Truce
Chapter Three
Disclaimers, etc. in Headers
Mulder. In New Orleans.
She ignored the curious stare of the night desk
clerk as she hurried to the elevator. It was
well after one in the morning, and the constant
downpour outside had limited her contact with
anyone on the street, despite the Mardi Gras
season. Like the professional she was, she'd
stuffed a few large bills into her pouch, just
in case she became separated from Robert. The
taxicab driver hadn't like her bedraggled looks
at all, but he'd perked up at the sight of the
hundred dollar bill.
Now, riding up to her suite, she allowed herself
to take a deep breath, though her mind whirled
with anxiety in the aftermath of their
encounter. What the hell was he doing here?
And damn it, he'd guessed who she was almost
immediately. Though she hadn't given herself
away completely, the momentary shock that made
her stiffen beneath him was an ill-timed lapse.
But as long as he couldn't be certain, he never
would be. She'd have to be doubly careful from
now on.
Slicing her key card through the lock, she
stumbled into her suite, too exhausted to think
of it all anymore. Sleep, she needed sleep.
Tomorrow she'd think of Mulder. She wasn't
going to allow him to disrupt her plans - to
unknowingly cloud their future together.
The flash of lightning through the windows
startled her as she closed the door with a sigh.
With only a minimal amount of light from the
street lamps outside, she stripped off the black
clothing, carefully placing the wax impression
in the false bottom of her suitcase. Only when
she had the other pieces of the puzzle would she
be satisfied; and then, the battle would be just
beginning.
After slipping on a nightshirt, she shivered
under the covers of her bed, drifting uneasily
into a sleep filled with dreams of Mulder. As
she did every night since he'd left her.
**********
"Get him over here *now*."
Mulder shed his tuxedo jacket, snarling at
Marvin with uncharacteristic vehemence. His
friend didn't waver, however, standing firm
inside the parlor door, flinging his chauffeur's
cap to the nearby sofa before heading for the
bar.
"Care to enlighten me as to this sudden need to
see Bombay?" Marvin took his time pouring two
snifters of brandy, one eyebrow raised as he
calmly assessed Mulder's agitation.
"None of your God damned business." Mulder
winced as he stretched his back, already halfway
to his normal vigil at the doors that overlooked
the side yard. He could no more stop looking at
what awaited him outside than he could stop
breathing. The imprisonment weighed upon him
more and more each day, and now, with her in the
vicinity... the urge to just throw caution to
the wind and scour the streets of New Orleans
for her threatened to eat him up.
"Wouldn't have anything to do with your
obviously sore backside, would it?" Marvin
appeared at his side, handing him the snifter.
He took it, taking a healthy gulp, grimacing at
the burn of liquor down his throat. He never
cared for brandy; the smell and taste reminded
him of his father's constant drinking. But as
usual, Marvin had sensed his need for something
stronger than beer. Lifting the glass to his
astute associate, he said with polite sarcasm,
"Once again, none of your business." His smile
didn't reach his eyes as he drained the glass.
Marvin took a sip before answering, "On the
contrary, my good man. Watching that backside
*is* my business."
Mulder turned and headed for the bar, his words
terse as he poured another drink, this one more
stout than the first. "Who died and elected you
Mulder's keeper?" he growled.
"My brother," came the soft reply.
Closing his eyes, Mulder redirected his anger
into remorse. At least temporarily. "Marvin,
I'm -"
"Sorry. Yes, I know. Maybe if you say it a few
more times, I may start to believe it."
When Mulder opened his eyes again, it was to a
small smirk. He shook his head, saying wryly,
"Marvin, I don't know why you didn't leave my
ass months ago."
"You want the truth?"
"I *always* want the truth." The smirk faded
into a melancholic, self-deprecating sag of his
shoulders. He walked back to the window to look
upon the blackness outside once again. It
always came down to him and his truth; right
now, he'd like nothing more than to send the
truth back to hell and gather his family to him.
Live his life in peace. For the next ten years
or so, anyway.
"Because my brother believed in you, Fox. He
knew if anyone could stop the coming apocalypse,
it would be you." Marvin stood at his side;
from the corner of his eye, Mulder caught him
surveying the night beyond. Twin vigilantes
they were, keeping watch until the time was
right.
Mulder sighed, feeling every ounce of his burden
weigh upon his back. "I'm not that heroic,
Marvin. You put too much faith in me."
"Only that which I feel is justified." Marvin
turned to him. "You won't disappoint me, Fox.
But I'd be lying if I said tonight's adventures
weren't disturbing."
Mulder took a sip of his brandy, realizing his
friend's tactics were designed with this goal in
mind. Calm him down, make him think once again
instead of act. "You want to know what happened
at that party." It was a dry statement more so
than a question. Off Marvin's silence, he
continued, "Let's just say I ran into an old
friend."
Marvin huffed, "I knew you shouldn't have gone
out -"
With a wave of his hand, Mulder silenced
Marvin's protest, facing him to say, "Not *that*
kind of an old friend. The good kind. The
*best* kind." Against his will, as well as his
lingering anger, he smiled. She was the *best*
kind, indeed.
Behind his glasses, Marvin's eyes widened.
"Please tell me you didn't run into someone who
can compromise you."
"Compromise me?" His brow lifted and he purred,
"Marvin, this particular old friend compromised
me long ago."
Mulder's vague answer was enough to confirm
Marvin's suspicions, and he puffed up like a
toad with indignation. "Bloody hell! We can't
afford to have someone recognize you -"
"Take it easy, Marvin," Mulder interrupted,
laying one hand on the man's stiff shoulder.
Leaning close, he felt a twinkle come to his
eyes as his anger was temporarily replaced by
burgeoning pleasure. "It was Scully." And
despite the circumstances of their pseudo-
reunion, he couldn't deny he felt some happiness
at knowing she was near.
The eyes behind those glasses widened to
saucers. "Scully? You mean... *the* Scully?"
Chuckling, Mulder lifted his glass in a toast to
her well-deserved esteem in Marvin's mind. "One
and the same."
Mulder watched the myriad of emotions flash over
Marvin's face, totally understanding the
feelings. Frohike had regaled Marvin with
information about the woman he worshiped more
than any other, and Marvin, for all his British
stoicism, had come to believe every word. And
why not? All of it was true, in Mulder's
estimation. He doubted Marvin would believe him
if he told his friend Scully had an annoying
little snore, an alternating puff and wheeze
when she was bothered by allergies. His former
partner could do no wrong in Marvin's eyes,
thanks to Frohike. Though Marvin tried his best
to deny it, to hide behind his stiff upper lip,
Mulder knew it was there.
But Mulder also knew Marvin pretty well, and
knew the man was protective to a fault. Despite
the courageous tales Frohike had told him,
Marvin wouldn't give his faith to Scully as
easily as that. Trusting Mulder had come about
before they'd met, simply because Marvin lived
in an honorable man's world. Scully, for all
her bravery and intelligence, was still a woman.
And the little man, with his old world
schooling, still tended to be a tad rigid about
females in general. Once again, just like it
always happened when the subject of Scully came
up, Marvin schooled his face into an impassive
mask. But his voice, when he spoke, held a
betraying little tremor of excitement. "You saw
her? Spoke to her?"
"Not exactly." His grin faded as he recalled
the way she'd decked him. "But I know it was
her. Trust me." Briefly, he explained his
encounter with her in the hallway of Balfour's
mansion, including the way she'd knocked him
almost senseless.
"What the hell is she doing in New Orleans?"
"That's what I need Bombay for, Marvin."
At last, his friend realized the importance of
it all, and walked back to the bar, where he
deposited his glass. In a thrice, he was at the
door. "I'll see what I can do, Fox. Of course,
it is rather late in the evening. Might take me
a while to track down the man." He paused, his
hand on the door knob, then added, "What are you
going to do when you find her?"
It was Mulder's turn to hesitate. Really, he
had no idea. Send her home? He dismissed that
thought in an instant - no one could make Scully
do what she didn't want to do, least of all him.
He knew what he *wanted* to do. Lock her up in
this fortress and keep her in bed for about a
week. Fat chance on that one, too. With a
humorless grin, he faced the windows once again.
"Before or after I spank her?"
Marvin's reply was delivered with a snort. "My
friend, you'll be lucky if she doesn't take a
whip to *your* backside."
Picturing the certain fury she must have felt
when she'd awakened months ago to find him gone,
he said softly, "Don't I know it."
**********
"Want some coffee?"
For just a moment, the man sitting in the muted
dawn of the suite's living room... the way he
held his head, the slight fury in his tone, the
smell of the rain and the tapestry of the
sunrise... God, she thought it was Mulder. With
shaky fingers, she snapped on the lamp beside
her bed and yellow light blossomed out from the
fringed shade.
Robert. His concerned gaze sweeping over her,
sitting in her hotel room as if he owned it,
tipping a delicate cup in his fingers.
Suddenly, his face hardened and she pre-empted
what she was sure to come.
"No," she replied coolly, rising to head for the
bathroom, "but I'll thank you to leave my room.
I'm tired." That he'd gotten the management to
let him in her room in the first place angered
her; but she knew what the rich in this town
could command. They'd seen him escort her
several times and assumed a romantic liaison -
and it didn't help that he was part owner of the
place. Still, she slammed the bathroom door
with enough force to rattle the walls. Sitting
there as if he owned *her* - that made her
furious.
As she flipped on the overhead light, she
grimaced at the scratches on her forehead,
remembering her flight through the bushes
outside the mansion. She pulled the bathrobe
from where it hung on the door and winced at her
sore body, sighing at her near capture - and
near discovery. Shoving aside her thoughts, she
stripped off her nightshirt and stepped into the
shower. Robert could wait. She hadn't expected
to find him lurking in her room this morning and
damned if he thought he could just demand
explanations at this early hour. She knew that,
as her contact here, he deserved some
consideration, but he wasn't her boss. And he
certainly didn't need to know she'd seen Mulder.
Her shoulders sagged under the hot spray.
Memories of the past few months crowded in,
despite her best efforts to ignore them. The
worry, the anger, the fear... only to find out
he was right where she didn't want him to be.
As she flipped off the shower, she decided to
think of him later. She couldn't allow herself
to feel anything at the moment, not in front of
Robert. Like the excellent operative he'd once
been, he was very astute at discerning weakness.
And Mulder was definitely a chink in her armor.
One word to Skinner of any sign of wavering on
her part and she'd be out of New Orleans in the
blink of an eye. After Robert left, she'd let
the floodgates open.
He was standing when she re-entered her suite,
all apology. "Dana, I'm sorry -"
"Ana," she corrected him, walking to the night
stand to retrieve her cigarettes. Another habit
she'd fallen back into as soon as she'd gotten
one whiff of New Orleans air. "Remember that,
Robert." Lighting one, she raised her chin, all
calm defiance.
"I was worried about you," he offered.
Exhaling the smoke, she schooled her face into a
bland mask, tightening the belt of her robe.
"You offered to help me and Walter. You are. I
didn't ask for your concern, and I don't need
it." This harsh set-down was uncharacteristic
of her, but she knew it was necessary.
Robert took a step in her direction; she stood
her ground, certain he was a second away from
shaking her. Her hand came up in a half-fist
automatically, but there was no need. He bent
at the waist, coming back up with her leotard in
hand.
"Even if you find yourself in a deadly
situation?" he bit out, waving his fingers at
her through the tear in the material.
Scully felt her cheeks drain of color at the
sight of the large hole in the leotard. Its
placement was about waist-high, and judging from
the tag sticking up in the crook of Robert's
arm, it was most assuredly centered in the lower
back. Unconsciously, her hand went behind her
to rub at the reddened rug burn she'd discovered
while showering. Stretching before the mirror,
she'd noticed the tattoo was fiery because of
the scrape, sure she'd have a bruise by the
morrow. Her heart tripped; had Mulder seen the
exposed skin?
Her minute distress was, as she expected,
noticed by Robert. Dropping the leotard, he
stepped forward, all concern. "Dana, you're not
hurt, are you?"
In an instant, she'd calmed, back to her usual,
cool, self. Side-stepping him, she walked to
the tray of coffee, where, with fingers slightly
shaky, she poured herself a cup. As she added
milk, she said, "I'm fine, Robert. Just had a
little mishap with a tree." And with a man who,
in all likelihood, knew she was in town.
She felt rather than saw Robert move to her
side. "I don't like this," he growled. "Walter
said you were the best. And now this..." He
threw the torn clothing to the floor with anger.
"I *am* the best," she stated, straightening to
look at him, the steel in her voice matching the
determination in her gaze. "With whatever means
necessary, I get the job done." She took a drag
from the cigarette before killing it in the
ashtray by his half-empty cup of coffee. "It's
none of your business how I accomplish my goals,
now is it?"
"If you're putting yourself in a situation
beyond your control, then yes - it is my
business." He wasn't backing down. "A rogue
agent is not conducive to the success of any
operation, you know that, Dana. I'm here to
assist you, to back you up, no matter how you
feel about it."
He was right. His concern notwithstanding, he
knew that teamwork was essential to coming out
on top in their business. Scully let her ire
fade, meeting his gaze. "I wasn't in any
danger, Robert," she explained quietly. "You
knew there was a chance we could be separated.
I followed the plan, just as we'd discussed
weeks ago, when I first arrived. Did anyone
notice I didn't leave with you?"
"A few remarks," he conceded, his anger fading
as well. His eyes darkened, sweeping over her
face as he sought to dig deep. "I blew it off
by acting the spurned suitor. It's not unusual
for couples arriving together to leave with
different partners, not at this time of year."
A fact which obviously didn't sit well with him,
she could see. In the weeks since they'd teamed
up, she'd felt him thaw to her by leaps and
bounds, something she hadn't encouraged by any
means. But it was there still, his friendly
overtures speaking of his desire to have her as
more than colleague once the operation had
ended. She tread carefully, not wanting to lose
his expertise with an overt warding off of his
subtle advances. More so, she genuinely liked
the man, his typically southern attitude toward
women aside. He was a good friend, and an even
better ally.
Still, she sensed he would have much to say
about Mulder's re-appearance in her life, should
she mention the encounter last night. He knew
as well as she did that personal involvement of
any sort - his own behavior included - was not
wise. According to Skinner, Robert had no idea
what her past was like. But if she was right in
her assessment of his abilities, he'd wasted no
time in finding out. He probably knew
everything about her from her shoe size to the
way she fell easily into smoking when she felt
restless. Which meant he knew about Mulder.
And that subject that was definitely off-limits.
Scully ignored his probing, walking around him
to retrieve what she'd gone after last night.
The wax impression, still safely tucked in her
luggage. She handed it to Robert without a word
before reaching for another cigarette.
"The first step," he murmured with a sigh,
disappointment at her silence edging his voice.
In the next moment, he'd assumed command, his
voice tight and cool. "I'll get this done
today," he said, speaking of the key. Skinner
had insisted on her having complete autonomy
over the operation, without any explanation to
Robert. Besides acting as escort, he was to
assist her with anything she needed. When he'd
outlived his usefulness, he would be dismissed.
Something she knew he didn't approve of, but a
fact she was grateful for... because that was
when the real danger would begin.
Walking to the balcony doors, Scully flung them
wide, blowing smoke into the cool morning air.
"Thank you," she said dismissively.
"We're still on for tomorrow night, as far as I
know." Robert lingered behind her, telling her
things she already knew. "I'll pick you up at
eight, okay?"
"Fine." Leave already, she wanted to scream at
him. The atmosphere of tension, the cool, humid
air, the swirl of smoke... God, she smelled
Mulder on herself, even after the cleansing
warmth of the shower.
But Robert didn't go. "What are you doing
today?" The question held the ever-present
tinge of encroachment, of emotional interest.
No, no, she wanted to hiss. You can't take his
place. I want *him*. In this city, in this
room, in my bed.
"What every other tourist does on Sunday during
Mardi Gras," she said, her impatience clipping
the words. "Beignets at Cafe du Monde, then I'm
going to take in a parade." What business was it
of his, her tone demanded.
"Dana -"
"Goodbye, Robert. Bring the key with you when
you come tomorrow." Like he would dare forget,
or refuse. Her dismissal had the desired
effect, and she heard the room door snick shut
behind her.
Pulling the robe closer to her overheated skin,
she sat on the rain-slick chair to her left,
propping her feet up on the iron railing as she
watched the sun rise fully. It was tempting to
just sit and wait for him to come, much as she'd
done years before. This wasn't the same hotel,
and neither of them were the same people they
were back then... but if she knew him at all,
she knew he'd find her. And though her plans
for the day had been a placating lie to shove
Robert away, the thought of just sitting there
all day, waiting for him to come - well, it just
wasn't her any longer. She'd come all this way
to facilitate her future... *their* future
together. But she'd be damned if she'd wait for
the inevitable confrontation.
Cafe du Monde was the perfect place to be seen.
Without really being *seen*, of course. Mulder
would find her, she was sure of it.
She just didn't feel like making it easy for
him. As she re-entered her hotel room, she
practiced. It wasn't something she relished on
her tongue. As an intelligent woman with no
need for superfluous emotion, she'd always found
it difficult to say. But say it she did, to the
damp air filling with sunlight.
"Fuck you, Mulder."
She said it again, as she dressed. Said it as
she applied makeup and perfume, said it as she
reached for her sunglasses. It may not be the
very first words she'd say to him when she saw
him again, but doubtless there would come an
opportunity to use what she'd only told him once
before.
And this time, her anger surpassed the previous
instance. Yes, she'd let him have it. Either
that, or she'd shoot him again.
She stopped cold, her door half-open, shaking
her head at her bravado. Turning back, she
grabbed her gun from its place on the night
stand. Rolling her eyes, she winced at her
inattention.
He was already upsetting her life again, and
she'd yet to really come in contact with him.
Par for the course.
End Chapter Three
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