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 on? 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
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