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
Maryland, 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 antidote 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 Maryland,
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
:)

    Source: geocities.com/mish_rose/Heart