a little gasp, but didn't stop stroking him, asking, "Mulder?" "You remember this, don't you, Scully?" His fingers dipped low, and he almost howled at the moisture gathering between her thighs. Her hips squirmed against his intrusion, and the hand on her back slid down to cup her behind and hold her still. "Shh... let me." A soft, mewling sound came from deep in her throat as he slipped one finger into her hot depths. Once again, her hand jerked around him, and this time, she slowed her movements until they matched his. Her whole body seemed to turn to water against his side, as she melted around him, her legs entangling with his and her mouth coming up to touch his. He kissed her like a starving man, probing with his tongue deep into the soft, moist hollow of her cheeks, mimicking the act to come. She returned his fervor with some of her own, both above and below, her hips now circling as she practically rode his upper thigh. God, she was hot, he thought. Hot and so eager he thought he'd die from the sensations that poured over him like the sweetest, stickiest honey. "Mulder," she moaned against his mouth. "I need... I -" He was loathe to break contact to tell her to take what she wanted, his own body reacting to her touch with little shivers of impending joy. Another second, he bargained with himself. Just one more second and I'll stop long enough to - Making the decision for them both, she let go of the kiss, her body shifting quickly to hover over his, her legs falling to either side of his hips. He could only watch with dazed happiness as she took command, instinct guiding her to use her hand. Eyes slitted, she caught her lower lip between her teeth, and lowered herself on him. Mulder felt the breath leave his lungs in a silent cry of intense pleasure as he felt her walls expand with his entry. Head and neck stiff, he forced himself to be still, as the corner of her mouth lifted in a grimace she couldn't quite suppress. Then he was home, and Scully, feeling it as well, leaned down to kiss his mouth into relaxation. "Okay," she murmured, her hands sliding up to his face. "I'm okay, Mulder." He tried to smile, his own hands coming up to caress her back. "You're also a fast learner." She smiled in return, showering his face with fleeting kisses. They played for half a minute, just getting used to the feel of one another as the train rocked them gently. It wasn't long, however, before Mulder couldn't be still, and he took her by the waist, pressing his fingertips into her soft skin to get her attention. "Scully, you're gonna have to move." Dropping one last kiss to his brow, she said, "Don't move that knee, Mulder." Despite her sexual innocence, she'd realized she had control of the moment, and used it to give him the warning, her eyes liquid, but firm. His chuckle rumbled through them both, and he slid just a fraction of an inch deeper into her, which caused them both to purr. "Scully, if you don't move, I will." With a laughing sigh, she straightened, her hands falling to his chest. A subtle, sinuous motion began where they were joined, and one eyebrow went up as she asked, "Like this?" Mulder felt almost boneless, like he was flying. The motion of the train, combined with her movement, lulled him into a foolish, grinning idiocy. "Yeah. Told you it was like riding a pony." Her fingers plucked at his shoulders; she was a slinky kitten above him, kneading her way to ecstasy. "I never had a pony like you, Mulder." She began to move faster, rocking on him with a more determined goal in mind. He heard her breath catch, and his fingers spread out over her backside to help matters along. "Just call me Buttercup." Her rocking became jerky and unfocused when she laughed. "Stop it. I can't concentrate." He shut up, knowing the time had come for less talk and more action. Sliding them both further down on the small bed, he touched his feet to the wall at the end. Careful not to put pressure on his injured leg, he planted the other foot flat against the plaster, bending his knee as he let the other foot slide off the side of the bed. When he began to push up in counterpoint to her downstrokes, she gasped, her eyes flying open. "Nice, huh?" he grinned, but she was no longer listening. Grinding against him now, she strove for completion, her back arched and her head limp on her shoulders. He used one arm to prop himself up on an elbow; her breasts were tantalizing as they bounced above him and he could no longer stand to keep still, taking one hard nipple in his mouth. She cried out, calling his name, speaking to God, muttering curses and praises as she rode faster and harder. The smell of sex and sweat filled his head, a potent mixture he knew had the power to make him crazy. Her body was beautiful, her scent heady, her voice hoarse with use as she drew him under her spell. He was light-headed; from the painkillers or from loving her, he didn't know. All he knew was he wouldn't last much longer. Amidst her own sounds, he made some of his own, urging her in a raspy voice to come, to find what she was looking for so he could join her. And she did, finally bowing above him, her body clenching around him with several powerful, dragging pulls on his cock. His balls reacted to the pressure of her orgasm, drawing up; he felt a spark at the base of his spine and he pulled his mouth away from her skin to suck in a short, gasping breath. At last, he let go, letting her milk him until he had nothing left to give. Sated, he gathered her close, the roar of the train second only to the furious beating of their hearts. When he'd finally gathered enough strength to move, he reached up and flicked off the lamp above his head, pulling the sheet up over them once again. She raised her head; by the light of the moon streaming through the blinds, he caressed her face and kissed her. He felt married already. End Chapter Nineteen A Familiar Heart Chapter Twenty/Epilogue Scully curled around him, the close quarters of the single bed making a nice, cozy nest. She felt safe and not at all claustrophobic, even though she was wedged between him and the wall. Her hand slowly caressed his damp skin of his chest and her head nestled in the curve of his shoulder. The events of the day, of the past week, flitted through her mind and she smiled secretly to herself. From the moment she saw him back in Utah he stirred something within her, and the feelings he aroused were a most welcome change. She'd never be the same from this night on. What a way to start a new year. Suddenly, she found herself giggling. Mulder, half asleep, moved his head on the pillow, his lips brushing over her hair. "What?" "Bill," she chuckled. "I don't think he knew what hit him." Mulder stretched a bit beneath her, his chest puffing up. "He's not so bad." She laughed harder, Mulder's mental strutting typically male. "He's not," he insisted. "He never said a word to me, Scully. Not one word." "He was waiting to get you alone. And when he does, look out." "Oh, I'm so scared," Mulder drawled, his own sleepy fingers drawing circles on her back. "Scully?" "Yes?" "Think I can call you Dana now?" She pretended to give it thought, watching the moonlight slash through the blinds to illuminate the opposite wall. "Maybe." "Maybe?" "I kind of like to be called Scully. Especially by you." "Ah, but you won't be a Scully for very much longer, you know." "Mulder, from what I saw of Piedmont, there can't be more than a couple of hundred people living there. I certainly didn't see a church." She jerked, remembering her home with a guilty flash of responsibility. "I have to wire my parents from Salt Lake City, let them know where I am." "Nearest church is twenty miles down the road in Asheville." With his other hand, he grabbed the one strumming his chest, bringing it to his lips. "I didn't tell you? Besides being a damned good mechanic, Jerry operates the Western Union from his office. *And* he happens to be a Justice of the Peace." She lifted her head to meet his confident, happy gaze. For a moment, she pondered arguing about churches and parents and obligations. Then she thought better of it, raising an eyebrow with a smile. "Works for me. Besides, I have to pay your bill." Settling back down, she sighed, "Or maybe not. I didn't exactly bring my purse with me." "Scully, you're straight with me. Believe me. No further payment necessary." They drifted into silence, each exhausted from the day and more so, from the night. Scully, almost asleep, was jolted awake by a clamor from the club car, one that made her jump. "What's that?" Mulder slurred his words, sighing, "My guess... it's midnight. Happy New Year, Scully." "Happy New Year, Mulder," she whispered back, already falling back to sleep. "I'd give you a kiss, but umm... too tired." "Then I'll kiss you." Those beautiful lips wandered down until they touched skin, and he pressed a kiss to her brow. "Mmm, taste good... you wanna ride th'pony again, you wake me, 'k?" "Deal." She felt his kiss once again, then almost immediately heard a soft snore above her head. Happy New Year, indeed. It was guaranteed to be a good one, if the first minute was any indication of things to come. Before losing herself totally to dreams, she raised her head to look at his profile, seeing the man who, despite it all, was sent to her by forces unseen. A weird twist of fate brought them together, and she wondered if, after all, there were angels watching over them both. The odds against the two of them ever reaching this point were astronomical, and she looked up into the moonlight, whispering a prayer of thanks before lying down next to her love for some much needed sleep. ********** The two hazy figures stood on the small end of the caboose, watching the countryside fly by, the moon casting the hills and valleys in a serene white blanket of shimmering snow. "Nice night," Sam murmured, tucking his hands in the pockets of his coat. He wasn't cold; it was habit that he shivered, the scenery stirring him to memories of snowball fights and hot chocolate. He was form without real substance, but it didn't prevent him from remembering what it was to be human. Or to appreciate his expensive suit and coat; his combat fatigues were permanently retired, according to the man beside him. The vaporous man at his side was just as well- dressed, his black skin almost blending in with the night, only his pepper-gray beard visible as he spoke. "It's time to go, Sam." Sam hung his head, pretending to watch the tracks beneath him rush by. "I know, sir." He never called his superior anything but sir. He didn't even know his name, and doubted he ever would. It wasn't important. Feelings, emotions, even the pleasant exchange of earthly information like names ceased to matter in the world he was still getting used to. It wasn't a bad place, but it wasn't home. Sam felt as though he was caught between two worlds, and he supposed he was. He hadn't yet attained the ultimate goal, his superior reminded him time and again. This place wasn't like home, where hitting baseballs and playing the hero automatically lofted you to a position of adulation and superiority. Happiness and peace here had to be earned, and the jobs to be done were a test of courage and love. He was finished with Dana and Fox, but he didn't want to leave. His brother was brother to him no longer, not on a physical plane. But he still felt close kinship and wanted Fox to be happy. And Dana... God, he still remembered the ache he felt the one and only time he'd held her in his arms, knowing it could never be. Love had come to him one breath too late. "She was never for you, Sam," his companion said softly. "You have to let go." "I have," he replied, smiling. Suddenly, after watching over her for months, he finally felt the truth. Even if he'd had the chance, he knew he would have lost her to Fox. His brother was the better man for Dana; the past week had proven that. "She's where she was meant to be." "True." The man next to him paused, looking about. "Won't be long, we'll be coming up on Kansas City. We'll get off there." Sam looked at him with surprise. "Kansas City?" Everything in this new world had a purpose, and their destination signaled a new direction for him. "Why Kansas City?" "You were a good soldier, Sam. But you were an even better baseball player. You had heart, and there's someone who needs your courage now. A baseball player. Good kid." Despite the fact he was no longer supposed to feel it, Sam sagged a bit with sadness. Kansas City was an eternity from New York. "What's he play? Second base?" Maybe there was hope, after all. He loved to play second base. He could still feel the thrill of turning a 4-6-3 double play. Even if he wasn't supposed to sense things, the lingering smell of leather and horsehide tickled his nose. "Shortstop. Great player, but he needs a bit of coaxing. He won't find his new home a welcome place." "Why not?" Something about the whole business tweaked his inner alarms. 'Sir' was not telling him everything. "He plays - played for the Kansas City Monarchs, Sam." Sam's eyes narrowed; now he understood. "The Negro Leagues?" His superior faced him with a similar, bristling look. "I shouldn't have to ask - but do you have a problem with that?" "No!" Sam wasn't a racist, had never been. He disdained the rules that made black men play baseball in segregated leagues, when he'd seen many who were equal to, if not better than, any white player. "Do you mind if I ask why he needs my help?" "He just signed a contract with a Major League team." Sam snorted, shaking his head. "He's gonna need more than my help. He'll need body armor." "Sam..." Sir warned, his voice speaking of growing impatience. "I know, I know," Sam replied with a grin. "I go where the boss sends me." With a jerk of his chin, he plunged ahead. "So - what's the story with this guy?" "He's reporting to their minor league team early next - *this* year. Happy New Year, by the way." "Same to you, Sir." Sam gave him a brilliant smile, pleased this once-stoic man had a warmer side, even if he rarely showed it. Sir cleared his throat and continued, "From what I hear, he won't be there long. Maybe a year, tops. The Montreal Royals." "Montreal?" Sam sputtered, feeling as if the rug had been pulled out from under him. "But - but that's -" "Brooklyn's triple A club, yes." Sam groaned inwardly. The Dodgers. So close, yet so far away from the Yankees. "No way will he ever beat out PeeWee Reese," he grumbled stubbornly, feeling his chance for Yankee greatness slip from his fingers. "He'll come in at first base, from what I understand. In my opinion, he'd make a great second baseman." Sam snorted, giving his sometime friend a sly glance. "You sure know how to get to a guy, don't you?" "Cheer up, Sam. With this kid, the Dodgers will give the Yankees a run for their money. Believe me." "That'll be the day," he muttered. Shrugging, he feigned interest, knowing it was no use arguing. He was being sent where the boss wanted, and no amount of resistance on his part would do any good. "What's his name?" "Jack Roosevelt Robinson." "Great." He was leaving one resolved mess to head straight into another. Except this one promised to be more trouble than getting two lonely people together. "The kid better be good." "He is, Sam. With your heart and protection, he could be one of the best who ever played." His friend gave him a nudge. "Dana likes the Dodgers, Sam. Make her smile." "Hey, no fair. You used that one last time." "Last time, I told you Dana needed someone to love, someone who'd love her back. *You* were the one who suggested Fox. Good choice, I might add." He knew 'Sir' was kissing up to him, but Sam smiled, anyway. "Okay. But if this kid turns out to be no good, don't blame me." "And if he turns out to be an All-Star?" "Then you owe me the Yankees next time." "Deal." Sir held out his hand, and Sam took it. As they crossed the Mississippi River, the two faded away, their laughter drifting off like snowflakes into the night. The End Many thanks to Sybil, for beta above and beyond the call of duty. This business of posting a chapter a day was more of a strain on her than me. Also, my thanks to Clarissa, for info on Annapolis. You rock, girl! And thanks to the Havenites for daily poking. Never could have done this without you all! Hope you enjoyed my guilty pleasure fic. It was the first and last, I think. But I had so much fun writing it, so who knows? Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! Mishy :)