Julia
Prologue


June 1, 2000
Washington, D. C.
8:15 a.m.


Kurtzweil had been wrong.  It didn't happen on a
holiday.  Unless you counted days of religious
significance, which Scully seriously doubted the
men behind the Invasion put much stock into. 
But it did occur to her as she ran to her
apartment that maybe it was fitting.

Ascension Thursday.  The day Christ rose into
heaven, leaving the confines of his mortal being
forever.  Exactly ten days since Mulder had
ascended to the stars - if not by his own choice
-  in his own quest for immortality.


**********


7:20 a.m.


Anger and yearning fought for dominance within
her still.  She wasn't listening to the priest;
but then again - who would be this early in the
morning?  The only reason she'd attended mass on
this Holy Day of Obligation was because her
mother had reminded her last night that mass
attendance was required.  She never could
withstand the subtle guilt trip her mother laid
on her for such occasions.

Tired, lonely, and wondering where to turn to
next, Scully had given in to her mother's, "It
wouldn't hurt to say a prayer for Fox," and
decided to take a short breather on this warm
June day.  A nasty ear infection, exacerbated by
the trip to Oregon, had forced her to limit her
physical activity.  She'd started on
tetracycline three days ago after a week of
penicillin had done little good;  still she
experienced flashes of vertigo if she turned her
head too quickly.

Despite Skinner's concern, she'd hidden the
fading symptoms and thrown herself into the
search for Mulder.  Snapping at the green agents
assigned to the case by Kersh, she pushed them
and herself to the brink of exhaustion.  It
wasn't until Skinner pulled her aside yesterday
and told her to take it easy on them that she
realized the breadth of her anger.

Not at them for being inexperienced.  Not at
Skinner... though at one moment in the basement
several days ago, she wanted to scream at him
for losing Mulder.  The accusation had been on
the tip of her tongue before another dizzy spell
had sidetracked her.  It wasn't his fault; it
wasn't anyone's fault.

She didn't even really blame the people - or
whatever - behind Mulder's abduction.  They knew
exactly how to feed into his search for the
truth.

At times, the only person to blame was Mulder
himself.

As she knelt for the Communion prayer, she tried
hard to clear her mind of those thoughts. 
Mulder hadn't gone willingly, he hadn't.  But
she couldn't help her anger sometimes, much as
many people felt after the loss of a loved one.

Why did you leave me? she wanted to scream at
the heavens. You should have fought harder. 
Didn't you know how much I needed you here? 
What am I supposed to do without you now?

She pushed aside those useless questions and
bowed her head, clasping her hands tightly. 
Days of false leads and dead ends had left her
searching her own soul for the strength to
continue.  It was too soon to give up, but she
needed something besides sheer will to bolster
her.

Against all reason, she couldn't deny that,
besides having faith in science for answers, she
also relied on faith in God to bring Mulder back
to her; faith to give her the strength to find
him.  She'd witnessed the power of prayer, from
the Navajo spirit walk with Albert Hosteen to
the Sepher Vetzirah that brought Isaac Luria
back from the grave.  Her logical mind could not
refute the fact that sometimes, the physical had
to give way to the metaphysical.

It was with this hope that she knelt on the
velvet kneelers at St. John's.  A few quick
prayers for Mulder's safety, for her own
unfailing determination, and the calming rote of
the Order of Mass.  Then she'd begin again.

The priest signaled for the congregation to rise
and she stood absently, joining in on the Lord's
Prayer.

"Our Father, who art in heaven...."

It started as a trickle of humming, the siren
that broke through on the, "... hallowed be thy
name."

Father Zagst faltered and looked into the
incense-filled air of the church as if he could
see the warning.  So did the others at mass,
Scully included, lifting their eyes to the
heavens for answers.

At first, she thought it was a test of the Civil
Defense System.  But right upon the heels of
that thought came another... those tests usually
happened at noon, and they were broadcast on the
morning radio news as such.

And she remembered no such announcement as she'd
driven here.

The wail of the siren was joined by another, and
another, informing all that this was no test. 
Something was dreadfully wrong.  The people
around her began to murmur, then gasp with
anxiety.  Father Zagst, just as panic-stricken,
continued the prayer, this time in a booming,
strained voice.

"Thy kingdom come, thy will be done..."

He didn't pause once when the screams began to
drown out his mantra.  A slight stammer began
when the first explosion rocked the stone walls
of the church.  He stood there, sputtering in
the cacophony of the panicked parishioners,
hysteria manifesting itself in denial, as if he
thought he could block out the world with his
words.

The hundred or so people in the church stampeded
with fear and Scully immediately left her pew
and started walking against the stream of bodies
to the altar.  Father Zagst's eyes were wide and
he looked as if he'd lost all sense of
awareness.

"Father?" she called out above the din, moving
closer.

It was then she saw the bee.

Crawling up his cheek like it was following a
road map to his forehead, where it sat square
between his glassy eyes.  He didn't even seem to
notice its presence, though shock finally set
in, silencing his words.

The church grew quiet with the exit of the last
parishioners, the sirens fading away.  Scully
was stilled by the cessation of his voice,
stopping just a few feet away from his statue-
like figure.

Rubbing its hind legs together, sprinkling the
black soot covering its wings over the priest's
nose, the bee moved away quickly to an unsmudged
patch of pasty skin, its small hiss of
displeasure at the dirt reaching her ears in an
instant.  When it found purchase again, it
dropped its stinger to deliver the fatal blow.

His pupils dilated to enormous proportions,
almost indistinguishable from the early morning
shadows that filled the church.  It took her a
second to realize it wasn't a normal
physiological response to the sting - the whites
of his eyes were liquid with black oil. 
Sinister, invading... taking him over in a
heartbeat.

Her heart soared to her throat and she began to
back away.

A foolish thought accompanied her rising panic. 
That wasn't supposed to be.  It couldn't be...
the bees didn't carry the black oil.  Or did
they?

Scully immediately pulled out her cell phone,
intending to call Skinner.  She knew what was
happening... did he?  The silence that greeted
her ears was deafening, much more so than the
smoky, ash-filled chaos that swirled around the
statues, bouncing off the stained-glassed walls
of the church.  She gave the man on the altar
one last look, noting his glazed eyes.

But what scared her more was not the priest's
reaction; it was the movement behind him.

Scully looked up from his face to the huge
stained glass portrait of Jesus Christ that
usually came to life with the glow of sunlight. 
The storm cloud behind it made a normally
benevolent face angry and twisted with
blasphemous rage, darkening the cheeks and
pulling the eyebrows together.  It moved the
Savior's face with a hum of menace, a tidal wave
of drones with singular purpose.

The portrait frightened her, frowning upon her
as if laying the blame at her feet.

That was when she decided to run.

Her car was useless; already the streets were
clogged with vehicles attempting to escape.  A
tanker truck sat in the middle of a nearby deli,
accounting for one of the explosions she'd
heard.  Numerous other fires burned, obscuring
her vision.  She set out on foot, hoping to make
the six block run to her apartment without
succumbing to the bees.

Through the chaotic streets, dodging the insects
and the infected, she ran.  It was like a scene
from a bad horror movie - zombies staggering,
then falling when human fright finally gave in
to mindless existence.  She was fortunate enough
to stay ahead of most of the swarm and to swat
at the insects that got too close.  As she was
lucky to sidestep the black oil that oozed from
those that were crushed beneath the wheels of
out-of-control vehicles.

The vaccine, the one Mulder had administered to
her in Antarctica... it would work if she got
stung, wouldn't it?  It was her only hope as she
ran the obstacle course of wayward automobiles
and staggering bodies. 

Please let it work, she prayed.  I'm not ready
to die.

Just when the relative safety of her apartment
was in sight, a gloved hand stopped her
progress.

"Come with me."

She looked up into the sweat-tinged face of the
last person she expected to see.  Even Mulder's
face would have been less shocking to her.

Scully pulled her arm from the cold grip and
spat out, "I'm not going anywhere with you,
Krycek."  In a flash, she faced him over the
barrel of her gun.  "Leave me alone."

"You gonna shoot me, Scully?" he laughed, his
eyes glittering in his dark face.  "I don't
think so; I'm your ticket out of here."

"I don't need your help," she replied, backing
up the sidewalk.  She could hear the growing hum
of the bulk of the approaching swarm beneath the
layers of war-like sound; it hadn't yet made it
this far, but people were scrambling for their
cars and screaming with terror already, having
heard the Civil Defense sirens and the news
reports.

Suddenly, despite the chaos that surrounded them
like a hail storm, it sunk in totally that this
was Alex Krycek trying to save her.  Krycek...
who worked for....

"Where's Mulder?" Her yell was frantic as the
gun trembled in her hands.  "Where is he?"

Krycek laughed incredulously.  "Hell if I know,
Scully.  Who the fuck cares, anyway?  At the
white chalkiness of her face, he pressed on. 
"He's gone, Scully.  Not coming back."

"You - you work for *them.* Tell me where Mulder
is!"  The threat of tears made her hoarse.  "You
knew this was coming... now tell me!"

He turned at the approach of a vehicle, then
whirled back to her.  "I just found out a few
hours ago," he hissed.  "And I don't know where
Mulder is.  But if you want any chance of
getting out of here alive, Scully..."

The sight of the beat-up VW van that screeched
to a stop beside them was a blessing.  "Looks
like my ride is here, Krycek."  She sidestepped
him, giving him a small smile, her gun steady
upon him.

"Frohike?"  Please don't let me be hallucinating
the van, she prayed.

"Get in, Scully!"  The gnomish face poked out as
the back door slid open.

Scully didn't hesitate, scrambling into the
vehicle's back seat and crouching on the floor,
gun still in hand.

Krycek fumed on the sidewalk, his face dark. 
"The date is upon us, Scully... and I've got
something you need."

"You don't have anything I need, Krycek." 
Certainly not Mulder, she added silently. She
couldn't resist a final jab, reaching for the
door handle.  "So long - ow!"

Scully was stopped short by a piercing pain at
the back of her neck.  Reaching up with her left
hand, she felt an overwhelming sense of deja vu. 
Dear Lord, she thought.  Not again.

As if in slow motion, her fingers wrapped around
the insect and she brought it around before her
face.  Her mouth dropped, as well as the gun
from her right hand, thumping to the floor.

"Jesus!"

Frohike's panicked hiss sounded like it came
from far away.

"Scully... Scully!"

Collapsing against Frohike, she felt her throat
constrict, making further speech impossible.

No! she wanted to scream.  I've been vaccinated!

But apparently it wasn't working.  Her arms,
legs... her mouth.

All as useless as the vaccination.

She would be good as dead in a matter of
moments, as the virus would take hold and turn
her internal organs to mush.

Krycek muscled his way into the front seat of
the vehicle and reached for her gun, shoving
Byers past the bucket seats into the back.  She
watched all of this with mute panic, but could
do nothing.

He was a split second away from throwing her out
of the vehicle, she just knew it.  Not that it
mattered; her last thoughts were for the safety
of her friends.  If she could have spoken she'd
have insisted upon her abandonment herself.

But Krycek stilled, his eyes upon her face.  A
soulless grin dawned in his gaze.  "Well... I'll
be damned."

What? she wanted to shout.  Someone tell me
what's happening!

Her hand twitched, the nerves re-connecting and
firing with panic.  It was with some difficulty,
but she brought her right hand up to her face. 
Itching, her cheeks were itching like a swarm of
gnats had decided to picnic on her skin.

Brushing her lower eyelids, she scratched and
scratched, a hum of distress breaking free from
her open vocal cords.

"It's okay, Scully," Krycek said.  "Relax.  It's
inert, dead."

Dead?  She wasn't dead?  What was he talking
about?  Her hand pulled away from her face and
into focus.  The pads of her fingers were
crusted with ash... no... not ash.

The black oil.  Crumbling to dust, falling from
under her fingernails to the moldy shag carpet
of the van.  Krycek was right;  it was dead.

She wasn't going to die.  A sob clamored for
release and she took a deep breath, letting her
eyes close with relief.  They were safe.  From
her, at least.

"Get going," he growled at Langly, bringing the
gun up to the blond head of the driver.  "Now!" 
With a lurch, they sped away.

"What the hell is going on?" Byers' question was
frightened as he crawled from the front to the
back, helping Frohike cradle Scully's limp form. 
"You can't just commandeer this vehicle -"

"Same as before, stupid," Frohike interrupted,
bringing his boot down to crush the insect that
had fallen to the floor.  "Africanized honeybee. 
And I'd say our new friend here is currently
holding all the cards.  Am I right?"

Krycek glanced over his shoulder for an instant,
then back at the road ahead, the gun never
wavering from Langly's temple.

"Looks like I am, comrade," he murmured, then
addressed Langly.  "Now... head northwest, like
a good little Gunman."

"Scully?"  Frohike's worried face swam before
her eyes.  "What can we do?"

Nothing, she wanted to answer.  Nothing.  We're
safe.  That's all that matters.

Her pounding heart skipped a beat as she fainted
from exhaustion.



End Prologue

Julia
Chapter One



Alexandria, Louisiana
December 31, 2000
5:45 a.m.



The buses were running again.  Huge, lumbering
elephants that saved on diesel fuel by carrying
many passengers at one time.  Air transportation
of any sort was strictly forbidden to the
public; railways were now used to transport
'merchandise.'  Cars were one of the first
material possessions that were declared to be
unnecessary by the Appointing Authority.  The
population had to work for the good of all now,
and luxuries like automobiles didn't fit the
plan.  Any needs would be taken care of by the
government.

For a while, one needed good legs to get around,
either that or a good bicycle or scooter.  But
once the Processing Facilities were up and
running, a more efficient means of delivering
workers to the sites was needed.  The Trailways
Bus made a dramatic comeback.

Julia walked into the bus station, her senses on
the alert for anything out of the ordinary.  She
wasn't here for the usual reasons; she wasn't a
facility worker, so she tread with extra care.

There were only a handful of travelers waiting
in the musty lobby.  A couple of Facility
workers, their badges sporting the big purple
'H,' were obviously on their way to Houston.  In
the middle of the room, surrounded by luggage,
was a slim, almost clownish woman.  One more
coat of lipstick and her mouth would look like a
baboon's ass, Julia thought.  Counting herself
and the soldier in the corner, that made five. 
Not very efficient this morning; too few people
to make the trip worthwhile.  But she knew that
it was the only one going to Houston this week,
and she hoped they would think twice about
cancelling it.  Getting to Houston was
imperative.

She couldn't be sure, of course, but she
estimated the world's population to be roughly
one-half of what it once was.  Not bad for seven
months of round-the-clock herding.  The bees
weren't as efficient as the Invaders had hoped;
one of the drawbacks to their genetic alteration
was a vastly accelerated metabolism.  Within two
hours of the release of the swarms, the
thumbnail-sized carriers of death had burned
themselves out.

Pockets of resistance fighters had sprung up
almost immediately, burrowing into city
basements and mountain caves.  Roughly half the
population had been infected, and though
resistance had seemed futile, they had to try. 
Julia had joined in the underground hope,
surrender abhorrent to her nature.

Within two weeks, word filtered down that the
Invasion, called a failure by those in
burgeoning power, wasn't exactly the victory
over the colonists they claimed.  The black oil,
an unstoppable force that should have done its
job in a few days, had mutated while being
carried by the bees.  Instead of the
extraterrestrial biological entity that was
expected by the Invaders, something far more
hideous was born from those infected.

A mangled cross between alien, human, and Apis
mellifera scutellata, the fledgling creatures
could survive for no longer than several
minutes.  Distorted video of the newborns was
smuggled into the bunker where Julia had lived;
it turned her stomach to see the horrible
combinations of wings and limbs, mandibles and
mouths, and single and compound eyes.

In all her life, she never thought she'd see the
day where she would admit that aliens existed. 
The shadow government she knew to be capable of
just about anything had always seemed to be the
culprit behind the alien hoaxes.

But once she saw the features of the newborns,
she knew it to be true.  Aliens did exist and
they were bent on colonizing.  Just not as
quickly as they'd thought.

On the other hand, there were some that were
stung by the bees and never showed symptoms at
all.  Julia herself was one of those, though she
knew it wasn't just because of blind luck.  And
she'd spoken to others like her, though it
wasn't something you broadcast around.  But the
others, unlike her, had never been vaccinated
against the original virus.  Why had the
vaccination worked against the mutated virus? 
Or had it even worked at all?

This was one of the reasons she was in the bus
depot.  The journey toward the answer to that
puzzling question began here.

It was after those first two horrible weeks that
the messages started.  First, a chilling five
minute speech by the new man in power, the
'Appointing Authority,' he called himself. 
Explaining that the old government was no more;
decimated by infection, it could no longer serve
in the new role demanded by Invasion.  In his
role as special advisor to FEMA and the U. N.,
he was happy to serve as temporary leader.  He
smiled when he said that the populace should be
grateful he was on good terms with the Invaders.

Of course FEMA, with its broad, sweeping powers,
was the perfect agency to put the country - if
not the world - back on its feet.  He
immediately declared a state of martial law and
promised the people a return to normalcy as soon
as possible.

They could co-exist in peace and harmony, he
said.  But resistance had to cease immediately. 
Those still able to work would be classified
according to ability, and put into areas that
were most in need.  Society would be re-
established and brought into a new age of
prosperity.  The Invaders were willing to halt
the release of the infectious bees and help move
the planet into a technological era once thought
to be unattainable.  All the humans had to do
was cooperate.  Beginning by letting themselves
be tested on in hopes of erasing any lingering
threat from the mutated virus.  During this
testing, all disease would be eradicated.  A
cure for cancer?  Of course - the Invaders had
everything.  Food, housing, jobs?  Absolutely. 
There was more than enough to go around.

It was so familiar to Julia, the rhetoric she'd
only seen in ancient newsreels featuring Nazi
idealism.  Let's help out those unable to
contribute to our new society, he purred.  Those
who proved themselves valuable would go far in
the new world; they would be left when all was
said and done to make the Earth into a planet of
wealth and happiness.  The others... the weak
and the sick... they would be taken care of,
placed in hospitals and nursed back to health.

The population, frightened and scattered, were
easy targets for a propaganda machine under the
control of the new Master.  Eager to believe
they could still have their modest homes with a
two-car garage, they bought into the message
with hope. 

But the new Master neglected to tell them that
with classification and testing came a chance of
'repatriation.'  By the time the people had
bought into this new society, it was too late. 
The Appointing Authority had insisted in his
messages that 'repatriation' was not re-
infection.  Those who disappeared onto
transports were just being moved to places where
there was a greater need for workers.  Africa,
Asia, the underdeveloped parts of the world
where their help was most needed.

But no one believed it.  Families and friends
were torn apart, those leaving never to be seen
or heard from again.  Those left behind toiled
for the new government because they were afraid
of re-infection.  If you were weak or useless,
you were repatriated.  Simple.

It was impossible not to go; the 'National
Guard,' the conglomerate of what was left of the
military, served as herders of humans, forcing
them to the testing facilities.  They also kept
a lid on the uprisings that happened with
decreasing frequency.

A new holocaust was born; the human commodity
was still valuable.  The harvest was reaped,
just not as quickly as the Invaders had wanted. 
With cynicism and stubbornness, Julia and the
others hidden away knew that it was only a
matter of time before the Invaders perfected
their original plan.  Logically, she knew that
infection was still taking place, though not by
the bees.  Why waste the effort?  Just bring the
humans to the source.  To the ships.

Little by little, humans were becoming extinct.

It was one way to pass the time; walk into any
public place and whip out the mental calculator.
On a post-Invasion Sunday morning like today,
there were maybe fifty or so unfortunate souls
standing in line at the commodity dispensary,
where before, there were restaurants in her old
neighborhood that teemed with Sunday brunchers. 
Cheese, bread and dented cans of peaches; gone
were the days of lazy weekend mornings at the
nearest gourmet deli.  If you were lucky these
days, you might get a piece of beef jerky.  They
knew what they were doing.  To serve the new
society, human muscles required protein now and
then.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd had
beef jerky.  Her arms felt leaden with the
weight of her knapsack.  It wasn't as if she was
carrying gold bouillon.  Just a change of
clothes and a toothbrush.  Every few weeks she
moved on, leaving behind the accumulation of
experience that resulted from interaction with
new faces, new places.  This time, it was a copy
of 'Romeo and Juliet' the nurse at the clinic on
Jackson Street had slipped to her.

Sadly, it was one of the hardest things she'd
ever had to leave behind.  Her eyes had devoured
the words every evening, even after seven
o'clock curfew, when the electricity would
abruptly die.  Thank goodness Mrs. Venucci had
given her a candle her first day at the boarding
house.

"For when you get scared, dear," she'd
whispered.

Julia never got scared anymore.  She'd long
since suppressed that superfluous emotion.  Fear
had no place in this world.  To survive, one had
to become hard.  It had been the first thing to
go, followed by affection and sympathy.  She
accepted the generosity of others with a polite
nod, but never said, "Thank you."  From the
moment her world had collapsed seven months ago,
she'd done nothing but plan.  There was one
final step to be taken.  It began with a trip to
Houston, Texas.  One of the closer regional hubs
where she was sure to be spotted.  New Orleans
was out of the question; the National Guard was
not concerned with controlling the Mississippi
River these days.  Half of the city was
constantly underwater since the Corps of
Engineers went the way of the dinosaur.

The bus station in this half-dead city was dirty
and dilapidated.  It looked like it had survived
two world wars, three if you counted this one. 
The facility workers milled about, avoiding eye
contact with each other and especially with the
National Guardsman that kept bored watch from
the far corner.  He wasn't interested in their
travel plans.  It was obvious that he was a kid
just struggling to keep awake.  Every now and
then, an electrical shock from the black
wristband would jolt him and he'd stand a little
straighter.  It would have been amusing, really,
if she felt like laughing.

"One ticket to Houston," she said, approaching
the pock-marked, greasy man behind the cage. 
She was careful not to get too close, keeping
her head lowered.

"Your pass," he replied in a stained voice, a
cigarette hanging loosely from his lips.

She wasted no time in fishing it out of the
pocket of her pea coat.  Julia Longfellow, it
read.  Serial number 904576, test subject
Priority One.  He arched an eyebrow at the large
number '1' emblazoned in black ink.

"We don't get many like you," he stated,
stamping a red 'ALX' under the line of cities
that included Portland, Santa Fe, and Dubuque. 
All legitimate testing facilities, small enough
to avoid undue attention.

Julia didn't answer.  This man was, in all
probability, one of the network of spies and
informants that dotted the landscape these days. 
A fine sheen of sweat broke out under her black
turtleneck.  Every time she had to produce the
forged pass, she wanted to say the 'Hail Mary,'
even though it would do no good.  Prayer was
obsolete, not to mention forbidden.

The Underground had done an excellent job,
however, and not just with the pass.  Her eyes
had been narrowed in Santa Fe, her chin widened
in Portland.  Alexandria was home to the
rhinoplasty expert, operating under the guise of
internist.  She fingered the chunky bandage
covering her nose.  God, she would miss her
nose.

The ticket slid under the two inch gap between
the wire and the counter.  "Implantation or
removal?" he asked, nodding toward her face,
noting the two bruised blue eyes.

"Implantation," she replied shortly.  She
watched him pale, hoping she'd scared the shit
out of him.  That's what you get for being nosy,
buddy.  She didn't want to give out any more
information than was necessary, but she so loved
frightening potential spies.  It was the only
fun she seemed to have these days - implying
that it could happen to you.  What did that old
bumper sticker say?  Oh yeah, 'shit happens.' 
Well, so did implantation, many times without
benefit of anesthetic.

Julia had also learned that the human
experimentation was not just for the benefit of
the Invaders.  The Appointing Authority was
planning ahead.  After all, there would be a few
left when all was said and done.  Someone had to
repopulate the world; may as well be a
genetically engineered race that was disease
resistant and highly intelligent, with a life-
span in the hundreds.  It wouldn't be the
thousands that were undergoing the tests,
though.  No, their sacrifice would enable the
doctors to give the leaders immortality.

It was in this guise that she moved freely
across the country.  You were lucky - or
unlucky, depending on your point of view - if
you were selected for that type of testing. 
Your value exceeded all others; you were
guaranteed a place in the new world.

If you survived the testing.  Survived the
implants and transfusions and gene therapy. 
Thank goodness for the pass.  It afforded her
some freedom of movement, some modicum of
respect.

Gathering her knapsack, she backed away, then
turned to await the arrival of the bus.  The
ancient clock on the wall read 5:57 a. m.;
another ten minutes and it would be here.

"Wait," she heard from behind her.

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard.  What if
this time, greasy man had caught on where all
the others hadn't?  Maybe she would say that
prayer now.

"Yes?" she breathed, turning to meet his black
gaze.  Don't flinch, she told herself.  Act
normal.

He leaned in closer, his face almost pressed
against the wire, and she was assaulted by the
oppressive stench that wafted from him.  "Wanna
cigarette, baby?"  The question was accompanied
by a blackened smile.

Gall rose in the back of her throat.  His thinly
veiled offer was not surprising; bartering for
things such as cigarettes, liquor or drugs these
days usually meant the provider of such goods
expected sex in return.  She thanked her lucky
stars she wasn't one of the unfortunates that
wallowed in addiction.  It was hard enough just
to face each day without having to face it under
the grunting stench of someone like the man
before her.

"No," she said, trying not to let her disdain
for him leak out in her voice.  Seemed her
status as a Priority One test subject meant
nothing to this weasel.  She schooled her
features into a cool mask.  "I don't smoke."

Thankfully, his pursuit of Julia was cut off by
the sudden flickering of the television in the
far corner.  The four tones, repeated three
times, signaled that a message from the
Appointing Authority was about to be
transmitted.  Julia was positive it wasn't a
belated Merry Christmas.

Warning bells went off in her head; she knew she
shouldn't be watching, but she found it
impossible to look away.

The vivid test pattern gave way to a man seated
at a desk, very much reminiscent of the
President's addresses to the nation in years
past.  It wasn't the White House; she'd heard it
now lay in ruins.  But she was positive the
broadcast originated from Washington, D. C.

Snakes never strayed far from the den.



Continued in 1a

Julia
Chapter One (cont.)

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers



Alexandria, Louisiana
December 31, 2000
6:03 a.m.


"Good morning," he drawled through the exhale of
smoke.  "May I be the first to wish each and
every one of you a Happy New Year."

"That's tomorrow, asshole," she muttered.  Happy
fucking New Year to you, too.

Impressive.  The word popped into her head.  She
never thought he looked all that impressive
before, hiding in the shadows of board rooms and
offices.  Menacing, yes, with the constant swirl
of cigarette smoke blurring his motives.  Now,
he sat before the world as a king.  This man was
no puppet, far from it.

"It has been a very prosperous year, I'm pleased
to announce.  Disease has been eradicated,
poverty is nonexistent."

Rather difficult to be sick or poor these days. 
It was a death warrant.

"However, there are many who still refuse to
cooperate.  It is your duty, as patriots, to
help us filter out the bad elements.  The
colonists are here to help us, not harm us. 
Look around you - food is plentiful, there is
adequate housing for all."

Sure, food and housing were at a surplus.  Moldy
bread and unheated apartments.  For those who
survived, that is.  Drones, they were, working
to efficiently rid the world of the human pests.

"All we are asking for is acceptance.  Times
change - there is a natural evolution of any
species that cannot be denied.  Let us start the
new year with unity and peace."

He rose, stamping out the cigarette in the gold-
rimmed ashtray on his right.

"My Minister of Justice will explain more fully
the proper procedure we all need to follow to
ensure our future survival. Thank you and Happy
New Year."

Julia felt her knees give way and she collapsed
onto the hard plastic bench in the center of the
lobby, her eyes fixed upon the fuzzy screen. 
Though she'd absorbed every minute of his screen
time these past months with the detachment of an
investigator, it suddenly struck her that the
moment was at hand.

For a few seconds, the leather chair at the head
of the conference table was empty.  Then a tall,
dour man slowly sat in it, his charcoal Armani
severe but impeccable.  He opened the manila
folder in front of him and cleared his throat
before speaking.

"As declared by the Appointing Authority, it is
your duty as patriots to help us weed out the
unpatriotic," he began, his voice firm but
husky, sending shivers up Julia's spine.

He looked directly into the camera; it appeared
as if his grey-green eyes were piercing her very
soul.

"If you are among those that have been resisting
the promise of the future, I want to ask you
again, to turn yourself in to the closest
Processing Facility.  I know you're probably
cold, tired and hungry.  Let us take care of
you.  We will see to it that you are reunited
with your loved ones."

He *was* speaking to her, she could feel it in
her bones.  The words of an almost forgotten
prayer began to resonate in her mind.

Hail Mary, full of grace....  I need strength. 
Don't let me fail now.

"Please don't make this any more difficult than
it has to be.  We just want to help you.  If
you, or anyone you know, needs processing, there
are several sites around the country that are
large enough to accommodate thousands without
waiting."

Sure, conveyor belts straight to the mother
ship.

"Los Angeles, Denver, St. Louis, Houston, New
York, and of course, Washington, D. C.  If you
can't make it on your own, just stop the next
Guardsman that you see.  He will be happy to
start you on your way."

Julia took deep breaths to calm herself and eyed
the kid in the corner.  She wasn't close enough
yet.  Plenty of opportunity to trip over a
Guardsman in Houston.

"Good-looking fellow, isn't he?"

Amen.

Julia turned her attention from the screen to
the woman that had sidled over from across the
room.  She pulled the faded black cap low over
her hair and mumbled, "Yes, he is."

"Cigarette?"

A slim silver case appeared to her left and
Julia shook her head, saying nothing.

"Don't worry, I'm not asking for anything in
return," the woman purred.  She took out a
cigarette and lit up, exhaling with a sigh.

"No, thank you."  Julia was polite for the first
time in a long time, uneasy about her visitor.

"Suit yourself," came the shrugging reply.

Julia was silent, feigning interest in the
television.

"Pity about the scar," her visitor continued,
drowning out the minister's list of procedure
and protocol.  It was the same every time, these
public service announcements, weekly now instead
of daily, urging them all to betray one another. 
"He would be devastatingly attractive if not for
that."

If not for that?  He still had the power to turn
her bones to jelly with one look.

Julia knew she shouldn't ignore the well-dressed
woman.  It was plain that she was a patriot,
from the well-coiffed black hair to the tips of
her high heels.  Even if she had fallen into
disfavor;  her mode of travel waved that around
like a red flag.  Favored insiders didn't take
the bus.

But the unexpected rush of emotion had left her
rattled.  And in no mood for idle chit-chat.

"I saw him once, up close, several months ago." 
She rambled on as Julia tried hard not to tune
her out.  It was easy to do, especially with her
distaste of the woman's obvious bragging.  "...
parties, gourmet food, expensive champagne.  I
was still new, still working my way up, you see. 
Before they started muting the concubines."

Julia's ears perked up at the last word.  "You
were a concubine?"

"Heavens, no," the woman laughed.  "I can still
speak, can't I?"  She pulled a mirror from her
alligator handbag and did a protracted
inspection of her lipstick before continuing. 
"Actually, I'm in procurement, dear.  On my way
to Houston on a talent search, so to speak." 
She smiled into the mirror, satisfied at her
appearance.

Julia didn't want to sound too interested, but
this was a golden opportunity.  Everything
hinged on her getting noticed as soon as
possible.  With a total lack of modesty, she
knew she would be attractive enough - and close
enough to the original - to catch the eye of
someone in power.  Maybe she wouldn't have to
sleep her way to the top, if she played her
cards right.

"I'm on my way to Houston, too," she said,
extending her hand.  "Julia Longfellow."

The mirror disappeared back into the bag, then
one slim, red-tipped hand slid into hers. 
"Eliza Marcotte.  Pleased to meet you."  Her
eyes narrowed on Julia's face in more than
casual scrutiny.  "Implantation or removal?"

"Implantation."  If things were to progress like
she wanted, it was best to stick close to the
truth.  Actually, her nose job did include an
implant, just not the sort that was expected
these days.  And this woman was clearly not
horrified by the implied horrors of the tests;
she'd very likely been exposed to all sorts of
atrocities.  She probably became inured to it
months ago.  Seemed like nothing could displace
that glued-on mask of foundation and rouge.

Eliza became bold, removing the cap from Julia's
head and fingering the mass of fiery hair that
fell to just below her shoulders.  "Ever been a
concubine, Julia?"

"No."  She mentally crossed her fingers,
thanking her lucky stars that she'd run into
this particular woman at the beginning of the
end.

Though she'd never come close to giving sex for
food and shelter, like many women did these
days, she still felt a tinge of trepidation at
the realization that the way of life she was
aiming for would send her down that very path. 
It didn't matter if you whored yourself to bums
or kings.  Didn't matter if your ultimate goal
was a noble, self-sacrificing one.

A whore was still a whore.  But, with all too
human frailty, Julia always hoped that very few
men would stand between her and the one she
willingly threw away her life for.  Would she
have trouble fucking him?  No.  Fucking the
other rungs on the ladder to the top was what
worried her.

Maybe God had one more miracle for her before he
faded completely from her existence.  Please let
this work, she thought.  Please let me remain
detached.

"Ever wanted to be?"

"I don't know... I've never given it any
thought."  She looked away from Eliza and slowly
glanced at the man on the television screen,
putting what she hoped was just the right amount
of longing into her gaze.  It wasn't very hard
to do.

The prayer hadn't worked.  Or maybe it had.  He
was still everything to her.

"He likes redheads, you know," Eliza stated, the
government gossip falling from her lips in a
conspiratorial whisper.  "It was a redhead that
gave him that scar."

Julia focused on the thin white line that
stretched from the corner of his mouth to
disappear into the collar of his crisp, white
shirt.  It moved like a snake with every word he
spoke, appropriately punctuating every venomous
sentence.

Eliza continued with her secret, arrogance
exuding from her every pore.  She was an
insider, and the pride in that fact made her
oblivious to the fact that she really shouldn't
have been running her mouth this way.  "Rumor
has it, it's the reason all concubines are now
muted.  This particular redhead tried to kill
him.  Called him 'Judas' at a most inappropriate
moment, then tried to slash his throat.  Of
course, the Appointing Authority clamped down on
the selection process after that.  He also made
muting mandatory."

Could she live without her voice?  It was a
question she had pondered for weeks now, as the
deadline approached.  Despite the sweeping
eradication of the media, information still
trickled down to the masses.  People loved to
tell stories; until now, she hadn't believed in
the outlandish rumor of their ability to take
away someone's voice, though she knew it could
be done.  But not without complications.

A cold dread settled over her at the prospect of
never speaking again.  She dismissed it
instantly; it was no use being so selfish, she
had a job to do.  It was too late to back out
now.  Things were looking up.  She had no need
to speak.  Certainly not to say prayers anymore.

"Does it hurt?" Julia asked, pretending fear and
ignorance.

"No, it doesn't, from what I understand.  Some
procedure brought over with the colonists.  It's
not like they cut your tongue out.  Tongues have
many interesting uses."  She arched an eyebrow
at Julia's flush.  "It is, however,
irreversible, I think.  I really don't know. 
Concubines don't stick around that long, you
know what I mean?"  Eliza gasped at her
inadvertent implication and put a damp hand over
Julia's.  "I didn't mean for that to come out
that way, my dear.  It's just that the
administrators tend to get bored very easily,
you know.  You could find yourself attending a
different man every few weeks or so.  They don't
repatriate you.  All I ever see are the new ones
- doesn't mean the old ones aren't placced
elsewhere."

'Repatriation' was just a nice way of saying
extermination.

Julia stood when she noticed the bus pulling
into the cavernous breeze way.  "Well, looks
like it's time to go...."  She gave the
television screen a last wistful glance.

The woman stood, smiling at her newfound friend. 
Dropping her cigarette onto the littered floor,
she grabbed her carry-on and gestured to the
Guardsman in the corner to load her other bags. 
He took one look at her elegant figure and
complied immediately.

"Julia, I know we've just met, but I'm a good
judge of people.  I think you have great
potential.  Like I said, I'm always on the
lookout for new talent."  She glanced at the
screen one last time before linking her arm with
Julia's.  "They say he's looking for one special
woman.  I have to send pictures of all the raw
recruits to the Headquarters once a week.  The
Appointing Authority himself reportedly looks at
each and every one."

Julia already knew this; everything hinged on
that one simple fact.  From the beginning, she
knew they'd been looking for one woman. One
insignificant woman among millions.  Why? 
Because the Appointing Authority, despite his
cold calculations of life and death, wanted to
keep his son happy.  The first time she'd heard
that piece of news, she'd laughed.  Seemed the
man in charge had a sliver of heart left.

And it seemed Julia did, too.  Though these many
months steadfast in purpose, she secretly swayed
from the plan, vacillating as to the real reason
why she'd gone to such extremes.  They were
monsters; *he* was a monster, from all
appearances.  But late at night, huddled on some
thin mattress in a dank bunker, she would let
the hope creep in.

He couldn't be doing what she'd seen, what she'd
heard.

Eliza paused and fished through her purse once
again.  "Now - where is it?"

Julia waited patiently, Fox Mulder's monotone
making her ears itch and her eyes water.  She
would not look at the screen again, she
wouldn't.  If she did, she would be lost.  Shove
the hope back down.  Bury it beneath the layers
of unseen scar tissue.

"Take a look at this, my dear," Eliza said,
shoving a faded photograph under Julia's nose. 
"You could be her, with a little touch-up here
and there."

God, had she really looked that innocent back
then?  Right out of the Academy, young and
determined to make a name for herself.  She had
succeeded, she thought wryly.  Julia.  A rose by
any other name would smell as sweet... and still
draw blood with the same thorns.

Julia stifled the urge to cry at the warped
reflection of herself.  "My face is too square,"
she whispered huskily, turning away.

"The right hairdo could take care of that." 
Eliza was embracing the idea with increasing
excitement.  "Sit with me on the bus, Julia. 
Let me tell you of the possibilities.  We can go
far together, I promise you."

Lost, she was lost the instant her eyes betrayed
her.  He was still beautiful, still beloved. 
And she still hoped.  It sprang up from her
belly in a trickle of warmth.

Eliza pounced, her gaze following Julia's to the
television.  "He can be yours, you know.  All
yours."  Her voice dropped into a whisper. 
"He'd give you the world."

Julia felt her face soften; he'd given her the
world already, many times.  Given her life,
given her hope and friendship beyond any other
before or after him.

"He would kill for you, Julia.  He would die for
you."

Kill for you.  Die for you.  The words snapped
her back into reality.  Sentimental musings were
discarded quickly, cut out like a malignant
tumor.  He would kill all right; that had been
proven.

And as for dying for her?  If that's what it
took....

"Tell me more, Eliza," Julia said, leading her
out the doors.



End Chapter One

Julia
Chapter Two

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


Undisclosed location
West Virginia Mountains
June 2, 2000
12:06  a.m.


"Scully."

She heard her name as if from miles away, the
familiar syllables beckoning her.  But she
didn't want to answer; something horrible had
happened and all she wanted to do was bury her
whole body under the softness of her sheets. 
Make it all go away.

"Scully, can you hear me?"

Yes, I can, but I know I can't respond, she
thought.  I know my eyes are open and you look
sickly because of the green muck that lies
between us.  Mulder?  Why am I so cold?

It was Antarctica all over again.  She'd been
infected, stung by a bee in almost the same
exact spot as before.  Poetic justice, indeed. 
To live through all she lived through only to be
brought down by an insect no larger than a
paperclip.  She'd escaped last time, but no such
luck this time.

"Scully, I know you can hear me.  Your eyes are
open.  Come back.  It's okay, come back."

It was an effort, but she forced her eyes to
close, then re-open.  They felt sticky and they
burned, but after a few seconds of blinking, it
was easy to focus.

Frohike's face hovered above hers.  "Scully? 
Talk to me, Scully."

Her mouth worked, flexing as she tried to
swallow.  "I'm not dead?" she finally whispered.

He smiled, and seeing her struggle to sit up,
pulled gently on her hands.  "Nope, you're still
with us."

Swaying just a bit, she closed her eyes, then
felt him sit beside her on the hard mattress,
his arm going around her waist.  She took a deep
breath and opened her eyes again to see Byers
and Langly standing before her, concern etched
on their faces.

"But... the bee...." she began.

"Stung you, yes," Frohike finished for her. 
"But the vaccine Mulder gave you in Antarctica
must have done its job.  You're okay - don't you
remember?"

She brought her hands to her face... yes, it was
all coming back.  The virus exiting in its death
throes from her eyes, ears and nose.  Watching
it dissolve into nothing between her thumb and
forefinger.

But the virus wasn't the one she'd been infected
with before.  This was different... unless the
vaccine worked for the black oil, too?

"How did you know?" she croaked, hoping they
understood her few words.  She hadn't the energy
yet to elaborate.

"Police scanner.  The moment we heard mention of
swarms of bees, we set out."

"But how did you... so fast?"  They lived not
far from Mulder's place in Alexandria; in the
best traffic it would have taken them at least
an hour.  She drew her brows together and passed
a hand over the sore spot on her neck.  It was
hard and warm, but generally, she felt okay.

Byers cleared his throat and scraped a buffed
shoe along the concrete floor.  "We've... uh,
we've kind of been staying close by.  Since
Mulder disappeared.  We rented an apartment
across the street."

Her face flamed with indignation.  "Have you
been spying on me?  Listening to me?"  The
restless nights spent sobbing quietly into her
pillow lately returned to her mind with gale
force.  They wouldn't have... they *better* not
have....

"No!" His face became just as red as hers felt. 
"We sort of promised Mulder long ago that if
anything happened to him...."

"You'd keep an eye on me," she finished.

"We've had the apartment for four years," Langly
said matter-of-factly.  "Mulder pays for it."

Four years.  Since her cancer.  Since Mulder had
to fake his own death to get some answers.

"But this is the first time we've ever had to
use it," he finished quietly.

"And we're not spying on you.  We wouldn't do
that," Frohike said, rising up from the bunk
with a hurt expression.  "But we'd do anything
for Mulder... and for you."

She hung her head, embarrassed by her
accusation, but still irritated at the way they
- Mulder included - seemed to feel.  Shhe wasn't
some simpering fool of a girl; she could take
care of herself.  But her anger would serve no
purpose now; best to move on.

"Thanks guys." Though their overprotectiveness
was unwarranted - after all, she was a trained
agent - she realized that if they hadn't been
there today, she quite possibly would have ended
up in the hands of....

"Krycek!" She tried to stand and at once felt
like the floor bottomed out under her.

All three rushed to her aid, sitting her down
once again.  "Whoa, Scully.  Take it easy,"
Frohike said.

"But - Krycek.  Where is he?"  Surely she hadn't
hallucinated that bastard's role in the day's
events?

"Right here, Scully.  At your service."

So she hadn't dreamt it all.  He walked into the
dim room, a self-assured smirk accompanying his
drawl.

"At my service?  Good.  Then get the hell out of
here."

Laughing, he shoved his way past the trio and
leaned down to whisper, "Sorry, no can do.  In
case you haven't noticed, we're in the middle of
an alien invasion."  He straightened and
strolled to the small table to the left.  With a
grunt, he let himself drop into the lone folding
chair beside it.  "You're not getting rid of me,
Scully, so you may as well get used to it."

Sighing, she glanced at the Gunmen.  They stood
there like statues frozen in fear.  He'd done a
hell of a job scaring the wits out of her
friends.  But he didn't scare her.  Nothing
could scare her after what she'd witnessed this
morning.  Or was it still morning?

Her watch said it was morning all right.  The
*next* morning.

"Okay, so what are we doing here?  And where is
here, by the way?"  She directed her question at
Krycek, leveling him with a stare that bordered
on boredom.  She wasn't letting him get the best
of her.

"A bunker in the West Virginia mountains.  Built
into this rock especially for this purpose by my
former employers."

The Consortium.  Of which Krycek was still a
card-carrying member.  She was sure of it,
despite his statement to the contrary.

"And you decided to be generous and save us? 
Because...."  She waved her hand, urging him on,
then dropped it when another dizzy spell caught
hold.  Closing her eyes, she waited for him to
answer her.

"Still feeling like shit, huh?"

She heard the grin in his words.  "Just answer
the fucking question."  Eyes of steely hatred
pinned him once again.  At least she hoped so;
it was taking all her effort just to sit
upright.

"Oooh, such language."  At the purse of her
lips, he conceded.  "Okay, okay."  He moved from
the shadows over the table to stand before them
again.  "Because I need you."

"You *need* us?  For what?  Why not just go
groveling back to your boss?"

"Because he's dead."

Four pair of eyes locked on Krycek with
disbelief.  Scully was the only one, however, to
say it.  "You're lying."

Krycek stepped closer until he towered over her. 
"I killed the son-of-a-bitch, Scully.  Shoved
him down a flight of stairs.  Believe me, he's
dead."

They'd heard all this before, but Scully was too
tired to argue.  Besides, Cancerman's death
wasn't the issue; Krycek's uncharacteristic
rescue was.

"So, he's dead.  Still doesn't explain what you
need us for."

"Because there's a way to fight back."

*That* surprised her more than the news of
Spender's supposed death.  "Fight back?  Against
the Invasion?"  She snorted and gave him a
sarcastic grin.  "Sure.  If you have a ready
supply of vaccine handy.  Which I don't believe
you have, Krycek."

The vaccine had been experimental anyway;  
Mulder had told her so.  The man who had given
him the vial said it had to be administered
within 96 hours.  Even if they could manage to
get their hands on the formula, she knew they
didn't have the time or resources to mount an
effective strike back.

"No, I don't.  But I have something almost as
good, if not better."

What's that? her eyebrow asked.

"Information, among other things.  From the old
man's New York offices.  Data I downloaded while
on a scavenger hunt of sorts... a few days ago."

"The formula for the vaccine?"

"Can't tell.  The data is encrypted.  That's
what I need these geeks for," he nodded at the
Gunmen.  "Though it didn't occur to me until I
saw them on the street yesterday."

"And me?  What do you need me for?"

He backed away and moved to the door, then
turned as he opened it.

"You, Agent Scully, happen to be one of the only
remaining humans to have been vaccinated against
the original virus.  Who knows?  Maybe the
answer lies within *you.* You're still here,
aren't you?"

Silence reigned for a few seconds while they
contemplated his words.  Scully's mind whirled
with the possibilities.  Could Krycek have
gotten his hands on the formula?  Or could she
herself be the key?

Sighing, Krycek murmured, "Think about it," and
left the room, closing the door behind him.

So many questions remained unanswered; so much
still left undone.  So many dead.  She felt as
if the weight of the world rested upon her
shoulders.  Shoulders that already carried a
head that felt like a jackhammer was pounding
behind her right ear.

Yes, she was still here.  But Mulder was still
gone.  And she'd never felt more like crying in
her life.

Crying, though, was out of the question.  Weak
she may have been in body and spirit, but she
refused to give in to tears.  Especially in
front of the Gunmen, who looked at her with
haunted eyes.  Eyes that looked to her for
guidance, for answers.

"Scully?  What do we do now?"  Byers' soft
question broke into her melancholy.

Scully took a deep breath and swallowed the
tears away, looking into the faces of quite
possibly the only people left in the world that
she could call friends.  Though she felt like
going back to sleep and staying unconscious for
a hundred years, she willed herself to remain
alert... for them.  Maybe the ear infection was
dragging her down again - when was the last time
she'd taken her antibiotic?

"Go after him.  Find out what's on that disc. 
We cooperate... for now.  But whatever you do -
don't trust him."  Pulling the pill bottle from
her jacket pocket, she opened it and eyed the
few remaining capsules absently.  Should she
bother taking them? With a shrug, she popped one
in her mouth and reached for the water bottle
Langly produced.  Her vertigo was still a
problem; she wouldn't be of much use to Krycek
if she couldn't even stand up.  And she wasn't
giving him an excuse to throw her out, despite
his thinking that she was useful as a potential
guinea pig.

Lying back down on the musty mattress, she let
her eyes close.  "I'll be along in a little bit. 
Just let me get my bearings.  And see if you can
dig up some more antibiotics in this rathole. 
Sulfa drugs, if he has it.  This tetracycline
isn't working worth a shit."

It was only after she heard the soft 'snick' of
the closing door that she thought about letting
a few tears escape.

But she didn't.  She would save the crying for
when she had time to deal with it.



**********
 

Houston, Texas
January 28, 2001
11:10 a.m.


"Could I speak to one of his assistants, then?" 
Eliza was frustrated.

Things were not going smoothly.  Julia knew that
you just didn't call Headquarters and ask to
speak to the Appointing Authority, of course. 
Stupid was not her middle name.  Neither did
Eliza carry that moniker.

However, her mentor knew a good thing when it
fell in her lap.  Julia was her ticket back into
the inner circle; she could see it in the greedy
brown gaze every time the woman looked at her. 
As if the good graces of the administration were
already laying upon her shoulders like a mink
stole.

"Won't be long now," she whispered to Julia, her
hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone. 
"This could be the feather in my cap."  At her
lapse into selfishness, she amended quickly,
"Yours too, Julia."

Julia sat in the office of the Director of the
Houston Processing Facility.  He'd graciously
offered them its use when she and Eliza breezed
in here on a cloud of perfume and hair spray. 
Eliza had adamantly refused to let Julia be seen
by anyone since a week after their arrival in
Texas, when her bandages were removed and her
full potential became obvious.  For three weeks,
Julia was pampered, tutored and decorated in
home team colors.  Her hands were no longer
blistered.  They sat prettily in her lap, one
over the other, her silk-clad legs neatly
crossed at the ankles, as befitted a lady.

Her size five feet were encased in the softest
leather, the color of midnight blue velvet.  As
Eliza had instructed, they matched the fur-lined
cape perfectly, as well as the kid gloves hidden
in the lining pockets.  A slip dress of
contrasting pearl lace was carefully hidden in
the folds of the cape.  Eliza was very proud of
her creation; the photographs really did not do
her justice.  But they would suffice for the
initial contact.

Julia brushed away a strand of red-gold hair
impatiently.  It hung from a slightly off-center
part, falling in straight lines on either side
of her face to barely skim her shoulders.  It
framed her face, softening the bluntness of her
chin and widening the narrow sea of her eyes. 
Eliza had told her the hairdo would take care of
her square face, and it had done the trick.  She
didn't really care for the look; it brought back
too many memories of happier times that she'd
just as soon forget.  But Eliza had insisted,
and Eliza always got her way.

"Yes?"  Eliza's voice cut through Julia's inward
fidgeting.  "I know this is unusual, yes, but I
have something I think he'll be interested in."

Julia held her breath while Eliza negotiated. 
This had better work.  It wasn't her last
chance, but it was the most palatable.

While cradling the telephone to her ear, Eliza
leaned over to insert the first of two
photographs into the fax machine, the one with
full-figure view.  "The first is on its way." 
She looked over at Julia with a broad 'thumbs
up.'

Julia nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. 
What would she do if this didn't fly?  She
wasn't sure she could be with just any man,
although if it meant eating, she supposed she
could.  Lots of women these days, concubines or
no, were surviving that way.

"Oh, so now you want to see the second one,
huh?"  Eliza's smug voice irritated Julia, but
she said nothing, hoping the woman's arrogance
wouldn't upset their plans.  It was admirable to
be self-assured; it was foolhardy to be cocky. 
"It's on the way."  The second photograph, a
full-face closeup, was the bombshell.  Eliza had
planned the sequence well.

Julia sat through several moments of silence
while Eliza waited for her goal to be realized. 
Please let this work, she thought.  I have to
finish it.  It must be done.

"Yes?  What?  Oh, certainly, we know where... 
yes, sir, immediately.  Can I just say what a
pleasure it's - hello?"

Eliza hung up the telephone and stood,
straightening the jacket of her Donna Karan rip-
off.

"We're in," she stated.



End Chapter Two

Julia
Chapter Three

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


Houston, Texas
January 28, 2001
11:30 a.m.


The ride to Houston Intercontinental Airport was
a much more pleasant ride than the commuter bus
ride to the Processing Facility.  It wasn't a
luxury vehicle by any means, quite utilitarian,
actually, the olive drab Suburban that had seen
better days as an Army officer's transportation. 
At least Julia didn't have to endure the ogles
of the facility workers being shuttled in and
out in six hour shifts.

"Aren't you excited?" Eliza asked, practically
brimming with glee.

Julia nodded and pasted a false smile on her
face.

"Come now, Julia, I know you've been on this
'vow of silence' kick, but you know they won't
actually take your voice away until you've been
accepted.  Speak up, I know you're anxious."

No, you're the one that's anxious, Julia
thought.  I'm trying to reconcile myself to a
life without speech.

To pacify Eliza though, she opened her mouth and
whispered, "I'm happy, Eliza.  Really, I am."

"Good, good," Eliza crooned, patting Julia's
hand.  "We're on our way to the top, dear, I
hope you realize that."

Julia hoped so; it had been her goal for the
past seven months.  The plan had gestated,
evolving into a living, breathing entity.  Its
birth, though, was not premature.  The time was
here and now; the means of delivery waiting upon
the air field like an oversized stork.

The Learjet stood at the ready, a single
domestic craft that looked obscenely out of
place among the colonists' foo fighters and
bulky transports.  She didn't see any colonists
among the figures fueling and servicing the
airplane, or for that matter, even around their
own aircraft, thank goodness.  It was her
understanding that, although they were the force
behind the 'repatriation' of the human race,
they themselves very seldom set foot on the
planet, preferring to watch from above in huge,
black obelisks that could obliterate the moon
from view.  They didn't have to dirty their -
appendages, she supposed - with the Earth's red
clay.  They didn't want the green grass or the
rain that fell upon it, not even the gold that
laid beneath it.

Their only interest was in the human resource,
in robbing the Earth of its greatest
accomplishment and its greatest woe.  It was
fitting, Julia thought, as the Suburban was
escorted through the gates onto the tarmac. The
Earth would be as it was before man corrupted
it.

They were met at the steps of the loading stairs
by an agent of the Ministry of Justice.  His
uniform was impeccable, the brass buttons
polished, the blue-black wool brushed and
smooth.

"Ms. Marcotte?  I'm Senior Agent Larson," he
said, extending a hand to Eliza.

Eliza grasped it eagerly.  "It's a pleasure,
Agent Larson."  Julia wanted to strangle her for
making them look so foolish.  "This is -"

"I know," he interrupted her, moving to stand in
front of Julia.  His eyes raked over her from
head to toe, taking in the fine bone structure,
the delicate ankles.  "She's amazing."

"That she is," Eliza beamed.  She took Julia's
hand.  "I think he'll be pleased."

"Oh, most definitely," Larson agreed softly.

Julia squirmed under the man's scrutiny, her
eyes pleading with Eliza to stop this bragging
and get on with it.  For once, Eliza complied,
tugging Julia to the airplane.

"We really must be on our way, Agent Larson.  We
don't want to keep him waiting."  She pulled
Julia up the steps quickly.

"No luggage?" Larson asked from behind them.

Julia snorted into her glove, hiding it with a
manufactured cough.  Eliza had spent their last
dime on the outfit Julia was wearing, she was so
sure of her success.  Which meant selling
everything they owned through the black market.

"We're having it sent along later," Eliza lied. 
"Can't be bothered with luggage when the
Appointing Authority beckons.  Come along now,
let's be off."

Larson shrugged and followed them into the
spacious cabin.  He gestured toward the sofa. 
"Have a seat, ladies, and buckle in.  We'll be
taking off in a few minutes.  Once we're aloft,
you may move around as you wish.  There's food
in the galley and liquor in the bar.  You may
even nap if you wish, there's a bedroom in the
rear."  With that, he disappeared into the
cockpit.

Julia knew it would be several hours before they
arrived in Washington, but she wasn't the least
bit hungry.  The butterflies in her stomach
prevented any semblance of hunger from
penetrating her brain.  She'd never liked
flying, especially in smaller aircraft.

Eliza, though, made for the caviar and champagne
as soon as Larson's voice signaled the all clear
over the onboard telephone.  "This is lovely,
Julia, have some," she sputtered between
crackers covered with caviar and bite-size
chocolate truffles.

Julia shook her head no, then nodded toward the
rear of the jet, the question gracefully asked
with the crook of her eyebrow.

"Sure, go ahead, dear.  It may be the last good
sleep you'll get for a long while," she said
with a protracted wink.

The sun was setting in a fiery red portrait of
clouds when Julia sat on the king-size bed.  She
leaned closer to the single small window and
sighed, indulging in the remembrance of her
previous life, the one 'before.'  There would no
longer be a place in her mind for the memories;
she would shove them away like a bastard child,
ruthlessly and without mercy.

She would forget her mother and her brothers. 
They were most likely dead now; there hadn't
been time to contact them when the Invasion
began.  With all her heart, she hoped they were;
it pained her to envision them as numb, faceless
workers in some government facility or
dispensary.

Her mother's face swam before her closed eyelids
one last time.  "You are my only daughter now,"
her mother had once said to her.  Julia wasn't
even that anymore;  she'd ceased to function as
the child of a loving mother months ago.  She
existed now, a beautiful, empty box wrapped in
pretty paper and ribbons.  Her heart beat, yes,
but it beat with the boom of a solitary bass
drum toward the inevitable martyrdom of the
warrior.

With a heavy sigh, she slipped off her shoes and
laid back upon the pillows, blanketing the
bedroom in darkness when she turned off the
lamp.  Despite her nervousness, it wasn't long
before her eyelids drifted shut and a troubled
sleep claimed her.


**********


Undisclosed location
West Virginia Mountains
June 2, 2000
9:00 a.m.


"Anything yet?"

Scully's question was hoarse as she walked into
the 'Control Room,' Krycek's designation for the
room that housed the communications equipment
and computers for the bunker.

"On the monitor?"  Frohike glanced at the
television screen that had been eerily silent
since they'd arrived.  "Nothing, nada, zip. On
Krycek's disc?"  He gave her a wry look, pursing
his lips as if to say, had we really expected to
find anything?  He didn't even bother to dignify
his own question with an answer.

She sighed, moving up behind Frohike to look at
the gibberish on the computer screen.  Folding
her arms, she leaned over and said, "He pulled a
fast one on us, didn't he?"

Her friend reached over and pulled out the chair
next to his and waited for her to sit.  "Oh,
there's something on it, all right.  Machine
language, mostly garbage.  I doubt we'll ever
get any useful information from it.  But I did
pick up a few worthy tidbits, though the
connection escapes me."

"What are they?" She leaned in closer as Frohike
scrolled up the page.

"Here..." he stopped about halfway up the
document.  "700.1.6.1.01' - look familiar?"

The first thought to cross her mind was
yesterday's date.  June 1, 2001.  The last four
digits of the number; she told Frohike so and he
agreed, asking, "I think I know what the other
two are... do you?"

Scully pondered the numbers for a moment.  700.1
- looked like something out of the Dewey Decimal
system, but she knew that couldn't be it.

Her sharp gasp echoed in the quiet room. 
"Time?"

"That would be my guess.  Seven o'clock.  The
'1' represents a.m."

"Jesus," she breathed.  "Cancerman knew this was
coming."

"And he knew the exact date and time."

Her thoughts were in chaos; so much to fit
together.  A single thought rose to the top of
the pile.  "Did he know this before Mulder was
abducted?"

"Of course he did," Krycek answered, making her
start with his stealthy entrance.

She turned and gritted out, "Don't you know how
to knock?"

"Sorry, Scully.  Missed that course in Spy
College."  He pulled up a chair to Frohike's
right and faced them both, the glow of the
screen illuminating his features.  "It didn't
occur to me until I heard your question, but yes
- I believe he did.  The last time I saaw the
son-of-a-bitch, he told me that *I* never meant
to succeed.  The truth is, he never meant for me
to succeed."

"Never meant to succeed?"  Scully was dreading
the answer to her question.

"He wanted me to keep Mulder from that ship.  He
knew I'd love nothing better than to get him
back for sticking me in that hellhole in
Tunisia.  So what did I do?"

Scully closed her eyes and swallowed hard before
replying, "Guess you flunked 'Double-cross 101'
too, didn't you?"

"Bingo," Frohike murmured, then quieted, his
unease at his seat between the two adversaries
apparent as he squirmed.

"So what did he want Mulder for?" she asked,
keeping her fury at Krycek's mistake in check. 
Just barely, though.  She felt red fire creep up
her neck.

"Beats me," Krycek answered, then nodded at
Frohike.  "Find anything else?"

"Uh... I - I was just getting to that," the
little man stammered, quickly scrolling down the
page.  "Scully, maybe you can shed some light
here."

She saw the complex formulas, interspersed with
the oddball shapes of corrupted data.  One thing
she could make out, however, was Mulder's name. 
Below that was what looked suspiciously like -

"Lab work.  Specifically, blood work."  Dated
the day of Mulder's disappearance.

Cancerman had arranged for Mulder's abduction. 
Arranged for these tests.  Was Mulder even still
alive?

"Mulder's immune to the virus."  Krycek stated
the obvious.

"So am I," she supplied with a glare.  "So why
him?  Why not me?"

Krycek stood up with a sarcastic grin.  "Because
*you* flunked Genetics 101." Mean laughter
bubbled from him.  "'Fox... *I* am your
father...'"

He snorted, trying to hold in the laughter long
enough to add, "He set this all up to save
himself because he was dying.  It wouldn't have
been the first time he took Mulder for
experimentation."

Scenes from that horrid operating room that
Scully had found Mulder in flashed through her
mind.  Her blood ran cold.

He sobered as he said, "Too bad I killed him
before he saw the results of his handiwork."

Scully cringed at the thought.  Mulder wasn't
Cancerman's son.  It couldn't be.  Krycek was
grasping at straws.  But a nagging voice in the
back of her mind told her that it must be so.

And what of Mulder?  What pain must he be going
through... did Cancerman's people even care
enough to keep him alive?

She looked back at the blood work and an
anguished whisper broke through her lips.

"Mulder."


**********


January 28, 2001
En route to Washington, D. C.
10:45 p.m.


Her throat was cotton dry.  Suffocating and
frightening... Julia coughed and flung herself
up from the pillows, gasping for air, the name
stuck on the back of her tongue.

She stumbled to the bathroom and blinked away
the sleep, drawing a drink of water from the
tap.  It took only two gulps to wash away the
name forever.

"Julia?"  A soft knock at the bedroom door
forced her gaze away from the sad reflection in
the mirror.

"Yes?" she replied in a hoarse croak.

"Captain says we're about to land - you need to
come strap in."

"Coming."

With a swipe at her damps cheeks, she wiped the
lingering tears away, then straightened her
clothes and joined Eliza.

"Julia?"  Eliza took one look at her flushed
face and puffy eyes and knew.  "Have you been
crying?"

"I was sleeping," Julia said, averting her face
to peer at the black sky.  "I had a dream."

"Looks like it was a bad one.  Was it one of
those where you keep running and running and
can't find what it is you're looking for?  I
used to have those all the time... before I got
lucky with you."  She smiled and took Julia's
hand, giving it a squeeze.

She glanced at Eliza, then back out the window
at the stars that dotted the inky sky.

"I found what I was looking for."

Her fingers slipped from Eliza's and touched the
icy glass, the cold seeping into her heart.

"But I lost myself."



End Chapter Three

Julia
Chapter Four

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


Undisclosed location
West Virginia Mountains
June 3, 2000
9:13 a.m.


Unbidden, a line from the Apostle's Creed
drifted through her stunned mind.

'On the third day, he rose again from the
dead....'

"Fuck!"  Krycek's epithet was explosive,
shattering the eerie calm in the room.  "I
killed that motherfucker!  God damn son-of-a-
bitch!"  He was pacing, using his good hand to
rub the sweat from his face.

The Appointing Authority's speech hadn't lasted
long; he promised a return to normalcy as
quickly as possible.  He also said he would keep
the public informed with daily reports.

Cancerman - the Appointing Authority, from this
day forward - smiled as the blue-on-blue logo of
the Federal Emergency Management Agency faded to
black.

Their world had changed in two and half minutes.

"Looks like he's alive to me."  Scully's flat
voice cut through the stream of curses like a
knife.  Arms crossed, she stood flanked by the
Gunmen, all of them with accusatory stares.

"He was dead."  Krycek stopped, his eyes focused
on nothing, blank shock pounding his voice down
to a whisper.  "He was dead."

Scully snorted, dropping her arms to move
forward and grab Krycek's arm.  "Well, now he's
not.  So what the hell are we supposed to do
now?  I assume he knows about this place?" 
Shaking his arm, her words rose in volume. 
"Talk to me!"

Krycek jerked and shook her off, his sanity back
in a flash.  "No he doesn't.  This was part of
Strughold's mining company, abandoned after you
and Mulder broke in here years ago.  I kept it
up just in case I ended up on the wrong side of
the fence when...."  He broke off, his jaw
working with residual anger.

Sarcastic laughter burst from Scully.  "I should
have known you couldn't do the job right,
Krycek.  You should have kept to his side of the
fence, don't you think?"

Their host curled his hand, as if he was about
to strike her, fury darkening his face.  Scully
stood firm, her chin lifting.  Her arms crossed
again, an immovable wall in the face of his
anger.  Eyes of steel blue dared him to make a
move toward her.  She had withstood much better
blasts of intimidation, from far worthier
opponents.

They stood like roosters poised to fight for
several seconds, then Krycek said through
clenched teeth, "Don't fuck with me, Scully. 
I'm gonna bring him down if it's the last thing
I do."  He stalked away.

"Now what?"  Byers came up beside her, the
slight tremor in his voice betraying just how
frightened they were.  Not only by the message
they'd just seen, but by the impending fight
they'd almost witnessed.

She sighed, her fists uncurling, her arms
dropping.  The slight shake of her hands went
unnoticed by everyone but her; she ran her damp
palms over the seams of her too-big jeans.

"He's still alive," she said simply.  "If
Cancerman lives, Mulder lives."

Her gaze met Byers' with calm resolve.

"That's all I care about."


**********


Washington, D. C.
January 29, 2001
2:45 a.m.


Julia had no idea where the limousine was taking
them.  She had so wanted to see the lights of D.
C. once again, but was thwarted when their
escort insisted they don black hoods.

Next to her, Eliza was wheezing.  Julia slid her
hand across the leather seat until she grabbed
the other woman's; she squeezed urgently.

"I'm okay," Eliza panted, "I'm just a little
claustrophobic."

Julia crushed the rising panic; she hoped that
Eliza would make it to the end of the trip. 
Administering first aid would definitely blow
her cover, and she didn't know if she had the
heart to deny medical aid to anyone, including
Eliza.  Hoping to calm her, Julia rubbed her
thumb across the back of Eliza's hand, humming
nonsensically, like her mother had done for her
so many times, soothing hurts and banishing
nightmares.  It didn't occur to her it was quite
possibly the last time she would ever sing.

The humming unconsciously transformed into soft,
slightly off-key words.

"'And if that mockingbird don't sing -'" She
trailed off, the word 'sing' echoing in her
head.  "'If...'"

<Sing something so I know you're awake.>

"If that mockingbird...."

<You don't want me to sing.  I can't carry a
tune.>

"It's okay, Julia," Eliza said.  "You don't have
to go on.  Unless you want to." 

"I can't," Julia whispered, her throat hurting
with unshed tears.  "I can't remember the
words."

"I'll sing for you, okay?"  For all that she was
a mercenary bitch, Eliza was the only friend
Julia had in the world.  They'd grown to
tolerate each other, if not like each other. 
Julia had vowed not to let anyone get close to
her again, and she thought she really should
stop this right now.  But she couldn't.

<It doesn't matter - just sing anything.>

"'If that mockingbird don't sing..."  Eliza's
voice was stronger, more pleasing to the ear. 
It reminded Julia of her mother's.  "'Mama's
gonna buy you a diamond ring.  And if that
diamond ring turns brass, Mama's gonna buy you
a....'"

Eliza's voice abruptly stopped in time with the
car.  They both felt a draft of cold air,
followed by muffled conversation.  Julia figured
it was a checkpoint of some kind, the first of
many, she was sure.  The Appointing Authority
would be nothing if not cautious.

The temporary respite from the journey had
quieted the women.  No longer did they speak, no
longer did they sing.  Instead, Julia counted
the minutes between one checkpoint and the next,
although any hope of escape was futile.  But it
didn't hurt to file the information away.

Finally, the hum of the tires changed into a
roar.  Underground, Julia thought.  A tunnel, or
parking garage.  Most likely a tunnel; she'd
always wondered if the rumor of a mile deep
elevator descending into the ground from the
White House was true.  This was probably not
beneath the White House, but it certainly proved
beyond a doubt that it could be done.

Eliza started fidgeting again.  No such luck
she'd realize she was underground; her
claustrophobia would put an end to her
excitement fairly quickly.  Julia was so tempted
to tell her, then thought better of it.  The
woman had sung to her.  The time for pettiness
was past.

"Get out."

The harsh command was barked through the
intercom before they'd even stopped completely. 
A rush of carbon monoxide accompanied the
opening of the rear door, and rough hands lifted
Julia from the seat.  Behind her, the car sped
away.

"Julia?"  The frantic cry came from beyond her
left shoulder.

"Here.  I'm here."

The two women were walked into the elevator,
where they joined hands again.  "Julia, I'm
scared," Eliza whispered.

*Now* she realizes the mess she's gotten into,
Julia mused.  Too little, too late.

"Be strong, Eliza.  This could be the feather in
your cap, remember?"

Eliza's hand jerked in hers.  Before she could
reply, the elevator glided to a stop.  They were
pushed into a warm room, their shoes sinking
into shag carpeting.

"We don't need these anymore, gentlemen."

The hoods were removed and Julia blinked several
times, adjusting to the brightly lit foyer.

"I'm Laura Boulden," the woman purred, one
elegant hand extended in greeting.  "You must be
Julia."  A thousand dollar smile accompanied the
words.

"Yes," Julia said, then timidly lowered her
voice.  "This is -"

"Eliza Marcotte, yes, I know.  I believe you
used to work out of New York, is that right?"

Swallowing her fear, Eliza's kiss-ass
personality returned with a vengeance.  "Laura
Boulden? *The* Laura Boulden?"

"Chief Administrator in charge of the escorts,
yes.  I prefer 'escorts,' by the way."  In other
words, the term 'concubines' was strictly taboo. 
"Please follow me, ladies.  The Appointing
Authority will see you shortly."

Julia thought the woman looked rather like Grace
Kelly, with her cool blond looks and pristine
accent.  Philadelphia, maybe?  Or Boston?

The three of them walked through a door flanked
by armed Guardsmen.  There was an older woman
sitting at the lone desk; she immediately picked
up the telephone.

"They're here, sir," she murmured, then gently
set the receiver back into its cradle, nodding
at the overstuffed chairs in the far corner.

It was only a matter of minutes, but it felt
like hours to Julia.  Hours spent sitting
perfectly still while Eliza smoothed her hair
into its former shining cap.  When she reached
into her pocket, the soldier in the corner
started forward, machine gun raised.

"It's only lipstick, see?" Eliza crooned, then
proceeded to apply the silvery pink shade to
Julia's lips.  "Damn, I wish I had my compact. 
You're too shiny."  They'd been relieved of
their belongings at the airport, as well as
searched thoroughly.

Julia looked into Eliza's worried gaze, stilling
her mentor's shaking hand with a cool touch.
"It'll be okay, Eliza.  Don't worry."

Eliza searched her gaze for several agonizing
seconds.  Just as she opened her mouth to speak,
the telephone buzzed.

"Sir?  Yes, sir," the secretary hung up and
faced the women.  "You may go in now."  She
gestured at the massive mahogany doors.

"Let me do the talking," Eliza said.

No problem, Julia thought.  May as well get used
to it.

The stench of cigarette smoke burned her
nostrils.  He stood with his back to the door,
supremely confident in his security, admiring
the landscape of scattered street lights laid
out before him.  Julia strained to pick out
familiar landmarks, but could find none.  It
wasn't surprising; there would be no more light
creeping up the Jefferson Memorial, no lamps
bathing Lincoln's seated figure in an eerie
glow.  Those were things of the past, men of the
past.  The future didn't include monuments to
the fallen.

Laura closed the door behind them before moving
to his side, one jeweled hand coming to rest on
his arm.  Julia couldn't make out her whispered
words, nor read her lips.  The only light in the
plush office came from a single lamp on a paper-
strewn desk.

The Appointing Authority turned at last, his
eyes narrowing in the hazy glow from the lamp. 
"Come into the light."

She and Eliza started forward.

"Not you," he barked at Eliza.  "Just you."  He
nodded at Julia.

On shaky legs, she slowly walked toward him,
stopping when she heard his gasp.

"My God," he breathed.  "It's uncanny."  He
walked around the desk and took her hand in his. 
It was all she could do to stifle the flinch. 
"Julia, isn't it?"

Julia nodded, her face expressionless.

The old man fingered the silky hair that hung
around her face.  "Is this natural?" he asked
Eliza, not looking away from Julia's sky-blue
gaze.

"I think so, sir.  But even if it isn't, I'm
sure it will be no problem to touch it up -"

"Her chin is too broad.  Same determined
stubbornness, but too wide nonetheless."

"We can fix that, sir," Laura suggested.

"No, it's not good if she's too perfect.  We
tried that before, with disastrous results."

Laura nodded in agreement, falling silent once
again.

"The eyes are the same color, though almost
oriental in shape.  Was your mother a geisha, by
any chance?"

Julia remained mute.  It wasn't her place to
speak, not anymore.  He smiled at her timidity,
and faced Laura.

"She'll do.  Prepare her, Laura.  I want her
ready by seven this evening.  That gives you a
little over fourteen hours.  Can you do it?"

Laura nodded, although Julia was sure this man
didn't care if his madam could handle the rush
or not.  His orders were law; she'd better be
ready by seven this evening or heads would roll.

He returned to his contemplation of the
Washington skyline and lit another cigarette. 
From the far corner of the room, a lone figure
emerged and approached him, dismissing the women
with a cold glare before murmuring something to
the man at the window.

Julia paled and barely managed to stifle the
gasp that burst from her.

She knew this face, had seen it in some of her
worst nightmares before the Invasion.  Its hard
planes and angles reminded her of the
Frankenstein monster, making her cringe with
horror even in her dreams.  She could still hear
its flat voice, feel its arm choking her,
holding her in place while a trade was made
years ago on a Virginia bridge.

Could this be why the Appointing Authority
looked hale and hearty?  Did this shape-shifting
alien have the ability to heal like Jeremiah
Smith had?  God, maybe she'd been wrong these
past months.  Maybe Cancerman hadn't needed Mul
-

Don't think, don't think, she told herself.  He
may be able to read your mind.

She backed away quickly at Laura's insistent,
"Come."

Laura didn't have to tell her twice.

As soon as they were out the door, Eliza
breathed a sigh of relief.  "That wasn't so
hard."

Laura flashed an impatient look at the woman and
moved ahead of her, taking Julia by the arm. 
"You may choose a maid, if you wish.  A
companion, of sorts.  Someone to keep you
company when your services are not needed."

Julia paused before the elevator, facing Laura. 
"I choose her," she said, nodding toward Eliza. 
"May I, mistress?"

Laura threw disgusted look at Eliza before
answering sweetly, "Of course, my dear. 
Anything you want, just ask, and it will be
yours."

Except for my freedom, Julia thought.

Eliza was so happy, she could hardly contain
herself.  "Thank you, Julia," she whispered into
her ear as they boarded the elevator.  "Thank
you.  You don't know how much this means to me."

"You sang for me," Julia replied simply, as if
it had been the greatest gift in the world.  She
stared at the unfamiliar face in the mirrored
doors, unblinking.  Her heart cracked at the
beauty... but it wasn't her.  She would never be
herself again.  "That's all I care about."



End Chapter Four

Julia 
Chapter Five

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


Undisclosed location
West Virginia Mountains
June 3, 2000
9:45 a.m.


"He said he was negotiating with the aliens. 
Our cooperation in return for no further release
of the bees."

Scully and the Gunmen sat around the two by six
folding table, dissecting the Appointing
Authority's message, taking every word apart.

"Now that tells me something," Scully continued,
shifting her head to look at her friends in
turn.  At their bemused expressions, she
explained.  "It tells me that the Invasion
didn't quite go as planned."

"But our contacts around the world speak of
gestation," Frohike said.  "Humans being
digested by the virus."

In the three days they'd been holed up, the
Gunmen had managed to make contact with others
like them.  People hidden in basements and
sewers, root cellars and bomb shelters.  At the
moment, ham radio was the only way of
communicating.  The Gunmen assured Scully that
very shortly, they'd have secure modem access. 
Satellites still orbited the Earth; they could
ricochet signals off so many of them that no one
would ever be able to trace the source.

"Yes, but why negotiate?" she pointed out.  "If
it was such a success, why are the aliens
willing to make any concessions at all?"

"Good question," Langly murmured.  "Maybe they
never meant to succeed."

Never meant to succeed... never meant to.... 
Krycek's recent words echoed in her mind.

"Jesus."  Her whisper was faint but heartfelt.

"What?" Frohike asked, but all three leaned
forward at the realization on her face.

"Krycek said it himself a couple of days ago. 
Cancerman never wanted success.  Krycek thought
he never meant to succeed in keeping Mulder away
from the ship... but that's not the only failure
the old man had in mind."

"You mean - he *wanted* colonization to fail?" 
Byers' question was incredulous.  "But why?  I
thought that was the goal of the Project all
these years.  To facilitate colonization."

Scully shook her head at her own disbelief, but
as she thought about it, it made more and more
sense.

"It was... the goal of the *Project.* But the
Project is no more.  Cancerman's been operating
on his own for quite some time now.  Who's to
say he didn't decide he wanted it all?  All the
power in the world."

It sounded like a plot to a second-rate James
Bond film, even to her ears.  But why not? 
Power... lack of it, hunger for it, maintaining
hold of it... *that* was what motivated men like
Spender.  All the riches in the world paled in
comparison to knowing that there wasn't one
person alive who would dare say 'no' to you.

"Uh, Scully?"  

Frohike's mutter made the gears in her mind slow
down for a second.  An eyebrow raised, she gave
him her attention.

"We seem to be forgetting one important detail."

"What's that?"  Impatience made her reply short. 
She stood, anxious to prove she was right about
this.

"Invasion, infection, whatever you want to call
it... it still happened.  People are still
dying.  What's the use of being in charge if
there's no one to order around?"

"I'm right, I know I am," she replied, "I just
need proof."  She chewed on her bottom lip, her
mind back to full speed.  "You said your
contacts spoke of gestation?"

All three nodded, though with some wariness, as
if they knew where she was going with her line
of questioning.

"I want proof.  Pictures, video... even a body -
dead or alive - should be sufficient."

"A body?" They spoke in unison, their fright at
the prospect making them pale.

Scully headed off the potential argument by
saying, "Enough.  All right, I don't need a
body.  Video would be good.  Think you can swing
that?  And see if there's anything else on that
disc of Krycek's.  Maybe there's something we're
missing."

"Sure," Frohike answered, looking at the other
two who nodded in thankful agreement.  "What do
we tell Krycek?"

"Nothing, unless he asks.  All he's interested
in at the moment is getting even with his old
boss.  I'll deal with Krycek if the need arises. 
I've done it before, I can do it again."

"Damn straight she can," she heard Frohike
mumble as she walked through the door.


**********


Washington D. C.
January 29, 2001
6:30 p.m.


Behind the door was her future.  She and Eliza
waited patiently under the curious gazes of the
Guardsmen that flanked the elevator.

Eliza had been wrong back in the bus station. 
It had hurt, the worst form of torture Julia had
ever experienced.  The physical pain had not
bothered her; it was a mere discomfort compared
to the emotional humiliation she'd had to
endure.


**********


Fourteen hours earlier


Julia never left the building as Laura escorted
her to the sixth floor.  She found out it was
called 'The Infirmary,' although she didn't see
any sick or injured in the cubicles lined up
against the walls.  Eliza was made to wait
outside the main treatment area, much to her
relief.  Julia didn't want her back there,
anyway.  The less Eliza knew about Julia, the
better.

Laura followed the medical personnel surrounding
Julia into a large chamber off from the main
treatment area, murmuring what were supposed to
be calming words.  Julia tuned her out quickly,
the roar of unwelcome fear in her brain blocking
all sound very efficiently.

She tried to overcome her fear, though,
observing all she could in the makeshift
hospital.  But there was nothing to see.  No
patients, no testing, no laboratory.  The walls
were lined with filing cabinets and stainless
steel wardrobe cases.  She doubted anything of
any significance went on here.

They would be foolish to house the
administrators in the same building where a
chance of viral contamination existed.  But that
didn't mean the labs weren't nearby; her guess
was they were in one of the other cloaked
buildings.  But which one?

However, *one* important piece of equipment
hummed nearby, and Julia's eyes darted to it for
a pleased second before looking away.

A computer.  She tucked the image away, filing
it for future use.

A short, white-coated man was vigorously
scrubbing his hands at the sink in the corner. 
He didn't even look up at their arrival. 
Obviously, he was to work on her.  If he was
even a doctor.  A shiver ran up her spine at the
thought that he quite possibly wasn't.

Her musings were cut short by the two nurses,
one of whom barked at her to undress.  She
blanched when she saw the examining table.  It
was something she'd seen before, in flashbacks
and dreams she'd never acknowledged as the
truth.  The truth came to her in a rush as she
looked at the shiny stirrups and velcro
restraining straps.

Her eyes shifted nervously to and from the
bindings.

"We wouldn't want you to hurt yourself, dear,"
Laura said.  "In addition to the muting
procedure, you will also undergo sterilization."

Sterilization?  Just how fast did they work? 
She knew that women could be sterilized these
days in an outpatient capacity; all it involved
was the severing of the fallopian tubes.  But it
was laproscopic surgery nonetheless, an incision
had to be made.  Which meant time to heal.  And
she didn't see any surgical instruments
prepared.

"Painless, my dear, though we will sedate you,"
Laura supplied, seeing her curious gaze and
misinterpreting it for panic.  "The colonists
have taught us a great deal.  All incisions are
minimal and immediately healed with no scarring.
Isn't that right, doctor?"

The balding man in the corner grunted
impatiently, then turned back to the sink to
finish prepping.

Julia felt anger temporarily replace the fear. 
She'd wanted to shout to this haughty woman that
she was already sterile, thanks to the men that
now lived liked royalty.  But she wouldn't give
them that satisfaction; let them find out for
themselves.

Laura's eyes hardened to ice blue chips.  "We
have to make sure, dear.  Wouldn't want any
unwanted pregnancy, now would we?"

Sorrow tore through Julia.  A picture of a sandy
haired toddler, framed by birthday balloons,
came to the forefront.  She'd had to leave it
behind in the rush to escape.  Many of her
memories were abandoned in her mad journey out
of the city that horrible day.

What followed were several interminable hours of
poking and prodding, during which time Julia
never once cried out, even though the doctor was
not gentle with her.  Especially with the pelvic
exam.  Julia was tiny, and the feel of his
fingers inside her could only have been likened
to the pain and humiliation of rape.

"She's in good shape," he'd said to Laura at the
end of the exam, then turned to Julia with
narrowed eyes.  "No venereal disease, no anemia,
not even head lice.  Were you a test subject?"

Julia nodded, unable to even give voice to the
finality of his words.

"Excellent," Laura purred, though Julia knew
Eliza had told them about Julia's status
already.  But Laura looked like the type that
needed reassurance, and the doctor had just
given it to her.  "You, my dear, are saving us
lots of time."

Laura could hardly contain her excitement. 
Julia knew the sooner she was in place, the
sooner Laura would earn her bonus.  The
Appointing Authority was obviously extremely
generous when he was pleased.

The only time she became really nervous was when
they took an inordinate amount of time
scrutinizing her x-rays.

"There's an implant here." He held up the film
and brushed a gnarly hand just below the space
between her eyes.  Then he picked up another and
pointed out, "And here," his fingers skimming
the white line of her vertebrae at the base of
her neck.

Laura mused over the pictures for a second
before replying.  "Julia was a test subject, she
confirmed it herself.  Priority One, actually,
from what Eliza told me.  That would account for
the implants."

"You said the Appointing Authority was pleased
with her?"

"Extremely."

"Well, I suppose we can let it go.  Although if
she begins to exhibit signs of implant rejection
we'll have to pull her, you know that."

"I know," Laura agreed reluctantly.  "Let's just
hope it doesn't come to that, okay?"  She looked
pointedly at Julia.

Julia knew that a certain percentage of the test
subjects experienced 'implant rejection.'  Many
developed violent, irrational behavior; they
were put down immediately, like unwanted
animals.

"So, Julia," the doctor wheezed, "are you one of
the lucky ones?  Will you live forever?"

She closed her eyes on his sarcastic smile.  No,
she wouldn't.  One of the chips he'd pointed out
would soon do its job - it was only a matter of
time now.

The last procedures were done under mild general
anesthetic.  When she woke, she felt no
different.  She wondered if they'd discovered
she was sterile, then decided not to ask.  What
did it matter anyway?  Her ova was missing;
unless they were looking specifically for that,
they wouldn't have found it.  They would have
just gone ahead with the procedure as planned.

She may not have felt different, but she soon
discovered she *was* different, after opening
her mouth to test her voice.  She could no
longer speak.  She'd assumed the nerve to her
vocal cords had been severed in some way, but
the actual procedure had apparently not involved
invasive surgery, just like the sterilization. 
A vague tickle in the back of her throat was the
only reminder now.  That, and the swelling in
her chest of a million words that could now
never be spoken.

<I was born on February 23, 1964.>

<I had a mother and father once....>

<I'm fine.>

She was fine, now.  She would soon complete her
mission.

<Mulder, it's me.>


**********


6:35 p.m.


A soundless sob broke from her lips.  That
wouldn't do, no sir.  Stop it, Julia.  Beyond
that door is the man you....

He's not Mulder.  He's the Minister of Justice.

Eliza stopped her pacing long enough to step up
behind her.  "Julia?  What's wrong?  I thought
this was what you wanted?"

I thought so, too, her heart wept.  Her eyes,
however, met Eliza's with calm determination. 
She smiled and made a circle out of her thumb
and forefinger.  Okay.  I'm okay.

The loud rap of voices through the door made
them both back away from it.

"I *told* you I didn't want another one!"

Dear Lord, Julia thought, her heart seizing in
her chest.  She'd know that voice anywhere.

"Fox, I really think you're going to like this
one."

Cancerman.  Although now he held the esteemed
title of 'Appointing Authority.'  It made no
difference.  A chicken in peacock feathers was
still a chicken.

"Like the last one, who was so repulsed by me
she killed herself?  Or the one before that, who
fucking nearly killed me?  Or should I say,
nearly killed me while fucking me?"

So it was true.  Eliza and Julia looked at one
another in shock.  As long as it had been a
rumor, it wasn't quite so frightening.  Hard
facts, on the other hand, were more terrifying,
the stuff nightmares were made of.

"Fox, there's something you're not considering
here...." The voice lowered to a murmur.  They
could no longer hear what he was saying to
Mulder.

"I think he's calming him down," Eliza whispered
shakily.  "Here, let's take a final look - it'll
be any moment now."  She turned Julia to face
the gilded mirror at the end of the hall.

Julia was pale and the champagne colored
lipstick did not help matters any.  Though she
had to admit to herself that she'd never looked
better.  The weeks spent with Eliza had worked
wonders for her sagging health.  She was toned
and lean; her physical well-being rivaled days
past, when she worked out daily at the gym.  The
golden satin dress draped low in the front and
plunged modestly in the back.  Her arms were
bare and if not for the blast of heat from the
vent above, she was sure she'd be sporting
gooseflesh.

She walked toward the mirror and unwillingly
admired the way the material of the dress clung
to her hips and thighs before falling to the
floor.  The cling of the fabric prevented her
from wearing underwear; besides, what escort
would wear underwear?  Just one more thing that
stood between him and his pleasure.

But no shoes.  Eliza had simply raised a brow
when Julia had motioned to her feet in the midst
of preparations.  "We can't have you running
away, now can we, dear?"

She felt truly naked without shoes.  For years,
the heels had been empowering, raising her to
equality in a man's world.  Sadness descended
upon Julia as she realized just how enslaved she
had become.  Barefoot and dressed to please. 
Women brought to an all-time low, living again
in almost medieval times.

"You look fabulous," Eliza breathed.  "Simply
gorgeous.  He's going to love you."

Julia crossed her fingers and waved them in
front of Eliza, hoping she'd added enough
twinkle in her eye to satisfy her friend.

"We're ready for you."

The two women snapped around at the voice. 
Laura stood in the open doorway, a trickle of
smoke seeping through above her head.  She
raised a brow and pursed her lips as if to say -
*now.*

"Good luck, Julia."  Eliza gave her a quick peck
on the cheek and moved back, but not before
brushing her thumb in a final cleanup.  "There -
perfect."

Yes, Julia thought, everything's perfect.  Just
what the Underground wanted.  A mole steps away
from the Appointing Authority, poised to bring
about his downfall.

Just what I wanted.

Fox Mulder's head on a silver platter.



End Chapter Five

Julia 
Chapter Six

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers



Washington, D.C.
January 29, 2001
6:38 p.m.


Julia repeated it to herself, as if thinking it
twice would somehow fortify her defenses.

Just what I wanted, just what I wanted.

Fox Mulder's head on a silver platter.  Fox
Mulder's head.  Mulder....

But what a beautiful head it was to her hungry
gaze, bowed in tight anger, set upon rigid
shoulders that didn't move a hair when she
walked in.  He stood at the window, sans jacket,
his hands clenching and unclenching upon lean
hips.

"Fox?"

If possible, Mulder stiffened more at the odious
word, though he didn't turn around.  Julia could
hardly make out his shadowy form in the dimness
of the immense room.  She knew it was him,
though.  Even if she were blind, she could have
picked him up by scent alone.

"Fox, this is Julia."  The Appointing Authority
gestured to Julia and she moved further into the
room, her hands clasped nervously at her waist,
the only blemish in her outward calm.

Mulder's head turned as he gave them his
profile.  Julia was thankful she couldn't speak
when she saw the slash that marred his neck
fully illuminated by the moonlight and the
artificial light coming from the open bedroom
door.  Her mouth dropped slightly by instinct,
the silent gasp escaping anyway.

It was much worse than it appeared on
television.  Naturally, the Appointing Authority
employed only the finest when it came to hiding
anything.  Mulder wasn't comfortable with her
gaping stare, she could tell.  His hand rose as
if to cover it, then dropped away as pride
steeled his jaw.  Julia looked away, trying to
focus her attention from it as a menial should,
feigning interest in the suite.

"I don't want this," he said one last time,
interrupting Julia's inspection of the suite. 
Speak again, she pleaded with her eyes.  I
wasn't paying attention to your voice.  She just
as quickly chastised herself;  he couldn't see
her eyes, he was too far away.

The Appointing Authority ignored Mulder's
entreaty and turned to Julia.  "Come closer, my
dear."  He extended a hand and Julia grasped it
reluctantly, suddenly unsure of her bare feet. 
What she wouldn't have given for four-inch heels
at that moment.

The light from the bedroom knifed across her
face before disappearing over her head. 
Mulder's head whipped around, his peripheral
vision picking her up instantly.

"Scully?"

The agonized whisper made her pause in the
shadows.  She pulled her hand from Cancerman's,
resting it on her waist as if to hold in the
nerves that jumped to life in her stomach.  Her
other hand joined the first, reinforcing the
temporary breach.

He'd said the name.

<Mulder, it's me.>

Mulder's eyes glittered in the trickle of light,
the rest of his face in black relief.  Julia
could barely see his mouth working on the
familiar syllables of the name.  She could hear
his lungs struggling for breath, each inhale and
exhale becoming faster, more pronounced.

"Scu -" Hand outstretched, Mulder started
forward.

Julia backed away, almost tripping over the
folds of her dress in her haste to stop this
charade.  She couldn't stand it... he was
confused... vulnerable.  He wasn't supposed to
be that way.... he was the Minister of Justice. 
Evil incarnate.

Mulder's advance came to a screeching halt when
Julia fell back into the light once again.  The
tremulous smile on his face died a swift death. 
So did the light in his eyes.

They stood for a few moments in a face-off, each
composing a neat, expressionless facade.

"The hair's too light," Mulder sneered at last,
breaking away from Julia's uncertain gaze to
walk to the bar, where he poured a generous
portion of the nearest bottle into a large
tumbler.

"You haven't taken a good look at her yet, Fox,"
his boss said.  "It's too dark in here to make a
good evaluation."

"I like it dark," Mulder replied, his back to
them once again.  Julia saw his head fall back
as he tossed the liquor back in one gulp.

"I'm turning the lights on, Fox." The tone
brooked no argument.  Her flinch echoed Mulder's
when the room was lit in a too-bright overhead
glare.

Julia took the opportunity to compose herself,
inspecting her new home while she waited for
Mulder to finish his second drink.  The suite
was decorated in tasteful hues of dark blue and
black, the fireplace flanked by matching black
leather sofas.  In front of the huge panoramic
plate glass window was a similarly made navy
blue leather chair and ottoman.  She guessed it
was the master's; on the side table next to it
was an empty tumbler and a pair of wire-rimmed
glasses.

There was no dining area, save for a small,
square oak table and chairs just to the left of
the front door.  It was from that side of the
room that she had earlier spied the bedroom.  On
the opposite side was what she supposed was
another bedroom, the door firmly shut.

She was more convinced now than ever that they
were in a hotel; she just didn't know which one. 
There used to be many luxurious hotels in the
Washington metropolitan area that would
certainly be useful as a headquarters type
facility.

Whichever hotel it was, however, it had
obviously spared the expense on this suite.  It
was sparse, almost like a monastery in it's
simplicity.  All except for the bar, which
Mulder seemed to enjoy immensely.

"Fox."  The Appointing Authority was rapidly
losing patience.  "Julia is waiting."

Mulder put the stopper back into the carafe and
turned, spreading his arms wide.  "Oh, by all
means, sir, we mustn't keep Julia waiting," he
drawled, then swaggered to stand directly before
her.

Julia followed his every move with cautious
eyes.  The patented smirk of his was firmly in
place, but it was different, harder and more
unfeeling.  He was daring her to run.  As he
approached, she felt her spine stiffen and her
new chin rise until her defiant blue stare met
his arrogant green gaze with equal fervor.

Give it your best shot, her eyebrow challenged.

The smirk became broader, manifesting itself in
the curve of Mulder's lips.  "So you're my new
whore."

"Fox!"  It burst from his father's lips in an
angry gasp.

"That's what she is, isn't she?  Just a whore." 
The last word floated to her on a breeze of
whiskey breath.  "Oh, she's beautiful, I'll
grant you that."

But she was still a whore.  The unspoken
qualifier stabbed Julia in the stomach.

"I only want you to be happy, son."

Mulder flashed red-hot eyes at Cancerman, his
jaw tightening.  He said nothing, however,
though Julia could feel the angry threat
emanating from his body.

"If you don't like her, I can find someone else. 
One more to your taste.  Although, I think she's
lovely, quite an ornament.  You would look well
together."

"That's what you said last time and look what it
got me."

Julia's eyes were drawn to the scar.  Mulder
flushed at her curiosity;  before he could say
anything, she looked away, dropping her gaze to
the floor.  She had to be careful.  Her emotions
were clouding her judgment.

"She thinks I'm hideous.  Don't you, Julia?"

Julia raised watery eyes to his face.  No, she
didn't.  On the contrary, his was the face she
saw in her dreams.

Mulder gasped; he'd seen the blatant desire in
her face.  She was sure none of the others had
ever looked at him that way.

"Good," his father murmured, lighting up a
cigarette.  "It seems we have true love, Fox. 
I'll leave you two alone, then.  Enjoy."  With a
smug smile, he strode from the room.

Julia stood her ground in the deafening silence
as Mulder's eyes raked her from head to toe.  He
was rapidly overwhelming her with his mere
physical proximity.  She could feel her defenses
wilting under his cold stare.

She'd been fine until he'd moved closer.  One
look in the eyes that were mere inches from hers
and she'd almost given it away.  He was still
sizing her up;  she could feel the natural
curiosity bloom within him.  His teeth worked at
his lower lip and his eyes narrowed to mere
slits.  Soon he would break her, she was sure of
it.

Just as she thought she might swoon, he began to
move in a slow circle around her, disappearing
behind her.  She heaved a small sigh of relief
at the loss of his penetrating glare.  Maybe
he'd bought it.

His heavy breath upon her neck stirred the mass
of hair between her shoulder blades.  She jumped
when she felt a warm hand seize her barely-
covered shoulder.

"Keep still."

He's touching me, he's touching me, Julia's mind
screamed.  Dear God in heaven.... I don't know
if I can bear it.

A shiver of something - fear, most likely - ran
up her spine seconds before his other hand
brushed her hair aside to settle on her nape,
the fingers searching her neck for the Braille
history of her former life.

His thumb pressed into her skin several times,
just where she expected it.  It was rough and
determined.

He was looking for the implant.  It was still
there; well, a simpler version of it, anyway. 
Buried so deep as to be undetectable by touch.

The doctor in Dubuque had done fine work getting
rid of the small scar.  Actually, *all* of her
scars were gone except for one and that one was
grating on her soul like the rasp of fingernails
on a chalkboard.

It was the one that hurt the most.  The one that
would never disappear, given to her by the man
now touching her with grim purpose.  A slash
deep inside from something she thought he'd
never do... betrayal.  Of her, of himself.  Of
everything he'd ever believed in.

Julia kept still under his touch, counting the
seconds until he stepped away, then immediately
missing the warmth of his hands.  Thank God that
was over with.  She hadn't known if she could
have endured it for much longer. 

"Take off the dress."

No, Julia refused, her eyes slipping shut.  I
can't do this.  God help me....

"I said, take off the dress.  Or I'll take it
off for you."

Would he hurt her?  Fear made her hands fly to
her shoulders, where she released first one
silken clasp, then the other.  For a moment, she
held up the garment with crossed arms.  Then
with a deep breath, she let it fall to the
floor.

She was instantly aware of a change in his
breathing.  It became heavier, slower, more
labored.  Hers, on the other hand, raced to
catch up with the pounding of her heart.

Please don't let him touch me again, she prayed.

Of course, everyone knew there were no prayers
answered anymore.

Mulder grunted slightly, his knees popping as he
squatted on the floor behind her.

She calmed when she realized what he was looking
for.  That was gone, too.  Santa Fe, three
months ago.  Although she'd only seen a
reflection of it in the mirror, she knew it was
good work.

Damn, there were his hands again, one at her
waist, the other smoothing over the spot where
the ourobourus once was.  The doctor had assured
her its removal had been nearly flawless; only a
dime-sized pucker of tucked skin remained after
the surgery.  He'd sculpted it into a dimple.

Mulder's thumb lingered in that dimple above her
right buttocks before moving away.  She was as
sure of the tattoo as she was of the implant.

She hoped he would let it go at that.

Her mind went numb with relief as she heard him
rise.  The inspection was over; she passed with
flying colors.  If she could have laughed, she
would have.

Until he moved to crouch in front of her.

Then scar on her abdomen had been much more
difficult to remove, as was the exit scar on her
back, requiring several operations in Portland,
Oregon last August.  She'd been anxious to move
on, paranoid that they would find her in that
makeshift clinic hidden in the midst of chaos. 
The doctor had assured Julia that she was
working as fast as possible, but surgical scars
were often the trickiest things, you know?

Julia inhaled sharply at the sight of his long,
tanned fingers on her pale skin.  She really
shouldn't have been watching.  Disinterest was
the preferred response.  After all, a cool head
was the best advantage in any battle.

It shouldn't matter that the hand belonged to
the one person left in this meager world whose
touch was the fieriest of brands upon her skin.

He's just a man, just a man, she kept repeating
to herself, even as she watched her betraying
hand slowly rise to hover above his head.  His
hair was short, painfully so.  Strewn with
silver inch-long dashes, it shined in a tapestry
of vivid copper and amber threads.  She so
longed to touch it.

Mulder was oblivious to her scrutiny, so
enraptured was he by the play of sleek muscle
that quivered under his hand.  Julia could see
his teeth capture his lower lip, consternation
furrowing his brow.  He was so vulnerable to her
now; if she had a knife, she could have ended
this torture in a heartbeat.  If she really
wanted to.

She tried to picture the weapon in the hand that
shook above him, to no avail.  All she could see
was the caress of that same hand over the
burnished cap that seemed to ache for her touch. 
Would he feel it if she airbrushed a finger over
the slight curl behind his left ear?

The curl beckoned; her hand inched closer.

Mulder sighed, turning his head to the right and
pausing.

It was all Julia needed to drop her hand and
return to sanity.

He rose and didn't spare her another glance
while striding to the closed door behind her. 
She crossed her arms defensively, half-turning
to follow him, a question in her eyes.

He plunged the room into darkness before opening
the door.  A soft glow from within showed her
the lines of disappointment and grief he was
striving to hide from her.

"You sleep over there," he said, nodding at the
bedroom she'd seen when she'd first arrived. 
"This is my room.  If you need anything, knock. 
Otherwise, stay out."  His gaze pierced her one
final time.

"If you ever come in here without my consent,
I'll kill you."

He slammed the door behind him, then threw the
lock into place.

On shaky legs, Julia bent and pulled the dress
up, fastening it with unsteady fingers.  She
straightened and walked to the open door of her
bedroom, her head held high.

It wasn't until she'd safely closed it behind
her that she allowed her exhaustion to grab
hold, falling onto the bed.

Why had he done it?  Did he want her to be
Scully?  Did he long for her, as she had longed
for him all the lonely hours?

Julia bit back the tears and closed her eyes in
the darkness.  She would not cry.  Scully never
cried.

More importantly, Julia never cried.



End Chapter Six

Julia
Chapter Seven

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


Undisclosed location
West Virginia Mountains
June 7, 2000
7:45 p.m.


"Scully, you have to get more rest.  You're
wearing yourself out."

Frohike approached her in the control room with
a cup of hot coffee.  Byers and Langly were
resting in rooms down the hall, having ended
their twelve hour shift at 4:00.  She had no
idea where Krycek was, nor did she care.  She
assumed he was crawling around somewhere in the
cavernous bunker.  It was huge; sometimes she
thought it might have been the exact place where
she and Mulder had seen those rows of file
cabinets years before, but she didn't care
enough to ask.  It didn't matter where they were
exactly... all that mattered was that it was
still unsafe to leave.

"We work in shifts, remember?  I have to pull my
weight," she answered, taking the steaming cup
from him with a nod of thanks.

He sat across from her at the table and fingered
the printouts before her.  "You've looked at
these a hundred times.  The disc was corrupted,
Scully.  We couldn't find anything else."

The pages blurred before her but she refused to
give up.  The printout of the machine language
on the disc did have some letters of the
alphabet interspersed here and there; it was
like a crossword puzzle that was missing some
very important letters.  She just had to
concentrate.

Apis mellifera scutellata... it was one of the
pieces of the puzzle she'd recognized
immediately.  It was the scientific name for the
Africanized honeybee.  The garbage below it was
related to the insect's physiology, she was sure
of it.  But the garbled letters made no sense. 
Not yet, anyway.

"I'll find it.  I just have to know where to
look."  Her voice dwindled as she recalled
saying similar words to Mulder on the day they
first met.  She was bent on taking her own
advice, even if it meant doing without a few
hours' sleep.

Suddenly, one of the computers that lined the
far wall began to beep.  Insistently, it
beckoned to them both with an incoming message.

The Gunmen had made good on their promise,
creating an untraceable network of informants
and contacts, people just like them.  The
computers were on night and day, waiting for any
tidbit of useful information to come down the
underground pipeline.

Scully and Frohike jumped at the sound and
spared a quick meeting of their glances before
moving to the computer.

"What is it?" she asked, hovering over his
shoulder as he sat down at the keyboard.

"Incoming video."  He moved the mouse to begin
the download process, then started the movie
player.  "I think this is what you wanted,
Scully."

The grainy video was dark, but it was good
enough to be able to discern what was happening. 
It was obviously taken outdoors, with only a few
high-powered flashlights for illumination.  She
didn't blame whoever had filmed this; she
wouldn't have brought this thing into the
bunker, though that's exactly what she
originally planned when she'd asked the Gunmen
for a body.  But one look at it would have
changed her mind in a heartbeat.

She gasped at the sight of the body on the
table... she'd seen this before... in the morgue
in Maryland.  The flesh was almost completely
transparent.  A squirming parasite beneath the
skin made it bulge in places.  This was what the
black oil did... Mulder had told her of seeing
many bodies like this on board the ship in
Antarctica.

She shivered with revulsion at the realization
that what they were witnessing was a birth. 
From the corner of her eye, she saw Frohike gulp
broadly and turn his head.

The sound was not the best either, but she
picked up on, "Stay away!" and "Get ready to
shoot!"

After a few seconds of struggle, it burst forth
from the straining skin, the ribs of the victim
exploding outward in a crumble of porous bone. 
The newborn crawled its way out, a screech of
unholy success blaring from the monitor.

"Don't let it get away!"

The shout from off screen was unnecessary,
Scully realized.  The hideous fledgling was a
tangled mass of limbs.  One single black eye
peered out from the right side of its head;   on
the left, a compound eye three times the size of
the other eye told her of its cross-mutation, as
did the half-developed wings.

This wasn't supposed to be, she thought.  The
alien DNA had somehow cross-bred with the insect
DNA, resulting in a creature that struggled to
even move from its host.  Within a few seconds,
the people who stayed well away from it moved
closer and the cameraman steadied his shaky hold
on the video camera, zooming in.

"Wait."  A man, the obvious leader of the group
from the others' reaction to his command -
they'd stilled immediately - moved forward and
poked the creature with his rifle.  It mewled
with distress, trying in vain to bring its limbs
together with any semblance of coordination.

Within minutes, it was dead.  The leader
instructed the others to burn it and the video
ended abruptly.

Scully felt another piece of the puzzle fall
into place.  She looked at Frohike and he met
her gaze with equal discernment.

"He never meant to succeed," she breathed with
wonder, a small smile of satisfaction gracing
her face.

"But was the virus mutated before the bees
carried it?  Or did the mutation occur within
the bee?"  Frohike beat Scully to the obvious
questions.

"That - I don't know," she breathed, "but it's
worth finding out, don't you agree?"

"Definitely," he murmured, his eyebrows arching
as he returned her grin. 

She moved away quickly, back to the printouts,
adrenaline wiping away her fatigue.  "It's in
here somewhere," she stated, shuffling the
papers.  "His whole plan... the biology of the
mutation... his intention to make the aliens
come to him for help..."  She looked at Frohike
for the first time in days with a burgeoning
hope.

"Maybe even the mechanism of the vaccine."


**********


Washington, D. C.
January 30, 2001
7:05 a.m.


Julia opened her eyes slowly.  Was the procedure
over with already?  She parted her lips and
tried to speak.  It still tickled, and she
coughed to clear her throat.

"Damn," she croaked.

No... wait, there was nothing there.  No sound,
just a breathy slip of the tongue.  On one hand,
she wished for her voice.  There were so many
questions left unanswered and she wanted Mulder
to provide those answers, right here and now.

But it was also a good thing that she couldn't
speak.  She didn't trust herself not to rail at
him for leaving her, for becoming a monster.

Was he, though?  Her rational mind embraced the
facts.  Living among Cancerman and his army,
enjoying warmth, food and sex. However much it
looked like he was one huge ball of anger,
surely if he didn't want to be here, he would
have found a way out?  And then, what she'd seen
him do many months ago, the heartless act that
told her he wasn't the same person... wasn't her
Mulder... how to reconcile that?

Her emotional self refused the possibility. 
She'd known him long enough to know that he was
a caring, sensitive man.  Taking the pain of
others on his shoulders, unwilling to harm
another soul even if it meant bringing hurt upon
himself.  He'd given up so many things for
her... gone to the ends of the Earth for her...
told her that she was his savior, many times
over....

No, no, no!

She was no longer that person, she was Julia
Longfellow, whore to the Minister of Justice. 
Well, technically not yet.  After she'd stumbled
to her bedroom, she'd not seen him again.  And
from the looks of the sunlit room, the morning
was upon her.  Would she be graced with his
presence at all today?  Much as she needed to
wheedle her way into his life as quickly as
possible, she didn't really relish the idea of
seeing him so soon after the greeting she'd had
last night.

But business was business.  There was work to be
done and she wasn't getting anywhere by lying in
bed all day.

She sat up and put her legs over the side of the
bed with a grimace.  She felt as if her insides
had been ripped by that butcher of a doctor; 
thank goodness her new master had not been in
the mood for sex last evening.  Painless, my
ass, she thought.  After donning the now
wrinkled dress once more, she slowly walked to
the bathroom.

Oh, thank you, she mouthed to nobody in
particular at the sight of the huge bathtub. 
Just what she needed - a long, hot soak.  It had
been several months since she'd afforded herself
that luxury.  Most of the time lately,
cleanliness amounted to a quick, tepid shower in
a community bathroom.  Was it in Santa Fe that
she'd last had a bath?  Or was it Nashville?  No
matter.  She was wasting time on the memories of
a dead woman when she could be experiencing the
joys of a live one.

In minutes she was up to her neck in lilac-
scented water, a cool washcloth covering her
red-rimmed eyes.

"You know, you're going to wrinkle that lovely
skin of yours, my dear."

Shit!  Julia splashed clumsily, the washcloth
falling to her breasts.

"It's okay, it's just me," Eliza said from the
doorway.  She stood there in a purple suit that
was obviously not a rip-off.  "I'm sorry I
startled you, Julia.  I knocked several times
and I began to get a little worried, so I let
myself in."

She had a key?

Eliza sat upon the curved chair in front of the
vanity.  "No, Julia, I don't have a key.  Nobody
does.  Haven't you noticed?  None of the doors
in this place have locks.  Where would you go
anyway, even if you could get away?"

Mulder's bedroom door had a lock and he made
sure she knew it.

"So... how did it go last night?  I saw the
Minister and his bodyguards leave.  He looked
like he was on his way to the gym, so I thought
I'd sneak in to see if you were okay."  She
leaned forward eagerly.  "The man simply exudes
sex from every pore, Julia.  Please tell me you
came at least once last night or you'll sorely
disappoint me."

Julia hated to lie to Eliza again, but
circumstances forbade the truth.  If anyone knew
just how dissatisfied Mulder was with her
presence, she'd be out of here in a flash.

Three fingers crept up out of the steamy water. 
Her companion sat back with a smug grin.  "I
knew it," she declared, her eyes closing with a
sigh.

Well, it really was not a total lie; Julia had
died a little death every time Mulder had
touched her.

"Oh, Julia, what I wouldn't give to be in your
place."

Yeah, unable to speak, living in close quarters
with a man who despised you.  That was the high
life, all right.  Julia had enough of the tepid
water and the simpering musings of Eliza.  She
stood and grabbed a bath sheet from the towel
rack, releasing the water with a flick of her
toes.

"We have lots to do today, Julia.  Hurry up and
get dressed so we can be out of here before he
gets back."

Lots to do?  Once again, she saw the woman pick
up on her facial expressions.  She supposed she
shouldn't be surprised.  After all, Eliza had
been working with concubines for quite some time
now.

"Yes," Eliza said, grabbing her shoulders and
propelling her into the bedroom.  "I've brought
a change of clothes for you, but we must go
downstairs today and select a complete wardrobe. 
They didn't want to outfit you until we were
sure you'd been accepted by him."

Oh, she'd been accepted all right.  He may never
speak to her again, but she was pretty sure he
wouldn't throw her out.  His dissatisfaction
would mean her death and somehow, she'd seen a
glimpse of his sympathetic nature in the glow of
his eyes.  Yes, he'd called her a whore.  But
his words were a double-edged sword, cutting
himself as well as her.

But what of the tape?  She'd seen him do
something she thought she'd never see him do...
without batting an eyelash.  She'd been here a
matter of hours and already she found herself
second-guessing the evidence right before her
eyes.

Julia shrugged off the beginnings of sympathy
and smiled at the jeans and sweater on the bed. 
At least she didn't have to go out in a harem
costume.  Still no shoes, though.  Eliza rambled
on and on about the suite, and hers right across
the hall, while Julia dressed.

"...and all you have to do is press the call
button by the door and in no time, a servant
appears.  Want some champagne?  No problem. 
Breakfast?  Right away, madam.  It's heaven, I
tell you.  Sheer heaven."

Breakfast, her stomach growled.  Feed me, I'm
hungry.  Julia rubbed her hand over her belly,
eyeing Eliza like she was a pork chop.

"Oh, my dear, I'm sorry!  Here I am, talking
your poor head off, and you're starving!  I saw
a tray on the table when I walked in - maybe
it's your breakfast."

It was breakfast, all right.  Buttery
croissants, mouth-watering apple cinnamon
muffins, juice and coffee.  Last night's clutter
of empty glasses had been removed, all except
for a solitary coffee cup by Mulder's chair. 
She assumed he'd had breakfast before he left. 
Did he eat up here at every meal?  If this was a
hotel, surely there were dining facilities
somewhere.  Maybe he chose not to dine with the
other administrators; he'd always been the
antisocial sort.

Eliza sipped coffee while Julia wolfed down one
muffin, then another.  "Careful, dear. 
Concubines - oh, excuse me, *escorts* - are not
allowed to put on too much weight.  Unless the
master likes a woman with a little flesh, if you
know what I mean."

Ding!  In the blessed silence of one of Eliza's
infrequent pauses, the elevator announced its
arrival.  The two women froze.

"Shit!" Eliza exclaimed.  "He's back.  God damn
it, I'm not supposed to be in here when he's
here."  She stood and frantically made for the
door, where she stopped at the murmur of voices.

Julia met her wild eyes and signaled her to the
bedroom.  Get in there, she mouthed.

"But what if he wants to - you know?"

In answer, Julia grabbed her arm and dragged her
into the room with an exasperated roll of her
eyes.  Eliza didn't have to worry on that
account.

"But, but..." Eliza sputtered as Julia brought
her index finger to her lips.  Be quiet, Eliza,
her finger said against her mouth.

"Julia!"

Julia closed the door on Eliza's frightened
hiss, then turned to welcome her master.



End Chapter Seven

Julia
Chapter Eight

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


Washington, D. C.
January 30, 2001
7:35 a.m.


Mulder was flushed and sweaty in his loose grey
sweatpants and Georgetown pullover.  He hadn't
seen her yet, hunched over as he was with his
back to the door.  After a few deep breaths, he
straightened and started for his room, yanking
the sweatshirt over his head.  She must have
gasped, although she was sure she couldn't,
because he stopped, a look of surprise flitting
across his face.  In seconds, he had the shirt
back on, but not before she'd seen the rest of
it.

The scar that marred his chin and neck extended
in a sickle over his breastbone.  God, it must
have been painful, she thought.  He'd been
carved like a Christmas turkey.

More painful to her was the cross that still
dangled from his neck, mocking her with its
presence.

"Had enough of me yet?" he sneered, walking to
the table, where he poured a glass of orange
juice and downed half of it in one gulp.

Julia didn't know what to do.  Indecision made
her shuffle from one foot to the other and she
had trouble meeting his eyes.  Unable to bear
his mocking gaze, she turned from him to scan
the landscape she'd wanted to see last night.

Her mouth opened in a horrified cry.  There was
nothing to see, really, no distinguishing
landmarks, just an array of portable floodlights
amidst a sea of rubble.  She'd heard it was bad
in Washington.  Rumors of mass destruction had
filtered through every city and town she'd
traveled through.  But nothing had prepared her
for this.

Oh, there were still a few buildings left
standing, after all, she was in one of them,
wasn't she?  But the majority of the city was a
burned carcass.  The major thoroughfares had
been cleared for strategic purposes, but there
was little or no traffic, just an armored
vehicle or two out on routine patrol.  No chance
at all of determining where she was; every
distinguishing landmark with a mile was gone.

"Quite a sight, isn't it?"  The question drifted
over her left shoulder.

Julia quickly wiped at the tears that trickled
down her cheeks before turning to see him right
behind her.  She backed away a step or two;  his
jaw tightened.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he mumbled,
dropping his head and heading for the bedroom.

Jesus, she had to do something.  The sooner they
got along, the better.  She ran to his side,
stopping his flight with a hand on his arm.

His eyes snapped from the sight of her slender
fingers to her face.  "What?"

Julia held up a hand, then walked to the table
by his chair.  Chances were, he had a pencil and
paper somewhere nearby.  He preferred the old-
fashioned way of note-taking.

Some things never change, she thought to
herself, spying her needs in the single drawer. 
For a split second, she froze.  What was she
doing?  She wasn't supposed to know any of his
former habits.  But she threw that thought away;
it was a natural conclusion that anyone could
have made.  Scribbling quickly in a sloppy
mockery of her former handwriting, she brought
the pad back to him and waited patiently for his
answer.

"I don't know what the hell you're supposed to
do when I'm not here," he said, handing the pad
back to her.  "Just stay out of my way when I
*am* here, okay?"  He finished the trek to the
bedroom door before turning.  He seemed to be
unsure of his next words, biting his lip before
speaking.  "You may want to learn sign language. 
I already know it and we can at least carry on a
conversation.  If you even would want to speak
to me."  He slammed and locked the door once
again.

Julia waited until she heard the shower before
ushering Eliza from the bedroom.

"Jesus, that was scary," Eliza mumbled under her
breath.  "I'll be back after he's gone to the
administrative offices, okay?"

Julia nodded, then quickly wrote two words on
the pad and handed it to Eliza.

"Sign language?  Of course, Julia, I can tutor
you myself.  It comes in very handy, let me tell
you.  A couple of weeks and you'll be spouting
love poetry to that gorgeous man."

Somehow, Julia doubted that.

She wrote again, asking Eliza to return when she
heard Mulder leave.  With a wink, Eliza
assented, then left.  Julia couldn't stand to
face him again, so she retreated to her bedroom
until she heard the slam of the front door.

In a matter of minutes, Eliza breezed in. 
"Ready?"

Julia nodded and they made their way downstairs
to the shops on the first floor while Eliza kept
up her constant chatter.  Julia didn't mind,
though; the more Eliza talked, the more she
learned.  'Gossip' was Eliza's middle name,
apparently.

While poring through the racks of designer
negligees and evening wear, Julia listened,
lamenting the loss of her long-ago closet full
of hand-picked armor.  Black suits with maybe a
splash of color in the silk blouses; the kind of
clothes that elevated her to the status of an
equal.

Eliza had pulled her away from the staid outfits
she'd been perusing when they'd first walked in,
explaining that those things just weren't,
"Pleasing to a man, dear."

Julia had tried to show her disapproval with a
scowl, but it sailed right over Eliza's head. 
The woman was adept at reading facial
expressions and even more skilled at ignoring
them, when she so chose.

"Now, that's more like it," Eliza purred,
sidling up beside Julia and fingering the piece
of red satin.  "He is going to love you in this,
Julia."

Another few minutes and the woman would be
salivating, Julia thought.  But the game must be
played, so she grabbed items at random, the plum
red gown included, and made her way to the
dressing room.

One after the other, she modeled them for Eliza,
feeling more and more like a prostitute with
every slide of the silky fabrics against her
body.  Even the underwear was nothing more than
flimsy scraps of lace and satin; Julia had never
worn things like that in her life.  Serviceable
clothes and shoes had been the norm for years.

"You know, the master usually helps select his
girl's wardrobe," Eliza said casually, sitting
in the velvet covered chair and sipping a latte. 
Waving away the shop girl, she pooh-poohed a
pink bustier with a grimace.  "With her
coloring?  Please.  Bring out the jade greens,
the midnight blues.  She's not a schoolgirl,
can't you see that?"

In the mirror, Julia paled and tried to catch
Eliza's eye.  What had she said before her
dressing down of the timid attendant?

Finally, Eliza noticed Julia's statue-like stare
and set down her cup with a smile.  "Oh, don't
worry, Julia.  He's not coming down here.  From
what I understand, he's left you to me for this. 
Just like he's done with the others before you."

A twinge of something that felt suspiciously
like jealousy fluttered through Julia.  Her
cheeks darkened to rival the color of the red
nightgown and she pulled at the thin straps,
trying to lift the bodice where it plunged
immodestly.

When she looked at the mirror again, Eliza was
right behind her.  "Don't fret, my dear.  Rumor
has it he's not cruel; in fact, from all I've
heard, he treats his women well.  And you've
already said he's a good lover, so what's to
worry about?"

<I don't think I'm his type,> Julia mouthed,
meeting the reflection of Eliza's gaze.

Her companion snorted and rolled her eyes. 
"Come on, Julia!  Petite redheads *are* his
type, you know that.  Now, go try on that oyster
lingerie set.  It will look fabulous, I just
know it."  She turned and met up with the shop
girl, whose arms were loaded down with more
seductive tools of the trade.

Julia was in no hurry, though.  Despite the
uncomfortable feeling of being on display,
especially in view of the passersby - though
they were few and far between - in the lobby
outside the shop's door, she was savoring the
time out of the suite, and she'd only been there
one day.

The shop had obviously not been a clothing store
before the Invasion; there was only one little
curtain-covered cubicle in the back, and the
only mirror was hung on the wall outside it. 
But it was a huge mirror, with three moveable
panels on hinges, so Julia could see herself
from practically all sides with ease.

The 'oyster lingerie set,' as Eliza had named
it, was nothing more than a bra and panties made
of shimmering pearl satin.  It was actually less
revealing than any other underwear she'd tried
on and she fell in love with it immediately.  It
looked so similar to her own clothes and she
draped the red silk robe over it, unwilling to
walk out of the dressing room in just her
underwear.  She would open the robe for a quick
peek in front of the mirror.

It was a bad idea.  As she parted the robe, her
mind wandered.

Back to a night of thunder and candles, of
discovery and beginnings.  Julia's arms sported
gooseflesh as she remembered how frightened
she'd been back then, and how much better she'd
felt....

Now, her own arms came around her at the waist,
as waist that was smaller, more defined. 
Hugging herself with melancholy, she raised her
eyes to look at her face.  A face that was as
unfamiliar as the fear she'd felt that long ago
night.

<They're just mosquito bites.>

<Are you sure?>

<Yeah.  I got eaten up a lot myself out there.>

Dropping her head, she allowed the tears to
gather, but not to fall.  Just a moment lost in
time, a moment that she would put away forever.

"Well," Eliza breathed, somewhere over Julia's
left shoulder.  "Seems we have an audience."

Julia focused beyond Eliza's painted face to the
one that stood transfixed in the doorway of the
shop.  What was he doing here?  Eliza had sworn
that he didn't care about the frivolous side of
their union....

Mulder was flanked by Guardsmen, dressed in a
severe black suit.  Why wasn't he upstairs in
his office, doing whatever dirty work they'd
given him?  Julia wondered if she'd have to
endure his presence night and day.  She hoped
not; her determination had already suffered a
blow from the previous night.

His gaze met hers in the mirror, then traveled
down her scantily clad body before coming back
up.  She felt a blush begin in her face and
follow the path of his eyes, but she was firm in
her resolve not to look away from him, though
she slowly drew the edges of the robe back
together.  She could give as good as she got;
the almost breakdown she'd had last night would
not happen again.

But she wasn't prepared for the look in his eyes
when they locked with hers at last.  He
remembered, too.  It was there in the soft glow
that she could feel, though he was some yards
away.  Like opening a photo album of treasured
mementoes, the air between them grew warm and
alive for a few seconds.

Until he dropped his chin, breaking the contact. 
His face became cloudy, unfocused... anguished,
his eyebrows drawing together as if he were in
pain.  Julia was struck by the transformation
and she drew in a sharp breath, preparing to
turn around and see if it was really so.

God, not again, she thought.  Don't let me be
swayed.  Don't let him get to me like this.  But
when she turned, he was gone.

She'd won this round.  Or had she?



End Chapter Eight

Julia
Chapter Nine

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


Undisclosed location
West Virginia Mountains
June 14, 2000
3:25 a.m.


An anniversary of the worst kind, Scully
thought.  Exactly one month since the Invasion. 
And they were still no closer to getting out of
the bunker than they'd been back then.

But she was closer to figuring out the puzzle
than she'd ever been.

The Appointing Authority still broadcast daily
messages, informing the populace of the new and
glorious society just on the horizon.  His plan
was outlined and though there were still some
resistance efforts ongoing, it appeared most of
the people left had capitulated.  They allowed
themselves to be classified, brought into
classification centers with smiles on their
faces.  At least, that's what the television
seemed to be spewing out these days.  Everyone
was one big happy family.

"Subliminal messages," Krycek explained.  At his
bunker mates' panicked glares, he added, "We
have nothing to worry about - the televisions in
this place are equipped with filters.  All part
of the plan."  He laughed at Scully's face, her
remembrance of the time she'd almost killed
Mulder under such influence making her pale. 
"Besides, it would take hours of viewing
'Cancerman TV' before you turn into a mindless
zombie... isn't that right, Scully?"

Another piece of the puzzle fell into place.

The Gunmen set about transmitting a worldwide
alert, informing their contacts of the
brainwashing.  Scully could have cheerfully
kicked his ass for waiting so long to tell them. 
But Krycek wasn't worth the effort.  All her
energy was streamlined into the thriving
underground resistance effort and trying to find
Mulder.

But there was something else to be done, and it
was not something she could do in front of an
audience.  It was something she'd pondered from
day one in the bunker.  Much as she didn't want
to do it, Krycek's revelation proved to be the
ultimate catalyst.  The Gunmen were busy at
their task, and it seemed as good a time as any
to do it.

She hadn't been called, hadn't felt the tug on
her mind and body.  But she knew deep inside
that it was just a matter of time.  For two
weeks, she'd wondered if it would come... *when*
it would come.

And she was tired of it already.  The decision
was upon her, and she couldn't put if off
another second, for fear of their safety.

She brushed past Krycek, ignoring his knowing
smirk, damning him silently.  Why hadn't he told
them this before?  No time to curse him, she
thought.  Just do it.

Blocking all other thoughts from her mind, she
walked to the room that served as a makeshift
medical unit, though it wasn't much more than a
collection of boxes marked with big red crosses. 
A worn padded table sat in the middle of the
room and a stainless steel sink and cabinet was
built into the far wall.  Above it was a mirror,
flanked by two bright lights that blared to life
when she flicked on the wall switch.

It didn't take her long to find what she was
looking for; the scalpel was still enclosed in
its packing material.  A quick swab of Betadine,
some twisting in front of the mirror... and it
was out, clasped between the forceps that shook
in her hand.

The cut was small and a butterfly bandage served
to hold the edges together nicely.  It wasn't
bad work, she mused absently.  Little or no
blood, and the scar would be minimal.

As she carried it to the restroom down the hall,
she did some mental calculations.  The tumor
hadn't made a measurable appearance or caused
any physical symptoms for about a year after
she'd removed the original; maybe she'd have at
least that much time to do what she could to
thwart colonization.

And if she didn't? she asked herself as the chip
was flushed away.  Then it didn't really matter,
did it?  In a year's time, there would be
nothing left of the world to save, at the rate
things were going.

All she knew was she couldn't take the chance on
discovery.  For herself or her friends.

"Still the martyr, eh Scully?"

She jumped at the sound of Krycek's voice and
whirled to find him leaning against the
doorjamb.  Seemed he made a living out of
sneaking up on people; not that she was
surprised.  He always was the reptilian sort.

Knowing it was useless to banter with him, she
turned away to wash her hands.  "And what's it
to you?"

"I'm not gonna let you sacrifice yourself."

Snorting, she dropped her head.  "Too late, it's
gone.  Besides, what do you care?"

"I don't... not about you anyway.  But I have a
vested interest in finding that old man.  And
somehow, I don't think your friends would stoop
to help me if you were dead."

At his murmur, she paused in the act of grabbing
a paper towel, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

"That fast?"  Jesus, it couldn't happen that
quick, could it?

"You'd be surprised, Scully.  After all, you
*were* at death's door last time.  It's still in
you, just dormant.  I'd give you a month, tops."

Frightened by his declaration, she paled, but
swallowed and stood firm.  "Still doesn't
matter.  The chip is gone."

"But this one isn't."

Like tempting a baby with candy, he dangled a
vial in front of him, waiting for her reaction.

Non-reaction, really.  She dried her hands and
turned to lean against the sink, arms crossed. 
"The same as the other one?  No thanks, Krycek. 
I want to sleep well at night - even if it *is*
only for another few weeks."

"This chip," he said slowly, turning the
cylinder of glass over and over through his
fingers, "is just like yours in every respect...
except one."  His jaw shut tight as his eyes
pierced her with challenge.

She was tempted, she couldn't deny it.  The
hole in the back of her neck made her feel so
empty, and it had only been a few minutes. 
Would she really die in a month?

"And I'm supposed to trust you?" she snorted,
feeling a fine sheen of sweat break out on her
upper lip.  Against her will, her eyes followed
the roll of the vial between his thumb and
forefingers.

"I don't give a fuck if you trust me or not. 
But I've been saving this baby for a long time,
Scully.  For myself, actually, should the need
arise.  Can't trust even your employers these
days."  His lips curled into a mirthless smile. 
"One of the originals - I stole it from the same
lab they kept you in when you were delivered to
them by Duane Barry.  I knew then it was
important."

She believed him.  God help her, she had no
reason to, but why would he lie now?  They were
all stuck in this prison, just waiting to die
when they would eventually starve.  There wasn't
any use going above, just as there wasn't a need
for her to die.  Not if he meant what he was
saying.

"Are you saying it can't be used against me?"

"The second chip, the one Mulder so heroically
saved you with - *that* one was a later version. 
Complete with Cancerman radar. *This* one will
do what you need it to... and nothing else."

"And what do you want in return?"  Nothing came
without a price with this man.

He handed it to her.  "Nothing.  Call it a
gift."

She watched him walk away, still unsure of his
motives.  This was going to take some serious
consideration.


**********


February 6, 2001
8:45 p. m.


Julia waited, cataloging all the necessary
information she'd learned in her short time
here.

After the shopping trip from hell, during which
she'd been outfitted in all manner of seductive
wear, she'd slowly managed to regain some
control.  As well as finding out quite a lot
about the inner workings of the building.

Eliza had explained to her that all of the men
housed on the top floors were administrators. 
There were twenty-two floors in all, plus a
penthouse where the Appointing Authority made
his residence.  Mulder's suite was on the
twenty-first floor; if the administrators were
placed according to importance, as one would
assume, then he was probably right under the
boss man in the chain of command.

She couldn't really figure out exactly what his
job was, though.  He left at 9:00 a.m. every
day, Sundays included, for his office on the
fifteenth floor.  Offices occupied floors number
ten through fifteen; service personnel had
quasi-offices on floors number seven, eight and
nine.  Apparently they slept on makeshift cots
in the same rooms they worked out of.  She'd
already seen the Infirmary on the sixth floor. 
The lower floors consisted mainly of shops and
entertainment facilities, including a ballroom
and fully equipped gym on the second floor.  
Eliza spoke of dining in the restaurant facility
on the third floor, which made Julia long for
human contact.  Mulder preferred to have their
meals delivered to his suite.

Every evening, he would drag in at 6:30 and head
straight for his room.  At least a half hour
would pass before he made his reappearance. 
Once, she'd dared to press her ear to his door; 
all she'd heard was the din of the shower,
muffled through the wood.  Quite a lengthy
shower, by anyone's standards.  She supposed you
didn't have to worry about conserving hot water
in this palace of greed.

She hadn't allowed herself that luxury since the
day of her arrival.  Lingering in the bathroom
meant letting your guard down and she didn't
have the added security of a lock on her door as
Mulder did.  She'd not been bothered by anyone
really, much to her surprise.  Not even by
Mulder.

Dinner was delivered promptly at 7:00 and they
would eat in stony silence at opposite ends of
the table before he'd settle in his chair by the
window.  Julia would curl up on the sofa with
one of the books she'd acquired from Eliza and
await his pleasure.

He was not the least bit interested in her,
despite the shared moment in the shop's bright
lights.  She'd tried to speak with him once, a
few days ago, stopping his flight to the window
with frantic hands.

"What now?" he'd grumbled, hands on hips.

Julia had stepped back, a hopeful smile on her
face.

<F - O - X.>  Her hand tentatively signed the
letters proudly.

At first, his eyes had softened, becoming mossy
green and open.

She'd done it again, faster, her smile
tentative.

<F - O - X.  F - O - X.  F - O - X.>  It
mattered not that he hated his name.  She had
always loved it, and had taken the opportunity
to use it.

He'd watched her in silence, until his face
hardened, the memory of her purpose returning by
degrees.

Distressed at his retreat, she'd gambled on her
next word.

<M - U - L - D - E - R.>

<M - U - L - D - E - R.>  Mulder, Mulder,
Mulder.

Over and over her fingers curled in the more
familiar fashion, her eyes pleading for
communication, until he'd grabbed her hands and
pulled her to him, his eyes flinty.

"*You* are not allowed to call me that," he'd
said through clenched teeth.  "Don't ever do it
again."

That night, he'd forgone the nightly drink in
his chair, instead leaving her for the sanctuary
of his bedroom, carafe in hand.

He drank quite heavily, though she'd never seen
him falling down drunk.  She doubted she ever
would; Mulder was not the type of man to let
alcohol blur his objectives, whatever they
happened to be.  That was the real question here
and she would figure it out one day soon.  Her
mind was constantly working on it.

His voice bounced off of the window.

"Julia?  Are you still there?"

Three nights of silence.  She'd sat on the couch
behind him for hours each night, staring at the
cold fireplace, occupying her mind with
possibilities and her ears with Mozart, which
Mulder seemed to like.  She would never have
pegged him as a fan of classical music, but
every night, he loaded the compact disc player
with, unbeknownst to him, some of her favorites.

It was funny how physics and the Piano Concerto
in A major blended into perfect harmony.  Until
his voice hit a sour note.  Julia sighed, a
ragged exhale of breath that caught her vocal
cords with just a twinge of memory.

"I want to see you, Julia.  Come here."

Julia hesitated at the small request.  Mulder
had basically ignored her since the morning
after her arrival, when he'd barricaded himself
in his room.  She wasn't sure if she wanted him
to anymore; the sound of his breathing, mixed in
with the music, were comforting in an odd way. 
He would spend half an hour or so in the shower,
they would eat dinner - well, she would eat, he
would just pick at his food - then they would
set up camp at opposite ends of the room until
he stumbled to his room around midnight.  He was
exhausted, that much was obvious.  Against her
better judgment, she was worried about him.  He
didn't eat well or sleep much.  Was it too much
to give him the sight of her face?

She padded across the carpet to his side,
tightening the belt of her royal blue robe,
keeping a rein on her anxiety.  Much as she'd
known this was coming, she didn't know if she
was ready for his attentions.  It was too soon. 
There had not been enough time to rebuild the
ice around her heart that had melted at the
sight of him.

Mulder sat in his chair, the ever present glass
in his hand.  He'd had quite a lot this evening,
more than usual, Julia thought.  Out of the
corner of her eye, she gave his slouched form a
quick once over.  The liquor hadn't dulled his
senses in the least.  From the set of his jaw to
the hand that grasped the arm of the chair, he
was ready to spring at a moment's notice.  She
anticipated his next move, but jumped anyway
when his left hand released the chair to curl
around her wrist.

He didn't look up when next he spoke.  "Sit
here, Julia, in front of me."  He pulled her to
the ottoman, where she sat in a rigid pose, her
legs snug between his.

Julia kept her eyes on her hands, which lay flat
upon her thighs.  Don't look at him, she kept
repeating to herself.  You don't know what your
eyes will tell him.  Her heart was racing; she
was sure he could see it in the pulse that beat
wildly in her neck.

"Look at me."  The command was half-hearted, as
if he didn't want to anger her.  It confused
her, this plea.  With a crook of his little
finger, he could have her taken away,
repatriated like the others.  Yet the three
little words were spoken more like a request. 
One that she couldn't deny.

He sat on his chair in familiar repose, his
spiky hair still damp from his evening shower. 
The sweatshirt hung on his lanky frame - he was
much too thin, she thought.  A man of his height
and breadth could easily have carried an extra
twenty pounds.  His face was clean-shaven, but
gaunt.  The scar didn't seem quite as menacing
because his face was losing the glow of health
with every day that passed.

But his eyes... they were very much alive,
shining like the loveliest of Christmas lights. 
Green and clear despite the effects of the
alcohol, they were mesmerizing in their siren
song.

"I told you I wouldn't hurt you and I meant it,"
he said.  "I just wanted someone to talk to
tonight.  I get tired of hearing myself breathe
sometimes."

He smiled slightly, then, realizing the step he
had taken, pulled back abruptly, his lips
pursing.  But his eyes remained the same -
hopeful and wanting.

Julia had always been a sucker for pitiful
looks, and this one was no different.  She
watched her hands rise from her lap.  It was
fortunate that she was a fast learner; in the
past few days, she'd picked up the rudiments of
sign language from Eliza.  Mulder's absence
during the day gave them many hours of practice.

<F - O - X.>

The memory of his admonishment darkened his
eyes.  "Is that all you can say?"

Stricken, she closed off immediately, her eyes
lowering again.

"Jesus, I'm sorry, Julia," he hissed.  "I didn't
mean to.... damn it."

Julia stopped him from leaving with a hand on
his knee.

<Hello,> she signed. <My name is Julia.  What's
yours?>  Welcome to sign language 101.

"Sure as hell isn't Mr. Sensitive," he replied
wryly, then flushed at her answering smirk. 
"Oh, you think that's funny, do you?"

Julia nodded, feeling her tension ebb away at
his embarrassment.  The corners of his eyes
crinkled in time with the grin he tried to
suppress.  He really was a lovely man, she
thought, despite his disfigurement.  She felt
her whole body warm with feelings she'd not had
in months.  Unwelcome as it was, she gave in to
his pull and let her mouth open, the smile
blossoming under the light from his eyes.

Mulder caught his breath at the transformation. 
Julia felt an instant of regret; she shouldn't
have let her guard down so fully.  It was not
wise.  But she couldn't help herself - he was so
obviously starved for genuine human contact.  As
was she, although she hadn't admitted it to
herself until now.  It was difficult not to be
entranced by Mulder.  He was such a beautiful
man, inside and out.

Once again, he ceased to be the Minister and
became just a man.  A lonely, haunted man who
needed something from her - an ordinary
conversation.

Small talk seemed so trite in this gilded cage,
but she made the effort, hoping to continue to
draw him out.

<Do you like classical music?> She nodded at the
lovely melody that filled the air.

"Not particularly," he smirked.  "They probably
hate it, so it works for me."

She was momentarily confused. <They?>

"My associates," he replied, touching the tip of
his ear with a wink.  "For some reason, they
find me fascinating."

Listening devices?  Her eyes widened at the
thought.  Of course.  Even if Mulder was working
for them now, it made sense that the old 'trust
no one' philosophy would still apply.  Jesus,
had she done anything in the past few days....

"Don't worry, Julia," he murmured.  "No cameras. 
Not that I've found, anyway.  But there isn't
enough DDT in the world to kill all the bugs in
this place."  He lifted his chin and shouted,
"Isn't that so, fellas?"  A chuckle bubbled from
his lips as he swirled the liquor in his glass. 
Whispering, his eyes filled with mischief. 
"I'll bet they hate when I do that."

<I'll bet they do,> she answered, his infectious
grin making her smile in return.  In fact, she
would not have expected anything less from the
man who used to make a living pissing people
off.  At the memory, her smile became pensive,
and Mulder reacted in kind, sobering just a bit.

He cleared his throat and took another sip of
whiskey, momentarily looking away from her
wistful face.  "Where are you from, Julia?"  He
joined in making small talk, unwilling to open
himself to her just yet, she knew.  That was
okay, she thought.  It was a start.

<Alexandria,> she signed.

Well, it was partially true.  The person she was
now had been fully realized in that horror of a
bus station, helped along by a generous dose of
Eliza Marcotte.

"Virginia?" Mulder asked, sitting a little
straighter in his chair, his face lighting up at
the possibility.

Jesus, she had forgotten where he had made his
home before....

<No, Louisiana.> It was with a sad heart that
she watched him wilt.  He just as quickly
recovered, his face regaining some of the stoic
composure she'd become accustomed to over the
last few days.  Some, but not all.  Little by
little, he was losing the tight rein he had over
his emotions.  It showed in his next words, the
humor filtering through.

"A southern girl, huh?  So, Julia, did you once
sit on the porch of a huge plantation home and
sip mint juleps all day?"

That made her laugh, or as near to laughter as
her paralyzed throat would come.  It came out as
a breathy squeak, catching her by surprise.  She
brought a hand to her neck and gasped.  Mulder
apologized immediately.

"God, Julia, I'm sorry - I've done it again. 
Does it hurt?"  He leaned forward and brought
his hand to her elbow.

Julia shook her head. <Only when I laugh.> She
smiled at her joke, her shoulders shaking with
pent-up laughter.  It was amazing, actually,
what they'd done to her.  She'd been positive
that, at the very least, she would have
experienced some aspiration of food due to the
non-movement of her vocal cords.  That was a
very common problem with vocal cord paralysis. 
But so far, nothing unusual had happened.  She
was physically okay, just unable to speak.

Mulder smiled with her, waiting for her to calm
down.  "That was a truly horrible joke, Julia,"
he said, slightly miffed at her.  "If I could
give you back your voice, I would, you know." 
His smile died as his eyes met hers.

Julia nodded, her hand coming to rest upon his
wrist.

<I know you would,> she mouthed, stroking the
pulse that beat under her fingers.  They sat in
silence as she soothed the agitated surge of
blood just under his skin.  The skin felt rough,
uneven, almost....

Her eyes fell to the wrist she cradled and she
felt her mouth drop in horror.  Lines...
puckered, angry red marks of disillusionment and
pain.  Had he been so desperate?  Apparently he
had, and not so long ago, from the looks of his
skin.

God, she was angry now.  Angry at him, at the
men who forced him to resort to such a horrible
solution, and especially angry at herself for
not being here until now.  Screw the plan. 
Screw the Underground.

Mulder followed the red fire as it crept from
her neck to her face.  "Julia - what is it?"

She raised furious eyes to his face, then back
to his wrist, as if to demand an explanation. 
Not that he owed her one; after all, he wasn't
supposed to explain anything to her.  Julia was
a servant, a fact she knew all too well.  But it
didn't stop her from screaming her question at
him in the grip of his arm.

<What is this?> she mouthed, too incensed to
release his arm long enough to sign the words. 
She knew she shouldn't appear so interested, but
images of him cold and blood-soaked put all
thoughts of apathy right out of her mind.

He jerked his arm away and rose from the chair. 
"None of your God damned business," he growled,
reaching for a new bottle of booze at the bar.

Try as she might, she couldn't get the images
out of her mind.  They bombarded her, one after
the other, like arrows through the heart.  She
felt the hot tears wind slowly down her cheeks,
wanting so much to tell him what she shouldn't,
what she couldn't.

"It was a long time ago, Julia," he said, as if
he could feel her sympathetic gaze upon his
back.  "Long before I realized how good I had it
here."  Sarcasm dripped from his words.

Julia stood and took a step toward him, unsure
of her motives, but sure of one thing.  She
needed to tell him....

"Go to bed, Julia.  Leave me alone."

No, no, I can't, she cried to his back.

"I've had enough conversation for one night." 
His shoulders slumped and his head dropped. 
"Please do as I ask, Julia."  The last whispered
words were a plea, one that she couldn't deny.

She wiped the tears from her face and resolved
to let him take this at his own pace.  She could
wait; time was not yet of the essence.  It was
good that they'd made a beginning.  This thing
between them wasn't supposed to be emotional,
but somehow she always knew it would eventually
come down to that.  The plan didn't call for her
to be Fox Mulder's savior, but her heart could
not let him be lost, despite his dubious
allegiance to the Appointing Authority.

He started at the touch of her hand upon his
arm, but didn't move away.  She became bold,
turning his face to hers with a gentle brush of
her fingers.

<Good night, Fox.>

Mulder's face was impassive, but a simple truce
dawned in his eyes.

"Good night, Julia.  Sleep well."

She watched him retreat to his bedroom.  The
click of the lock didn't bother her quite so
much as it had the night before.



End Chapter Nine

Julia
Chapter Ten

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


Undisclosed location
West Virginia mountains
July 5, 2000
8:17 a.m.


"Damn," she muttered, lowering her head to
stretch her neck.  She was no closer to solving
the mystery of the disk than she'd been days
ago.

The Gunmen were just as diligent, if not more
so, in their quest for answers.  She knew she
was pushing them and herself to the limits of
endurance, but she couldn't stop.  She
*wouldn't* stop until she found what she was
looking for.

The vaccine.  Mulder.  At this point, she wasn't
sure which was more paramount in her weary mind. 
And her brain was weary, that much was certain. 
Fueled by snacks of canned fruit and tons of
coffee, it seemed that it was working even in
her sleep.  Her dreams were vivid; mostly
involving Mulder and what he could possibly be
living through.  Flashes of torture... Mulder
screaming her name... they wouldn't leave her
alone, her waking hours haunted by the visions.

With a shudder, she shook off the painful images
and rose from the chair.  Coffee - she needed
more coffee.  The trio stationed around the room
didn't even glance up from their monitors as she
slipped quietly through the door into the hall. 
They were probably used to her caffeinated
wanderings by now, she thought.

The small kitchen was alive with the smell of
coffee and the scent bolstered her flagging
spirits.  This time, she would sit in here and
enjoy the strong brew instead of taking it back
to her workstation.  Pretend that it was a
normal day back at the Bureau; if she closed her
eyes, she could almost hear Mulder's low murmur
above the din of the teeming break room.

She sat at the table and sipped, keeping her
eyes closed as her mind wandered.  Lois from
payroll, rambling about her kids' soccer
tournament... Holly... dear, sweet Holly...
stopping by to greet her and Mulder with a small
smile.  Kim, the Assistant Director's secretary,
giving them a nod as she filled a cup for
herself and her boss.

Scully missed them all.  Melancholy settled over
her as she wondered if they'd made it, if
somehow they'd survived colonization.  She
couldn't decide which was worse - dying by
gestation or living in the hell left behind.

"Praying, Scully?"

The sarcastic drawl made her eyes pop open as
she tensed.  "Where the hell have you been,
Krycek?"

They hadn't seen him for days.  Not that she
really missed him all that much, but she sure as
hell didn't trust him.  If a better opportunity
presented itself, she knew he'd turn them all in
quicker than the blink of an eye.

As he smirked and headed for the coffeepot, she
noticed just how scruffy he was.  Unshaven and
unkempt, like he'd been in the same black garb
for a week.

"Where have I been?" he mused, his back to her. 
"Oh, I suppose you could say I've been treasure
hunting, Scully."

Treasure hunting?  Did he find something that
could help them?  She tamped down the hope and
waited for him to take the seat across from her. 
It wouldn't do to let him know just how badly
she needed some thread to cling to right now. 
Cool, she had to stay cool.

"Find anything interesting?" she asked, putting
nonchalance into the question with an arch of
her eyebrow.

"Not much... just this."  He punctuated the
bland statement by pulling something from his
pocket and laying it on the table before her.

Its gray-black surface immediately brought back
memories of that awful time in Africa.  Mulder's
illness and the futility of her search for a
cure.

The alien artifact.  Possibly from the sunken
ship, though it had gone missing after she'd
left the Ivory Coast.  More likely, the piece
acquired by the murdered Dr. Sandoz.

Schooling her face into an impassive mask, she
decided not to ask where it had come from.  The
more important question was, "What are you doing
with it, Krycek?"

"Keeping it safe."  His eyes spoke of pure
urgency.  It was important, she could tell from
his tense demeanor.

"Just how important is it?"

He leaned forward, brushing his fingers across
its surface like it was the most precious of
metals.

"Important enough to throw me into a Tunisian
prison when I stole it.  Important enough *not*
to kill me when I lied about having it hidden
away.  Important enough to keep me alive so he
could find it again."

*He* as in Cancerman, she thought.

"Important enough to kill Marita just hours
after Mulder's abduction... because she knew too
much about it."

"He killed Marita?"  Scully wasn't surprised,
just curious.

"Cured her, sent her after me, then had her
killed."  He looked away and took a gulp of
coffee.  "Pre-planned execution, of Marita, and
of me.  I guess that bullet with my name on it
hasn't found me yet."

He had to be the luckiest creep alive, Scully
thought.  Why couldn't Mulder ever enjoy such
good fortune?  She clamped her teeth over the
urge to scream with frustration.

Krycek continued, oblivious to her anger,
staring off into space.

"It was just like him to send us after Mulder,
then kill us, knowing I'd take the opportunity
to get rid of him forever.  Or so I thought. 
Little did I know the son-of-bitch has nine
lives."  His eyes darted back to her as he
laughed without mirth.  "It's like some second-
rate Greek tragedy, don't you think?"

Scully ignored the derisive chuckle and pressed
forward.  "But why is *this* so important?"  She
nodded at the artifact, almost afraid to lay a
finger on it.

Krycek took a quick breath, then sighed, saying
through clenched teeth, "*That* I don't know.  I
know he'd been experimenting with it.  Skinner
was a modest success."

Taken aback, Scully breathed, "Skinner?"

Nodding at the artifact, he replied, "The
nanites.  You thought they were pure carbon, but
they weren't.  Carbon-coated pieces of this
material taken from other crash sites."

Her mind raced, questions upon questions vying
for release.  "You infected Skinner with pieces
of *this*?  Why?  What's so special about it?"

He stood and finished off his coffee before
reaching for the artifact and pocketing it once
again.

"Once you find what *I'm* looking for... I'll
let you know."

She couldn't fathom just *why* he was doing all
this, what he hoped to gain.  It was quite
possibly a futile question, but she had to ask
anyway.

"And just what are you looking for, Krycek?"

At the door, he turned, as somber as she'd ever
seen him.

"Maybe... myself."

With that, he was gone.


**********


Washington, D.C.
February 8, 2001
9:30 p.m.

Another two nights of music-filled silence; at
least he hadn't thrown her out after her
impertinence of the other night.  Julia had
awakened the morning after their first real
conversation sure that there would be Guardsmen
waiting for her in the living room.  A concubine
did not question her master's motives about
anything, much less something as personal as a
suicide attempt.

But she was still here, although he hadn't made
another foray into the chasm between them.  She
sure as hell wasn't going to disrupt the status
quo by approaching him.  She was content just to
sit on the couch every evening.  Things could
have been a lot worse; life on the street was
hard.

When she had emerged from the bunker she'd
shared with the Gunmen after the initial round
of repatriation, she'd had to live by her wits. 
Armed with only a fake Priority One pass and the
plan, she'd methodically traveled from city to
city and found herself quickly becoming hardened
to the plight of those on the run.  Although the
Underground leaders had assured her they were
working to save as much of the population as
they could, there were only so many they could
save.  Julia knew that the odds were that nine
out of the ten faces she saw were destined for
death.

It was best to ignore the feelings of
helplessness and despair that arose with every
glance at a begging mother or a starving child. 
War did not discriminate; a good soldier kept
the objective in sight at all times.

If only she could apply that reasoning to
Mulder.  Little by little, the line between
logic and emotion blurred.  Julia vacillated
constantly now; when he was gone from the
apartment, her resolve strengthened.  She could
do this without any reserve.

All it took was one look at his face every
evening and the wall she carefully constructed
during the day came crashing down.  It mattered
not that he seldom spoke to her, especially in
the past two days.  He had power over her - the
Underground had failed to see just how much. 
Julia told herself throughout her journey that
she could deal with it; if she could ignore a
baby's cries, she could turn a blind eye to
Mulder's influence.

Too bad things never turned out the way they
were supposed to.

"Do you miss it, Julia?"

His voice made her start and she dropped the
book she was reading into her lap, losing her
place.  Not that it was holding her interest
anyway.

Julia stayed where she was, unwilling to go to
him just yet.  She needed time to determine
where this line of questioning was going.  Time
to prepare, although she doubted it would do
much good when she had to face those haunted
eyes.

"Do you?"

Damn, he was close, standing at her feet.  He'd
crossed the room silently, his shuffle lost to
her amidst the gathering of her defenses.  Too
late now to regroup; she'd have to make do with
the bricks already in place.

<Miss what?> She plastered a benign look on her
face, or what she hoped passed for casual
interest.

"What you were before," he replied, sitting on
the coffee table before her.  "The life you had
before."

What a stupid question, she thought.  Her lips
pursed with anger; Mulder instantly backtracked.

"Of course you do," he muttered, hanging his
head.  "What a stupid question."

Julia raised her eyes to his sagging form and
was dismayed by his withdrawal, her anger
dissipating quickly.  She put a hand on his knee
and urged him to continue.

Mulder sensed her conciliation and rushed to
clarify.  "What I meant was, do you miss it so
much sometimes that it hurts?  Physically, in
your bones.  You know, the sharp pain that comes
when a memory surfaces that takes you by
surprise."

<Of course I do, Fox.  Except it hurts here.>
She laid a hand over her heart.

His eyes followed the splay of fingers, his
voice dwindling to a whisper.  "You have hands
like hers, you know."

Julia gasped and quickly tried to hide her hands
in the folds of her robe.  Before she could
succeed, however, Mulder had taken them into his
own, forcing her to remain still.

He rubbed his thumbs over the backs of her
hands, his fascinated gaze taking in the
translucent web of veins and delicate pink
nails.

"She has the most capable hands," he murmured. 
"I hurt and she heals."

Dear God in heaven, Julia prayed.  Don't let him
look at me now.

"She's not dead, you know.  I would feel it if
she was."  Just as Mulder brought his head up,
Julia's lowered.

She waited in forced silence, thanking the Lord
she couldn't speak.  It didn't stop a tear from
escaping, though, its salty path taking it right
past the memory of that mole she used to hate.

Mulder let go of her hands and she hurriedly
brushed her damp cheeks, steeling herself
somewhat.

<Why are you telling me this?> She signed the
words without meeting his eyes.

"Because you're different, Julia," he said
softly.  "All the others looked at me with
hatred and disgust.  You look at me with *her*
eyes."

<I don't think so,> she said with a wry sniffle.

"Oh, they're not exactly the same, their shape
is different.  But the color is exactly the same
as hers."  He brought her chin up, forcing her
to meet his eyes.  "I saw... things, Julia.  In
her eyes.  Words that she couldn't say to me. 
You may be physically unable to speak, but it
was just as hard for her, you know.  Love,
desire... need.  All in her eyes.  I see the
same in yours."

Julia sat there, her breathing becoming more
intense, the air rushing through her parted
lips.  Mulder was fascinated by the flutter of
her pulse in the hollow of her throat, and
Julia's eyes closed as he lowered his lips to
that valley, slowly, slowly....

She was sure her heart would collapse from the
furious beating her body was putting it through. 
Mulder's mouth stopped a mere hair's breadth
from her skin and he gripped her shoulders,
effectively holding her in a vise.

"Jesus," he rasped, his whiskey-scented breath
stirring her senses into a frenzy.  "You even
smell like her...."  His fingers loosened as his
lips finally touched her skin.

She couldn't help it.  Her arms wrapped around
him as he went almost boneless, his knees
hitting the carpet as he knelt before her.

"Scully."

Julia felt his pain pierce into her very soul. 
He didn't realize what he was saying, that was
obvious.  The liquor and stress were making him
hallucinate.  He couldn't possibly think she
was....

"I - I miss you, Scully."

Dear God, Julia thought.  It isn't enough for
You that we have to live like this?  Why must
You keep torturing him this way?  Torturing *me*
this way?

She stroked his back with one trembling hand and
laid his head upon her shoulder with the other,
cradling him like she would a child.  His face
was hot and damp and his eyes were shut tight,
his lips moving against her neck in a continuing
confession.

"I'm sorry I left you, Scully... they held me...
made me...."  He hiccuped ungracefully, the
words stopping momentarily as he gasped for
breath.  "I'm so tired, Scully.  So tired."

Julia shifted, pulling Mulder up and away from
her.

"No, don't go," he said, making a feeble attempt
to stall her flight.  Julia took his hands and
made him sit beside her, then laid him upon the
couch, careful not to break contact in an effort
to tell him she wasn't going anywhere.  She made
him relax, pulling his legs up and sliding off
his tennis shoes, all the while keeping her eyes
locked upon his heavy-lidded gaze.

I won't leave you, her eyes told him.  Believe
me, I won't.

She slowly crawled into his embrace, his sigh of
relief threatening to make her cry.  But she let
the sadness pass her by, and instead reveled in
the safety of his arms and the surety of his
heartbeat under her cheek.  His hand closed over
her fist, and she gave him what he needed, her
fingers slowly curling.

<I'm here.  Sleep, Mulder.>

As her first two fingers separated from the 'R'
in his name, his hand slid under hers and their
palms kissed each other goodnight.



End Chapter Ten

Julia
Chapter Eleven

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


Undisclosed location
West Virginia Mountains
July 16, 2001
9:42 p.m.


"These are the same types of readings we saw in
Bellefleur," Byers said, fingering the stack of
printouts.  "When Mulder -" He broke off and
cleared his throat, flushing at Scully's stare.

"So this means...."  Scully was calm, staring
eerily at him from across the map table.

"There are more ships," Krycek finished.  "At
least six, all cloaked and nearly impossible to
detect.  Situated in and around the metropolitan
D.C. area."

"But Washington is supposedly a ghost land,"
Frohike stated.  "A big pile of rubble.  Why
bother?"

Scully had the same question on her mind.  The
information they'd gathered suggested that
Cancerman and his faithful were still in the
Washington area.  But where?  In these ships? 
Not likely.  From what Mulder had described to
her of the massive ship in Antarctica, it was
not suitable for human inhabitation.

She skimmed her hands over the printouts,
spreading them out for easier analysis.  "Do
these readings correspond to the readings in
Bellefleur?  Are the ships approximately the
same size and shape?"

Frohike and Byers exchanged glances before
moving around the table to join her in looking
over the printout.

"Basically, yes.  With the exception of one or
two," Byers added.

"One or two?  How so?"

"Judging from the readings at these two sites,"
he pointed to the printout, "the ships here are
not as broad, as wide in diameter.  If I had to
guess what they looked like, I'd compare them to
the old Saturn V rockets.  Monstrous, really."

Scully caught her breath with a flash of
intuition.  "Like skyscrapers?"

Byers looked at Frohike, then back.  "I suppose
so."  His eyes widened as he, too, realized what
it meant.  "If they can effectively hide a
spacecraft, then they can hide anything...."

"Including skyscrapers," Frohike breathed.

Though their primary goal for weeks had been to
decipher Cancerman's plan, an opportunity to
strike at the head of the beast didn't come
along every day.  Scully looked at Krycek and
could see the wheels turning in his eyes.

He addressed the Gunmen.  "I need information. 
Anything you can get me."

They scuttled away without another word, and
Krycek lifted his gaze to Scully.

"You realize what this means, don't you?" he
asked quietly.

Scully still didn't trust him totally, but over
the past weeks, they'd formed an uneasy
alliance.  Everyone in the bunker knew that
certain death waited for them above.  And
Krycek, while not going out of his way to help
in their research, certainly had proven to be
very valuable in matters of espionage and arms
procurement.

He was driven... by revenge or justice, she
couldn't tell.   His cryptic comment about
wanting 'freedom' was sincere; could it be
possible that at long last, he was tired of
running, of hiding in the shadows?  She didn't
feel like analyzing Krycek's motives.  He'd
always played it close to the vest and she was
weary of trying to decipher the man behind the
menace.  But one thing she *could* tell from the
gleam in his eye....

"We've found what you're looking for?"  Scully
couldn't help the small grin that accompanied
her reply.

He smiled and straightened up from the table. 
"And what *you're* looking for as well, Scully. 
The pieces are coming together, just like that
ship in Africa.  Like a jigsaw puzzle."  With
one last determined set of his jaw, he added,
"And I guarantee that old bastard will stay dead
this time."

Scully said nothing as she watched him move to
hover over the Gunmen at the computers.  Her
mind was busy leaping to hopeful conclusions.

Krycek was one step closer to finding his boss. 
To freeing himself from the shadow of the
conspiracy once and for all, if that was his
goal.

And she was one step closer to finding Mulder.


**********


Washington, D.C.
February 9, 2001
6:45 a.m.


God, his chest was so soft under her cheek. 
Softest thing she'd ever known, she thought,
burying her nose into the cotton and inhaling
deeply.  It was unusually soft, actually, pillow
soft....

Julia's eyes opened to the familiar feel of her
pillow beneath her head.  Her heart sank when
she realized she was alone.  Mulder must have
put her in her room sometime during the night,
though she'd not even felt the slightest
movement.  Disappointment flooded her; she so
wanted to wake up in his arms.

The bedside clock read 6:45 a.m. - Mulder would
be gone for his workout by now.  He usually
returned by 7:30 and was out of the door by
8:00, having eaten breakfast and showered. 
Julia quickly got out of bed and made a beeline
for the bathroom.

She wanted to speak to him this morning.


**********


Mulder stopped just inside the door,
embarrassment tinging his cheeks a faint pink. 
If not for the blush of color, she would have
likened him to a statue.

"Oh... good morning."  His eyes avoided hers for
a second or two, then came back to hers as she
moved to rise.

Julia stood at the end of the couch with a
hopeful look. <Good morning, Fox.> She busied
her shaky hands with the words. <How do you
feel?>

Mulder legs unlocked and he moved to the
breakfast cart for his usual orange juice. 
"Better, now," he replied, then added softly,
"though I felt like shit earlier."

A small smile graced her features; with the
amount of alcohol he'd consumed last night, he
must have one hell of a headache.  He didn't
look as pasty as he had been last night, though. 
She figured the exercise had made him sweat off
a lot of the toxins in his bloodstream. 

If anything, he looked utterly desirable, in the
unkempt, unshaven way of the male animal.  Julia
felt the familiar heat building, propelling her
forward.

"I'm sorry about last night, Julia," Mulder
said, his quiet voice forestalling her advance. 
"Guess I had too much to drink.  It won't happen
again."

Won't happen again?  Did he mean he wouldn't
speak to her again?  Julia moved to his side and
tugged on his arm, her confusion palpable in the
air between them.  She wanted it to happen
again.  She wanted him to hold her, to tell her
he loved her....

"Please, Julia," Mulder shrugged off her hand,
"I don't feel like talking right now."  He
sidestepped her on his way to the bedroom, but
Julia was quicker, planting herself firmly in
his path.

<What's wrong, Mulder?>

"Don't call me that," he growled.

<I called you Mulder last night,> she signed
furiously. <You didn't stop me then.>

"I should have," he replied tightly.  "I should
also have kept my drunken mouth shut, but I
didn't."

<I'm glad you talked to me.>

Mulder sighed and took a step back from her
probing eyes.  "Listen, Julia.  I don't remember
a lot of it, but I know I said a lot of things
last night that were uncalled for.  No, wait,"
he grabbed her hands to stop her reply.  "I
don't know how much you know about me, but it's
not good for you to attach yourself to me."

He let go of her hands and moved even further
away.  "You're not her, you never will be.  If I
could guarantee your safety, I'd send you far
away from me."

Julia followed his retreat, her hands fumbling
with the words.  They refused to cooperate,
however, lagging so far behind the screaming in
her mind, her objections became gibberish.

<Stop... don't do this... you must know....>

Mulder turned his back on her frustration. 
"Stop it!  Just... stop, Julia."  He brought his
hands to his head, as if by covering his ears,
he could block out her pleas.  It hurt Julia
just to look at his angry back; the wall of bone
and sinew was final in its rigidity.  "You don't
know what I am - what I've become.  If you did,
you'd hate me."

Oh, Mulder, she thought.  I believed once that I
could hate you, but not anymore.

"You'd hate me," he said again, his words faint. 
"Then they'd take you away."

He dropped his hands and half-turned, his look
one of such pain and distress, she felt it in
her bones.

This has to stop and stop now, she told herself. 
She planted herself before him like a brick
wall, intent upon revealing herself to him.

"Sir?"

Julia started at the sound of the unfamiliar
voice coming from the doorway.  A Guardsman
hovered just inside the open door, his shiny
face a portrait of haughty pride.

"Sir, the Appointing Authority needs to see you
right away."

"I have to get dressed," Mulder sneered, already
on his way to his room.

"I was instructed to wait, sir."  His voice
trailed off as Mulder disappeared into his
bedroom.

Julia turned her back on the Guardsman; his
haughty look had disappeared the moment Mulder
left the room.  In its place was a blatant
ogling that unnerved her.  Usually, she could
stare down any man.  But that was in another
lifetime; she was now no better than an object,
a toy to be played with.  Used and abused by the
men in power.

Not that this pawn in the chain of command would
dare say or do anything to her, but his leering
was enough to make her turn away and face the
window, wrapping her arms around her body in a
gesture of anger and humiliation, the pale blue
negligee no defense against any man's lust. 
Would she ever wear *real* clothes again?  Ever
feel in control?

Steel resolve straightened her spine and she
vowed not to be intimidated any longer.  Knowing
any show of defiance was foolhardy, she
refrained from challenging the Guardsman by
facing him again.  She knew there was no way to
keep the cold, haughty pride from her eyes.

But it didn't stop her from standing as tall as
she could, setting her shoulders and letting her
hands fall to her sides as fists.  One day soon,
she would rise from subservience and resume the
full posture of freedom.

And if temporary abasement was the least she had
to endure, she could do it.  After all, she'd
already traded away a face and an identity; she
was willing to bargain with her body and soul,
if necessary.  Anything to assure victory.

"You like it up here, baby?"  The murmur floated
across the room, just as she knew it would.  She
could feel the Guardsman's interest sparked by
her stiff form.  "Fucking that gimp in there?"

Julia closed her eyes and counted to ten, hoping
for Mulder's return before she gave in to her
anger.

"They say he can't get it up... that true?"

She hissed in a breath and squeezed her eyelids
tightly shut.

"They say she cut his balls off, too."  The
voice was now whispering.  "You need it, baby,
you just ask me... I'll give it to you."

That's it, she thought, preparing to turn
around.

"Get out."  Mulder's voice was quiet but deadly
in the suddenly stifling air of the room, making
Julia start.  She hadn't heard him return.  "I
said, get out."

"I was instructed to wait for you... *sir,*" the
Guardsman said, the mockery evident in his
reply.  Did Mulder not have the power she
thought he did?  First the Guardsman's pressing
of her, then the sass of Mulder; he may have
been a menial, but he wasn't afraid of the
Minister, that was evident.

Of course, sexual dalliance with a muted
concubine was a punishment-free proposition. 
Even if a concubine could speak, who would
believe her word over that of a trusted soldier
of the Appointing Authority?

"Then wait outside."  Julia didn't turn around,
but she could feel Mulder's ire singe her spine. 
"Do it!"

She jumped at his shout; dear God, would they
come to blows over this?  She should have left
the room when the Guardsman first came in.  But
no, she had to try to talk to Mulder.  Had to
press the issue even though he was having none
of it.

"Yes sir," came the soft reply, and she sagged
with relief as she heard the Guardsman shuffle
away.

After the door clicked shut behind the odious
man, Julia felt a stir behind her.

"I'm sorry," Mulder apologized.  "I shouldn't
have left you alone with him.  It won't happen
again.  Do you see now what I mean?"

Julia hung her head with regret; just how was he
going to prevent it?  The soldiers in
Cancerman's army had free rein and she was
basically a slave.  If one of them chose to come
in here while Mulder was away, she would be at
his mercy.  It didn't matter that she was well-
trained in self-defense, her cover forbade any
resistance until the time was right.

"You're different, Julia," he continued.  "You
don't deserve this..." He paused, gesturing at
her skimpy attire.  "This parading around like a
whore.  And I won't see you treated that way.
*I* won't treat you that way.  I'm sorry if I
ever did."

She turned and raised burning eyes to his face.

<You never did.>

"Yes, I did," he insisted, "on the very first
day.  You're not some man's possession, you're a
person."

<I can be her, if you want.> Please, Mulder,
tell me you want me to be her.  Give me some
sign, like you did last night.

"I'm sorry, Julia.  If you knew her at all,
you'd know she'd never let any man do this to
her."

A stab of pain shot through her and she turned
away.  It was true, every word.  Just how far
had she lost herself to the mission?

She felt a hand on her shoulder and held her
breath while he spoke.

"You know, Julia, she would never have let any
man look at her that way.  She knew exactly how
to freeze someone with just her eyes."

Yes, she did.  Julia let out her breath in a
sigh, turning to face him.  His eyes were soft,
the edges crinkled with mirth.  She found
herself playing along with his turn of mood.

<Like this?> her hands said, and she pursed her
lips and squinted in an overdramatic Scully
pose.

Mulder grinned and brought his hand to her
temple, lifting her eyebrow with his finger. 
"Not enough eyebrow action, Julia," he said,
smiling.  "And your lips should...."  He trailed
off, sliding his hand down her face to soothe
the rigid line of her mouth with his thumb.

Julia parted her lips and let the warmth of her
breath caress the rough pad of his thumb.  Her
gaze dropped, mesmerized by the flutter of his
pulse underneath the skin of his neck.  It
jumped as if sensing her scrutiny, moving from a
slow, steady rhythm to a rolling throb, in
contrast to his husky, slurred words.

"Your lips should...."

His hand dropped from her face to her neck,
skimming the beat of her heart as it leapt up in
answer to his.  She brought her own to cover the
furious flow of blood under the pale scar that
disappeared into his sweatshirt.  Together they
swayed in the morning sunlight, ever closer to
one another.

"Julia."

At his sigh of her name, she raised her eyes to
meet his.  They were storm-tossed, grey and
questioning.  He was going to kiss her, she
realized.  At that moment, she wanted nothing
more.  All thoughts of revealing herself to him
were dismissed; a surge of desire unlike any
she'd felt before made her weak.  The plans
she'd held onto for months evaporated.

The universe narrowed in an instant as she rose
on tiptoe and touched her lips to his.

They were soft and tasted of mint.  Slightly
parted, they allowed her to explore at her
leisure, not responsive yet but not denying
either.  Just... there... as if he was afraid to
deepen the kiss for fear she'd fly away.

She counted to five, each second punctuated in
her mind with his name, venturing timidly in her
search for the soul of the man she knew still
lived beneath the scarred facade.  When she
pulled away, she saw it.

It was there in the lax line of his jaw, the
pink tinge of his cheekbones, the half-lidded
simmer of his dilated eyes.  This was Mulder,
her Mulder, the one she'd missed for many
months.  She opened her mouth to welcome him
home, wanting to tell him how much she loved
him, had always loved him.

His voice overpowered her useless attempt.

"You can never be her."  It was a sad sentence,
not meant to hurt her, she knew, but it sent
pain through her like a knife.  "I'm sorry,
Julia."  He moved away from the window and gave
her his back, his hand worrying the back of his
neck.

She moved to follow, but his words continued,
stronger and more resolute.  "I don't want to
open myself to you, Julia.  It happens every
time, you know.  I lose myself in the women he
gives me, wanting them to be her.  But it never
works and I'm tired of trying.  I told you last
night that I believed she was still alive...."

So he did remember his drunken confession.

"But my mind tells me she's dead, she's not
coming back," he finished.  His back heaved with
a heavy sigh.  "And I'm so tired of trying to
replace her.  So damned tired."  Before she
could make it to his side, he was gone, locked
into his bedroom.

Julia was devastated.  This was not what she
thought would happen when she aligned herself
with the Underground in their plan.  Mulder was
considered the enemy now; she was supposed to
lead them here with no regard for his safety or
hers.  She'd resigned herself long ago that this
was, in all likelihood, a suicide mission.

Now she wanted to live.  She wanted Mulder to
live.  It didn't matter what he'd been doing for
Cancerman all this time; he was still the same
man deep inside.

She would find a way.  Starting with telling him
who she was.

In ten minutes, he emerged from the bedroom,
dressed and ready for work.  Julia sat upon the
sofa, calm and ready.  At the sight of him, she
stood, her hands already in motion.

Mulder went to the door in swift strides,
ignoring her desperate movements, dropping a
black nylon bag just to the right of the door.

"The cleaning service will be by later today,
Julia.  If you need, there's a bag in your room
- don't use mine."

Like they'd just been discussing the weather,
Julia thought.  Nice to know he could still be
so blase about backing away from emotional
issues.

The thought made Julia pause, realization
filling her with sadness.  She was wrong. 
Mulder was never unwilling to talk - she was
always the one with communication problems.  The
irony didn't escape her - now that she was
unable to speak, she most wanted to open up to
him.

"No more, Julia," he pleaded over his shoulder. 
"We'll talk later, okay?  I have work to do."

With that, he was gone.  Julia was disappointed,
but undeterred.  She found his pad and pen and
sank into his chair, inhaling his scent from the
soft leather.  If he wouldn't sit still to watch
her speak, she would make sure he'd read it. 
The words flowed from her pen, in the precise,
studious handwriting she'd used for years down
in the basement.

Her first sentence - My name is Dana Scully.

On and on she went, pouring out her heart and
soul on the paper.  But she stopped short of
detailing just why she'd been sent here, why
she'd volunteered for the mission without a
moment's hesitation.  She didn't believe that
Mulder would give her away to his superior, but
it did matter if, by her carelessness, they were
caught.

If by some chance her letter fell into the wrong
hands - which it wouldn't, she'd see to it at
the first opportunity - then all she would be
revealing would be herself.  A renegade with a
bold plan to assassinate the Appointing
Authority along with his son.  After all, she'd
learned to lie with a straight face... a face
that wasn't her own.

And if Mulder was part of them now?  Unable to
contemplate the remote possibility, Julia
dismissed it.  He was her Mulder, and she could
not fathom otherwise.

She was with him at last.  Able to see him every
day, able to make his existence worthwhile, as
he had done for her.  They would find a way to
stay together;  outside, in the horror that so
many, herself included, had survived in the
months past.

The only problem?  They were coming.  Krycek and
his army.  They were just waiting for her
signal.

Which made his listening to her even more
imperative.  Time was running out.

The knock at the door surprised her and she
stuffed the pen and paper under the cushions of
his chair before rising to greet the servant
who'd already pushed open the door.

"Miss, do you have anything else?" he asked,
holding up Mulder's bag of laundry.  He was a
small man, soft-spoken.  Very different from all
the others here;  Julia sensed it immediately.

"Miss?"  He brought his gaze up momentarily from
its subservient scrutiny of the carpet.

Julia shook her head no, mesmerized by the
placid blue of his eyes.

Before she could communicate anything else, he
threw the bag into the cart behind him and
returned with a hanging bag.  "Would you see
that the Minister gets these?"

Julia took the clean laundry and laid it upon
the back of the sofa, thanking the man with a
nod.

As she watched him leave, she was once again
struck by how odd his behavior was.  Despite
Mulder's lofty position, most of the inhabitants
of this fortress, whether peon or not, treated
them both with disdain.

But this man... there was something about him
she couldn't put her finger on.  Something
important....

The ding of the elevator told her he was truly
gone and she shrugged off her feeling of
disquiet.  She had work to do.  She quickly took
the papers from their hiding place and retreated
to her bedroom.  Although it was just another
unlocked door, it did afford more privacy.

She really was losing it, she thought with a wry
grin.  Almost got caught by the laundry man.  A
very unsettling laundry man, but a laundry man
nonetheless.  Dana Scully would not have been so
careless.

But like Mulder had said, Dana Scully was dead.

Or so Julia had thought, before she'd been
ensconced in this ivory tower of inhuman greed.

Actually, Dana Scully had only been asleep.  She
was wide awake now and ready to rescue her
prince.



End Chapter Eleven

Julia
Chapter Twelve

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


Undisclosed location
West Virginia Mountains
July 22, 2000
9:00 a.m.


"Scully, wake up."

The voice broke into her dreams, but she was not
unhappy.  Violent visions of walking bees and
hazy portraits of Mulder's bloody, mutilated
face dominated her sleeping hours.  Was he hurt? 
Somewhere in Cancerman's lair, screaming her
name in agony?

Her mother had always hinted that her family,
particularly the women, possessed the ability to
see the future.  She stopped short of calling it
'the Sight,' Catholic rigor about such
paranormal matters making the prospect taboo. 
Scully would grin at her mother's reluctance to
speak of it in such terms, considering that the
Church doctrine was based on accepting Christ's
teachings on blind faith.  If a person believed
that Jesus had once walked on water, why would
belief in your own sixth sense be so forbidden?

Besides that logic, Scully's skeptical mind
refused to accept the possibility that dreams
were nothing more than a myriad of synapses
firing randomly in the brain.  The product of
anxiety and exhaustion, in this case.

Or... the manifestation of raw, unfulfilled
desire, as was the case with her dream of two
nights ago.  Warmth suffused her at the memory
of that dream, a kaleidoscope of images that
involved Mulder and herself, wrapped in each
other's arms, their skin touching at every
possible pressure point....

"Scully!"

Her eyes shot open at the insistence of
Frohike's voice, as well as the shake he gave
her shoulder.

"What?"  She sat up and swung her legs over the
side of the bunk, the urgency in Frohike's voice
finally penetrating her sluggish brain.  "What
is it?"

"Something you ought to see.  Quickly," he
added, practically running from the room.

Her legs almost didn't cooperate, but she forced
herself to shake off her fatigue and she
followed him down the hall to the control room. 
A murmur rippled from the room... it hit her
ears with the force of a sledgehammer.  She
stopped for a disbelieving moment; it sounded so
familiar, that voice... music to her starving
senses.

It was him.  It had to be.  Dragging in a happy
gasp, she felt her lips part in a smile, the
first one she'd really felt deep in her bones
since she'd been here.  Her lethargy disappeared
in an instant and she rushed to the doorway,
grabbing the frame to steady herself.

"The promise of the future remains bright."

She couldn't see the monitor; the four men she'd
been quarantined with for the past weeks huddled
in front of it.  But that voice... like warm
chocolate syrup, sweet and sinful... flowed over
her, propelling her into the room to sample
further its siren song.

At her approach, the bodies parted, each face
turning to look upon her.  She went to the
monitor with halting steps, dragging herself to
it like an oasis in the desert.  His face came
into focus through the shimmer of her tears, a
glorious sun reflecting off the water that
promised to soothe her parched soul.

"All we ask is that you cooperate."

Cooperation?  From the ultimate rebel? 
Impossible, she thought.  This was a joke.  He'd
tapped into their system and was being a wise-
ass with the Gunmen.

"The Appointing Authority has your best
interests at heart.  The country needs your
support now more than ever."  The screen widened
as the camera zoomed out.  His arms appeared,
then his hands, folded in a loose clasp as they
rested on an expensive-looking table.  He was
impeccably dressed, buttoned down and so
handsome she wanted to weep.

"Please accept our help.  We only want to live
in peace."

The camera continued to move back and Scully
felt the room spin for a moment as another
figure rippled into the picture.  Smoke whirled
between the two men, but Mulder didn't flinch or
blink, his gaze trained at the camera.

The Appointing Authority's smile crinkled the
corners of his eyes, a cold show of teeth that
made Scully shiver.

"He's being brainwashed, like the others." 
Adamant in her conviction, she refused to
acknowledge any other possibility.  The Gunmen
were the recipients of her fiery glare.  "You
guys said there were subliminal messages in the
broadcasts."

"Just like that case years ago in Braddock
Heights," Byers agreed, "when you wigged out. 
Same signal... we finally isolated it a few days
ago, after Krycek warned us about it."  He
paused and looked at the others, hesitance
written in the crease of his brow.

"But?"  Scully felt his reluctance creep into
her chest, transforming it into dread.

Frohike cleared his throat and brushed Byers
aside, coming up to take her arm in a light
clasp.  "Mulder is red-green color blind,
Scully.  It's the reason why he was unaffected
years ago.  And the reason why he is...."

"Unaffected now," she finished in a dry whisper. 
Gathering herself, she shoved down her doubts
and set her jaw.

"I refuse to believe that.  This is not what it
looks like.  And I'm going to prove it."

She staggered down the hall, feeling the long-
forgotten tickle in her nose.  By the time she'd
made it to the restroom, her lips and chin were
bloody.


**********


Washington, D.C.
February 9, 2001
6:15 p.m.


Julia blinked away the memory and awoke from her
doze with a start.  She hadn't meant to fall
asleep and from the looks of the darkened suite,
what was once late afternoon was now early
evening.  She quickly turned on the floor lamp
beside her.  For a moment she panicked, her
hands skimming over her lap until they grazed
the paper wedged between her left hip and the
sofa arm.  Then she breathed a sigh of relief.

Her life in her hands.  Literally, every word on
the page could be her death knell.  She looked
at the folded piece of paper once more then
shoved it in her pocket, gathering her courage. 
Tonight.  She had to tell him tonight.

No more questioning her emotions, no more
second-guessing Mulder's motives, she promised
herself.  But she had an awful feeling that was
easier said than done.  It was in her nature to
question; the truth had always been his ultimate
goal, just as it had been hers as well.

Half-hearted promises aside, she did know one
thing for certain.  She was tired of living a
lie.  If he embraced her or had her thrown in
prison, at least she would accept it as Dana
Scully.  The way she'd always dealt with life's
ups and downs.

In the dark silence, the arrival of the elevator
sounded like a sonic boom, making her jump. 
Julia glanced at the clock; it was only 6:15 -
he was home early.

The front door opened and she stood, wiping her
palms on the emerald green dress.  She knew she
looked good in it.  Every piece of her wardrobe
had been picked out with seduction in mind.

Though she didn't remember picking out this
particular dress, she had to say that it was her
favorite of the clothes Eliza had helped select. 
She had protested during their trip to the shops
downstairs, eyeing the skimpy costumes Eliza
hand-picked with barely concealed disdain.  But
her companion had brushed aside her glares,
reminding Julia that she was here for one
purpose and one purpose only.  And she'd better
dress for it.

But this dress had been delivered late this
morning, apparently having been forgotten to be
delivered with the others.  It was of the
softest velvet Julia had ever put her hands to,
and, fashioned without buttons or zipper, it
fell over her shoulders to hug her torso to her
hips, where it flared gently to fall to her
ankles.  The sleeves laid along her arms to her
wrists like a lover's caress;  the neckline was
scooped and hugged her bosom provocatively.

A special dress for a special night, she hoped.



End Chapter Twelve

Julia
Chapter Thirteen

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


Washington, D.C.
February 9, 2001
6:15 p.m.


She stood with a trembling smile on her face. 
But Mulder ignored her, not even saying hello,
like he'd begun to do in the past few days. 
Instead, he stumbled to his bedroom, shoulders
hunched, mouth slightly open, brow knitted with
concentration.  His normally pale face was more
ashen than usual.  He had a file folder gripped
in one fist and a bottle of amber-colored liquid
in the other.  Scotch, most likely.  It seemed
to be his preferred poison.

He closed the door to his room and Julia waited
for the ritual slide of the lock.  It never
came.

She fidgeted at the end of the sofa.  Did he
want her to come to him?  Was this the
opportunity she'd been anxiously waiting for? 
He'd told her to never come to his room
uninvited; she hadn't even gone in there when he
was out.  He locked it daily.  She could have
forced her way in easily with a hairpin or two,
but she didn't want him to see the telltale
scratch marks on the knob.

After a few seconds of indecision, she came to
the conclusion that the unlocked door was not an
invitation.  It was, however, a golden
opportunity.  Especially when she heard the roar
of the shower.  She could be in and out in five
minutes.  Leave the letter on his bed and await
his response.  He wouldn't even know she'd been
in there.  Yes, it was a cowardly thing to do,
but she had the awful feeling he would tear it
in two should she try to hand it to him
personally.

Julia crept in, her head slowly inspecting the
room through the crack in the door.  He was in
the shower, all right.  She walked further in,
her bare feet making no sound on the plush
carpet.  His room was almost monastic in its
simplicity; he had a king-sized bed just as she
did, but from the looks of it, he spent his
nights in fitful sleep.  The coverlet wasn't
even turned down, just slightly mussed as if he
merely napped there.  Several pillows rested
against the headboard, but only one bore the
imprint of his head.  The clothes he wore that
day laid in disarray on the floor.  A small lamp
glowed from the night stand by the bed.  There
were no books there or on the dresser, just a
few personal items.  A watch, hairbrush and
keys.

And the file folder.

Should she take the opportunity to skim the
contents of the file folder?  On the far side of
the room was the bathroom.  She estimated she
had about five minutes before he was finished.
It was the first time he'd brought work home. 
At least she hoped it was work.

Yes, Dana Scully had returned with a vengeance. 
Information was hard to come by and though she'd
not come in here with that objective in mind,
she'd be a fool to pass it up.

She spread the file open on the bed, all the
while eyeing the bathroom door.  A stack of
forms, all the same, laid before her, lined with
names, destinations and dates.

A lump of tense realization bloomed in her
throat.  They were lists.  Lists of people
awaiting repatriation.  All with the haphazard
signature of Fox Mulder.

This is what he did all day.  Served as judge,
jury and executioner.  Swallowing the bile that
bulged in the back of her throat, she skimmed
the names of the forms that had today's date. 
Her finger glided over the P's, Q's and R's
shakily; the row of S's seemed endless.  But she
had to do it - to her knowledge, her family had
never been accounted for.

Scallan, Schroeder, Scott, Shipley....  She
breathed a sigh of relief.  They weren't there. 
Her hand jerked away from the page at the next
name.

Skinner, Walter S.  Detained in Montreal.
Montreal?  Made sense... the cold still acted as
a deterrent to gestation.

Her heart plummeted as she scanned to the right
of his name.  Scheduled for transport on
February fourteenth.  Five days from now.  The
signature line at the bottom of the page was
empty; it was the only form he hadn't signed. 
Yet.

Would he do it?  Could she let him?  She held
the paper up in both hands, ready to rip it to
shreds.  So what if she got caught?  She
couldn't let Skinner die.  Worse - she couldn't
let him be captured at all.  He carried pieces
of the artifact in him.  The Appointing
Authority would surely love to get his greedy
hands on another source of the raw material.

Just as her hands moved in opposite directions,
a loud groan came from the bathroom.

Julia felt the simmering anger blow up to
consume her, blinding her temporarily.  A man
who had once been friend to them both lay in
wait, probably stuffed into a railway car with a
hundred other poor souls; he was going to be
dead in a matter of days.

And Mulder was jerking off in the shower.

God damn him.  Just when she'd been ready to
tell all, fall for his confusing, sympathy-
inspiring words.  If she had a knife, she would
have finished the job that the previous
incumbent had started.  The dinner trays didn't
come with sharp knives, though.  Plasticware was
the norm at all meals.  No big surprise, given
the assassination attempt.

"Aaahh."  There it was again; he was getting
close.

She looked at the manifest in her hand, then
quickly folded and pocketed it before walking to
the bathroom door.

Short, hitching gasps barely reached her ears. 
He *was* masturbating, wasn't he?  Could the
sounds of pleasure be something else entirely?

Disgust waned with the racing of her mind. 
Think, she admonished herself.  Your face may
not be the same, but your logical mind hasn't
changed a bit.  Weigh the evidence.  Believe in
the man.

He couldn't have been doing this job
voluntarily, could he?  The Mulder she'd once
known would not have given up all he'd ever
worked for, the truth and justice he craved, for
this world of power and greed.  Then again, the
man she knew would not have done the things
she'd seen him do in the past months.

Maybe he'd been working with the Underground all
along.  But why had she never heard of it?  And
what could he possibly hope to accomplish in
this fortress to that end?

Fox Mulder, *her* Mulder, would have died before
he let these men manipulate him.  Her breath
caught at the memory of his scarred wrist.

He would have died.  He would have taken his own
life.  Julia's eyes filled with hot, bitter
tears of realization, spurring her on.

A heavy cloud of steam blasted her face when she
opened the door.  She could barely make out his
naked form behind the shower door;  the only
light came from the vanity mirror, and it was
dispersed in the haze in the room.

"Noooo.  I can't do it."  It was barely a
whisper, but the agony within the words was
deafening to Julia's ears.

"Mulder," she answered, her lips forming the
soundless word.

"God damn it!"  He let loose with the hoarse
cry, and Julia froze.

He was crying.  Small, almost wailing sobs that
echoed in the shower stall.

Oh my God, she thought, *this* was why he spent
thirty minutes showering each night.  It was
killing him, this power he had over life and
death.

She brought her hand to her mouth unconsciously,
stifling the soundless cry.  Why did he do it? 
All these months spent at the right hand of the
Appointing Authority, declaring to the world on
television that he was a traitor, signing his
name on death warrant after death warrant.  Not
for the first time since she'd been muted, she
wished for her voice.

Instead, she slowly pulled the dress over her
head and slid open the shower door, her decision
made.

Mulder didn't hear her step into the spray
behind him, nor did he hear the soft snick of
the closing door.  He was bowed under the
stinging stream of hot water, palms flat against
the tile, his back heaving with the
uncontrollable cries that broke from his lips.

Julia felt her tears begin anew; dozens of faint
white lines crisscrossed his back.  He'd been
whipped, apparently very badly, from the looks
of the puckered skin.  Although the scars were
diminishing, indicative of excellent medical
care, there were a few that would remain for the
rest of his life.  Her anger returned, this time
at the men who had done this to him.

Careful not to startle him, she slipped her arms
around him from behind and laid her cheek
between his shoulder blades.  Though only
experienced when she'd brushed his cheek with
her lips, the smell of his skin filled her
senses with familiar longing.  It was still the
same; still Mulder.

He immediately jerked to attention.  "What the
hell are you doing in here?" he rasped, though
he made no move to turn around and confront her. 
"I told you never to come in here."

Julia answered him by putting her lips to the
worst of the scars, the water making them slide
over the fiery red skin.  She was rewarded with
a hissing intake of breath.

"Stop it."  He still didn't turn around though,
even with his weak protest echoing off of the
tiles.

He wasn't adamant in his command and she found
herself sliding easily into the role of
concubine. Granted, if she weren't Julia, she
never would have found the nerve to approach him
this way.  It thrilled her, the total abandon
she felt racing through her veins.  Desire,
love, the need to comfort... all overriding her
reason the moment her skin touched his.

She became bolder, her hands molding the
sculpted planes of his chest and arms.  His
breathing changed from deep, ragged gulps of air
to short bursts of moistened pleas.

"Stop it, I said.  Stop..."

Now that she'd started, what he was asking was
impossible.  She moved closer, the patch of
curls between her legs making contact with his
taut buttocks.  At the feel of the friction
between them, he stiffened, his head falling
back.  She glanced up and was in awe of his raw
beauty.

His hair made a sleek cap upon his head, water
running in rivulets over his tightly shut eyes
before pooling on his lower lip, which was slack
in beautiful, relaxed ecstasy.

"God, Julia, what are you doing to me?"

The sound of her name on his lips pulled her
away from her mesmerized scrutiny back to the
matter at hand.  She wanted to make him forget,
to soothe his hurt.  Time later for discussion.

Her hands pinched his nipples and the groan from
him excited her beyond belief.  Even in the
constant storm of now lukewarm water, she could
feel herself swelling, the dampness of her
arousal dripping from her.  She wanted nothing
more than to turn him around and impale herself
on his cock, but this wasn't about her.  It was
about Mulder.

After several minutes of playful nipping at his
chest with her nails and opened mouth kisses to
his back, she lowered her hands slowly over the
muscles of his abdomen until she felt him
twitch.  His hands fought for purchase on the
slippery tiles, and his head fell forward, his
eyes open.  She felt him watch as one tiny hand
drifted down, searching with slow, hopeful
deliberation.

"Fuck," he hissed, his hips bucking into her
hands.

I've got him now, she thought.

In a heartbeat, he'd turned, trapping her wrists
with his hands.  "What the hell do you think
you're doing?" he growled.

Surprise made her gasp and slip forward, her
form colliding with his.  For a brief moment, he
allowed her to rest against him and she caught
her breath at the unmistakable hardness of his
flesh as it reacted with life of its own.  The
Guardsman's taunting words echoed in her fuzzy
brain; now she knew his gossip to be definitely
untrue.

At the contact, Mulder's eyes darkened,
narrowing and pinning hers.  Desire surged
between them; the rise and fall of his chest
became more rapid as he gulped in the moist,
steamy air.  The grip on her wrists tightened as
his head lowered.

She kept her eyes open, as he did, her gaze
settling on the tantalizing open mouth inches
from hers.  This kiss promised to be even better
than the one they'd shared earlier in the day; 
she knew that once they'd begun, there was no
going back.  Mulder was going to kiss her and
make love to her.  What had begun as comfort
would end with sex.

And she was ready.  More ready and happier than
she'd ever been in her life.

"Scully," he breathed, unconsciously calling her
the familiar name.

Scully.  He'd called her Scully.  That made her
happiest of all, though she doubted he'd even
realized it.

But she saw the instant he *did* realize it. 
His mouth stopped a hair above her own, mingled
water flowing between their lips like a warm
current of electricity.

No! she wanted to scream.  Don't stop!

Before she could finalize the union of their
lips, he pulled away, releasing her wrists. 
"Get out."

She couldn't, she just couldn't.  They were so
close....  Bringing her hands up to his chest,
she moved closer, pleading with her eyes for his
capitulation.  One of his hands moved to cover
hers, stilling their movement on his chest while
he slowly brought himself back under control.

With his other hand, he savagely turned and shut
the water off, the disgust in his voice piercing
her.  "I said, get out."

When she didn't make a move, he gripped her
hands and shoved back, making her release him. 
Stumbling blindly, her hip slammed into the hand
rail with enough force to take her breath away. 
When the pain abated, she opened her eyes to
find him gone.

What the hell was that all about?  Was he
mortified to have lost control?  Angry with
himself because he'd called her by another's
name?

Moving gingerly, she toweled dry and drew the
dress over her head, her hair hanging in damp,
wavy folds around her face.  She made her way
into the bedroom to find he wasn't there,
either.  The file folder was missing, too.

His voice drifted to her from the open bedroom
door.

"Yes, yes, I know.  Tell him I'll deliver them
personally."

Had he noticed the missing manifest?  She didn't
think so, or he would have known immediately who
had it.

He hung up the telephone and walked to the bar. 
Julia noticed he had donned navy sweats;  his
bare feet were stuffed into unlaced tennis
shoes.

Mulder must have heard her approach, because his
voice stopped her cold before she could reach
him.

"So now you know what I do all day," he said
dispassionately.  Yes, it seemed he'd noticed
the open folder on the bed, but somehow had
missed the Skinner manifest.  "How do you feel,
Julia, knowing you live with a murderer?"  He
didn't turn around; even through the lash of his
harsh words.  She so wanted him to face her.

She persevered, however, moving to his side and
taking the glass from his hand.  With a gentle
touch, she turned his head so that their eyes
met.

M - U - L - D - E - R.  Her fingers moved
slowly, deliberately, daring him to disapprove.

Please tell me you are not what I think you are,
she prayed.  Please remember what we were to one
another.

Her hand moved to the letter in her pocket,
skimming the folded manifest.  What ultimately
happened to the manifest depended upon his
reaction to the letter.  One disclosure at a
time, she thought.  With trembling fingers, she
handed it to him.  Mulder gave it a cursory
glance and pursed his lips.

"What's this?  A list of people you'd like me to
make disappear?"  His snide tone didn't hurt
Julia, though it was difficult for her to stand
firm in the face of his angry self-derision. 
"Guess my name is at the top, huh?"

How could he say that after what she just did
for him?  For a moment, she joined in his anger,
then let it slide away.  Emotions, his and hers,
were on a roller coaster ride.  It was time to
set things straight once and for all.

Julia's lips parted in a tremulous smile and her
hands shook.

<I don't know,> she signed with an arch of her
eyebrow. <Will you remember my birthday this
year?>

Mulder's eyes clouded, then widened.  Julia
grasped his hand over the folded letter and
squeezed.  Her smile became radiant as the
memory of a long ago conversation dawned in his
face.

"Scu -" His words were silenced by her
fingertips.  Be careful, her eyes warned.

He nodded, his eyes roaming her face like she
was the most beautiful of jewels.  They touched
upon her cheeks, her hair, her mouth, before
becoming soft and liquid in the evening light.

Her fingers traced the lips that trembled with
emotion and she felt him press a kiss into them
before swooping to make the final connection.

"Sir?"

Julia heard the harsh query from the doorway. 
Mulder tensed, his back to the door, his face
inches from hers.  He quickly pressed the letter
into her palm and fisted her hand around it,
alarm flaring in his eyes.

"Yes?" he barked, though he didn't turn around. 
He followed the movement of the letter as Julia
slowly slipped it back into her pocket, knowing
the Guardsman's view of her was blocked by his
body.

"The Appointing Authority requests your presence
immediately, sir."  It was snide, rude command,
despite the title of respect tacked on the end.

"I told him I was bringing the manifests to
him," Mulder ground out, turning his head away
from Julia.  "I'll be right there."

"Now, sir," the Guardsman reiterated, rapidly
losing patience.  Julia poked her head around
Mulder's side and paled at the sight of the
soldier with his hand resting upon his sidearm.

<Go,> she mouthed to Mulder. <I'm not going
anywhere.>

Impatience warred with fear in Mulder's eyes. 
Fear not for his safety, but hers.  Julia
decided to remove herself temporarily from the
situation, giving his hand a squeeze of
reassurance before moving away in the direction
of her bedroom.

Mulder held on though, forcing her to look back
at him.

"I won't be long," he whispered, then looked at
their clasped hands one last time before letting
her go.

Julia felt his warm gaze follow her and she
lifted her chin in the stare of the Guardsman,
her gait slow and sure.

It was only when she closed the bedroom door
behind her that she allowed her muscles to
relax, slumping against the door.

It was going to be all right.  Despite
everything that had gone on in the past months,
one thing still remained between them.  Trust. 
The fact that he hadn't revealed her to the
Guardsman told her that if nothing else, the
bond of trust still existed.

And trust had always gotten them through
before... it would do so again.



End Chapter Thirteen

Julia
Chapter Fourteen

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


Undisclosed location
West Virginia Mountains
July 25, 2000
2:35 p.m.


"We have confirmation."

Frohike and Byers made the breathless statement
to Langly in stereo, their backs to her.

"Where?"  Scully's sharp question came from the
other end of the darkened control room and she
rushed into the light, gripping the edge of the
map table.  The light from under the glass table
top cast her face in an eerie, frantic glow. 
She knew who they were speaking of and her
patience was thin.  She repeated, "*Where?*"

Though they all knew the Appointing Authority
made his headquarters in Washington, they'd
never seen actual geographic evidence.  She
could only assume that 'confirmation' meant
physical evidence.

Frohike glanced at Byers, then back to Scully. 
"It's not good."  He swallowed hard and shuffled
his feet, uncomfortable with Scully's wild eyes.

Softer, more determined, she said, "Where.  Is. 
He."  They hadn't expected her to be here, that
much was obvious.  Her resting period was
supposed to have lasted for another two hours,
but she got tired of tossing and turning in her
cot.  She was even more weary of the endless
dead ends in her research lately.

Byers spoke up, edging around Frohike in an
attempt to divert her attention away from the
smaller man.  "We don't know for sure if it's
him, Scully."  He made a gesture behind his
back, but it wasn't subtle enough to escape her
eagle eye.

"What is that?"  Scully swept past a cowering
Langly and stormed to Frohike's side, where she
grabbed the object he'd been trying to hide from
her.  She turned it over and said softly, "A
videotape."  Her gaze rose to the men.  "Where
did you get this?"

Byers stammered a bit, but was interrupted by
Frohike, who stepped from behind him.  "We
intercepted the transmission about a half hour
ago.  It came directly from the Appointing
Authority.  Scully, we have no real verification
-" He broke off as she turned to view tthe tape
on one of the monitors to her left.

The screen burst to life with harsh tones of
black and white.  A sea of faces, some stoic,
some hysterical with fear, greeted her eyes. 
The people were in line, flanked by Guardsmen,
shuffling toward something that was obviously
off-screen.  A transport, no doubt.

Their faces were young and old, various shades
of grey and black.  Scully wondered how recent
the video was taken, then noticed the faces
dripping with sweat.  It couldn't have been long
ago; the July heat was at its worst about this
time of year in many parts of the country.  She
could barely make out the main terminal building
in the background, its unique slope of glass and
concrete screaming at her, "Saarinen!"

It was Dulles, all right.

"Where is he?" she barked over her shoulder,
never tearing her eyes from the screen.

"In a few seconds..." Byers said from behind
her.  "There.  At the beginning of the line." 
His finger tapped the screen.

The camera darted along the line again and
Scully cursed, then held her breath as it
settled down and zoomed in closer to the handful
of official-looking men at the head of the line.

It was Mulder.  Standing right next to
Cancerman, both of them in profile.  Hands at
his side, he watched as one by one, the
condemned were shoved into the back of the
transport, not even blinking at the swirl of
cigarette smoke that floated in front of his
face with every exhale from the man at his side.

Immediately, Scully shoved down the happiness at
the sight of him and growled, "He's not there
willingly."

"Scully -"

"Don't even think it, Byers," she replied,
piercing him with a cold glare.  "Mulder would
never be a part of this unless by coercion."

"That's not all," Frohike chimed in.  "Keep
watching."

Scully turned up the volume on the monitor, but
it was no use.  Through some glitch, they'd lost
sound during the transmission.  But she didn't
really care; it was Mulder and he was okay.  Now
that they knew where he was, they could get him
out of there.

Suddenly, her attention was grabbed by a flurry
of activity.  She watched as the camera pulled
away to the scuffle about halfway down the line. 
It was a young girl, maybe thirteen years of
age, struggling to break free.  It wasn't very
difficult for the Guardsmen to beat her down and
Scully cringed at the amount of force they used. 
As she huddled there writhing in pain, the
Guardsmen looked up and away as if responding to
an off-screen command.

The girl was dragged to the head of the line and
dropped to her knees in front of Mulder and
Cancerman.  Mulder was still immovable, even in
the face of the girl's tears.  A Guardsman
quickly moved forward at the old man's signal,
removing his sidearm with deadly purpose.
Cancerman leaned to his left and said something;
Scully tried to make out the words, but
couldn't.

It didn't make much difference anyway.  She knew
exactly what he'd said when Mulder took the
pistol from the soldier.  He faltered for just a
moment, eyeing the gun like its familiar weight
was foreign to him.  Then, with slow, deliberate
movements, he brought it up, his face blank as
he aimed and fired.  The young captive slumped
in the hold of the men, the back of her head
exploding in a mass of blood and gore.

Scully heard Langly gasp behind her, but she
remained steadfast in her resolve.  "It's not
him," she said.  "I don't care what it looks
like.  He wouldn't commit cold-blooded murder. 
And it's a videotape, for God's sake."  She
faced the three men with an incredulous roll of
her eyes.  "Videotape can be altered."

Frohike murmured in reply, "Yes, it can.  But in
this case, it looks like the real deal."

Scully mind raced for answers; it just couldn't
be real.  Mulder was not a murderer.  Her heart
started beating again at her next thought. 
She'd seen shapeshifters transform into
Mulder....  "The bounty hunter - and those like
him.  They - they can transform into anyone." 
She brought harried eyes up to her friends. 
"*Anyone.*"

"Keep watching," Frohike murmured, nodding at
the screen.

She'd had enough of the videotape, her stomach
threatening to heave up the meager lunch she'd
had not long ago.  But she turned back to the
monitor and clenched her jaw over the nausea,
determined to see it through to the end.

The camera followed the two men as they turned
from the carnage and walked to a waiting
limousine.  Frohike reached around Scully and
pressed 'pause' as Mulder bent to enter the back
seat.

"See anything familiar?" he asked.

Scully squinted at the screen, then paled.

The picture was grainy, but unmistakable. 
Peeking out from the vee of his unbuttoned
collar was her cross.

God, no....

Scully felt the scream trickle up her throat. 
From a distance, she heard Byers and Frohike,
their voices rising above hers, trying to calm
her....

"I'm all right," she choked out, schooling her
face into a smooth mask.  Cold numbness settled
over her like a fireproof blanket.  "Just give
me a minute."  Moving away, she turned her back
on her friends.  And on Mulder's apparent
duplicity.

Frohike spoke up after a moment.  "Scully... you
realize Krycek is making plans to launch an
attack.  What are we gonna do now?"

"I'll think of something."

"Scully -"

Turning, she pierced him into silence with her
vehement reply.  "I *said* I'll think of
something, Frohike."  She glanced at the frozen
object of her constant worry, feeling an
unfamiliar doubt creep into her soul for the
first time.

People change... she heard it in her head, logic
pounding it into her mind in the form of a dull
headache.  If Mulder was no longer the person
he'd been, then neither was she.  By allowing
herself to grieve over his loss, to refuse to
believe him capable of such horror, she was
denying herself the truth.  And she couldn't
live that way.

Change was inevitable.  It was time for the
analytical Dana Scully to step forward and prove
one way or other if the facts were accurate.

And if she lost sight of the Dana Scully that
could feel... so be it.


Washington, D. C.
February 9, 2001
9:15 p.m.


Worry made her pace, from her bedroom to the
living room and back.  Mulder still wasn't home
yet.  The dinner tray had arrived shortly after
he'd left and Julia couldn't touch any of it. 
She wanted him here, wanted to sit across from
him at the table and pick at her salad while he
explained everything to her.  Tell him in her
own halting way that whatever made him do this,
she forgave him, understood all.

Then he would ask where she'd been, though she'd
explained it all in the letter he would read as
soon as he walked through the door.  But he
wanted to visit those places with her, he would
tell her.  Wanted to experience her sorrow of
the past months and give her reassurance that
all would be well now.  Just as she wanted to
take his pain as her own and make it go away.

She sighed at the hopeful trickle of her
thoughts.  He was more likely to rage at her for
putting herself in such danger; she was kidding
herself if she thought he wouldn't be angry.

His anger was something she could deal with. 
She'd done it before and she could do it again. 
It would take little effort to remind him that
she was a capable agent, trained and ready to
fight.  That she wore unfamiliar clothes and an
even more foreign face meant nothing.  She was
still the same person inside.  So was he, she
was sure of it.  Reunited, they would prevail.

Together, they would find a way out of this
place before the Underground attacked. Once
she'd made the final decision, they would have
twenty-four hours.  They could still save
Skinner, if they made it out of here alive.  Now
that Julia knew where he was and what danger he
was in, she wasn't going to let him die. 
Neither would Mulder, if it was within his
power.

In the darkness of the living room, she pondered
all this and more.  How they would escape. 
Where they would go from here.  Whom they would
trust besides each other.

How she would kiss him and tell him she loved
him when he walked in the door.  If only he
would come home.

She curled up into the corner of the sofa and
listened to herself breathe, straining her ears
for the sound of the elevator.  It may have been
minutes or hours;  she didn't want to abandon
her post to go into her room and check the
bedside clock.

At last, she heard it.  The ding of the arriving
elevator.  Julia sat up and waited with a
pounding heart, squinting in the dimness,
cursing the sudden cowardice that had made her
take all the lights off.

Would he smother her with happy kisses?  Or
would he berate her for putting herself in
danger by his side?  She didn't think she could
stand it if he looked at her with disgust for
the way she'd disfigured herself in the name of
patriotism.  But wouldn't he have done the same
for her?

In a way, maybe he had.  It was obvious he
yearned for Scully and his father had tried
substitutes in an effort to keep him happy. 
What if Mulder had used his position in a
hopeful search for her?  Bartered away his honor
for the love of one woman....

Which, in some ways, she no longer was, despite
her inward insistence.  Trepidation crept up on
her again as she heard the muffled footsteps in
the hallway.



End Chapter Fourteen

Julia
Chapter Fifteen

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


Washington, D.C.
February 9. 2001
9:20 p.m.


The door opened, a slice of harsh fluorescent
light slashing across the floor.  Mulder
stumbled in, leaning back against the door to
close it, his face hidden in the shadows.

"Julia?"

Julia sighed, thankful he'd not spoken the name. 
She rose from the couch and he spotted her
immediately, holding out a hand.  Relief at the
sight of him spurred her on and she crossed the
room like a thief, grabbing him in an embrace.

Mulder tensed at once, then relaxed and enfolded
her in his arms, his lips resting in her hair.

"Julia."  The whisper inflamed her and she
tightened her circle around him, burrowing her
nose into his chest.  "You have it?"

It took her a moment to realize he was speaking
of the manifest.  She nodded against the warmth
of his sweatshirt.  If he wasn't sure before, he
couldn't help but know it was her now.  With a
smile, she pressed into him even further.

Mulder inhaled sharply under her cheek and Julia
was suddenly aware of something that wasn't
quite right... a rusty iron smell that
overpowered his natural scent.  She pulled away
in panic, then rushed back when he slumped in
response to her withdrawal.

What had they done to him?  Was this because of
the missing manifest?  Had they noticed
Skinner's was gone?  Would they come looking for
it?

She knew he felt her questions.  He rushed to
explain, in a louder voice meant for the bugs,
"I'm not supposed to leave the office with them. 
So I brought them back - piece of cake.  I just
made a mistake, that's all."

A mistake?  They hurt him like this for a
mistake?  With frantic hands, she drew his arm
around her shoulder and led him to his bedroom,
her lips forming his name over and over, though
he couldn't hear her silent pleas.

"I'm all right," he murmured.

No, you're not! she wanted to scream.  Don't
tell me you're okay;  I know better than that.

"Really, Julia.  I'm fine."  His words were
slurred.  A head injury?  The endless
possibilities of the severity of his injuries
fluttered through her mind, each one worse than
the last.

Finally they made it to the bed, where she
helped him to sit, then flicked on the lamp.  A
soundless gasp escaped her lips at the sight of
his face.  His right eye was puffy and the cheek
below it was scraped and bruised; a small cut on
his lip completed the puzzle.

Someone had backhanded him.  Hard.  Julia
seethed, a red haze misting her eyes.

Noticing her response, he tried to smile at her,
grimacing when he pulled too hard on his split
lip in the attempt.  "It's not as bad as it
looks, believe me, Julia."  Raising a hand to
his mouth, he wiped at the oozing cut.  "It's
already stopping, see?"

Irritation flashed in her eyes and she pursed
her lips, bringing her hands to his head. 
Feeling through his short hair, she avoided his
piercing gaze.  It seemed as though he was
trying to see under her skin.  Drinking in her
every move with dark, greedy eyes.

"That is so you," he said under his breath,
knowing as she did that it was likely their
every move was being monitored.  While he'd been
gone, Julia had considered sweeping the
apartment for bugs.  But it was not something a
concubine would do and it took all of her will
to tamp down the ingrained urge.

<Shut up, Mulder,> she mouthed and was rewarded
with half-hearted grin.  She snapped her
fingers in front of his face and he complied,
tracking the sweep of her index finger with
complacent eyes.

After allowing a moment of her worry, he grasped
her hand and brought it down, tracing the fine
bones with his thumb.  He drew in a shaky
breath, his eyes dropping to look upon their
clasped hands.  "I should have known.  Still the
same..."  His eyes were unblinking as they
abandoned the lure of their clasped hands to
lock with hers.  "But not."

Sadness heightened his cheekbones with sharp
color and regret bloomed in the shadows under
his eyes.  And something else... simmering in
the air between them, rising up like steam.  He
was remembering; picturing her hands upon his
skin.  She could see the memory in the black
pupils ringed with gold.

Julia flushed, remembering their aborted tryst
in the shower not so long ago.  Suddenly, she
felt sickened by her earlier behavior.  Had she
so lost herself to the role of concubine that
she used it as an excuse to touch him?  At the
time, she'd told herself that comfort was the
goal.  Easing his pain the only way she could;
the only way he would let her.  Now, it seemed
so tawdry.  So unlike Scully.

Unable to withstand the disgust in his gaze, not
knowing if she could trust herself to remain
strong enough to tend to his injuries, her eyes
broke away, settling upon the pulse that
steadily beat in the column of his throat.

"We need to talk," he whispered.  At her
continued avoidance of him, his voice took on a
sorrowful plea.  "Julia... we need to talk."

<No, you need to rest,> she signed, standing and
moving away to the bathroom.  Trying to avoid
his questions, she wet a hand towel and searched
his vanity for something to tend his cuts.  She
slammed the doors with anger; he didn't even
have a bottle of antiseptic.  How did he live
like this?

"Julia."

Not even a bottle of mouthwash.  Maybe if she
dawdled enough he'd forget about talking... she
turned to the cabinet above the toilet.

"God damn it!"  The muffled thump made her turn.

Mulder was on one knee at the foot of the bed,
grabbing his side with a grimace.  As she rushed
back to his side, he held up a hand.  "I'm okay. 
Adrenaline's wearing off."

The urge to cry overwhelmed her, but she tamped
it down as she helped him up to sit back on the
bed.  His hiss of pain spurred her on and she
dropped the towel to gently pull his sweatshirt
over his head, blanching at the sight of the
reddened skin on his right side.  Mulder saw her
reaction and caught her hands before she could
touch him.  "Nothing.  It's nothing," he
whispered fiercely.  "The guards were a little
rough, that's all."

Pulling her hands away, she brought furious eyes
to his. <What if your ribs are broken?  Or
worse?  Internal bleeding.>

"They're not broken.  I've had broken ribs
before, *Julia.*"  His raised eyebrow punctuated
the name.  "I think it's just a bad bruise."

<Let me check anyway, please?> She pleaded with
her eyes as well as her shaking hands.

To her relief, he sighed and nodded, letting his
hands fall to grip the comforter.  Julia began
by picking up the wet towel to wipe the blood
from his face, her touch firm but soft.  He kept
still, though she could feel his gaze touch upon
every new curve of her face.

Keeping her mind on her task, the only outward
betrayal of her wavering confidence was the hot
color that crept up her cheeks.  He was studying
her, adjusting to the subtle differences in her
bone structure.  Her face wasn't really all that
changed; after all, he'd mistaken her for Scully
when they'd first met in the shadows of the
living room.

She stilled at the brush of his fingers on her
face, holding her breath for a second.  Other
than the seemingly endless parade of surgeons,
it was the first time anyone's hands had touched
her face besides her own.  It was rather
unnerving, like it was a pop quiz she had to
pass or risk missing graduation.  The feeling
was silly and she knew it.  With an inward
rebuke at her nervousness, she resumed her
cleanup.  This was Mulder; he wasn't going to
hurt her.

Julia let him explore while she washed the dried
blood from his lips and face.  His fingers
touched the square jaw, tracing the bluntness of
it with the wonder of new discovery.

Satisfied his facial injuries were minor, she
dropped to her knees before him and laid her
hands at his waist.  Again, he drew in a quick
breath, but said, "Cold.  Your hands are cold."

<Sorry,> she mouthed, then continued to probe at
the already bruising skin over his right side. 
Other than a muffled, "Watch it," when she
touched a particularly tender spot, Mulder
didn't flinch.  After a minute of examination,
she determined that he was right.  Nothing
broken.  But she was going to keep an eye on him
anyway, whether he liked it or not.

All the while she worked, he kept touching her
face.  She sat back on her heels and watched his
eyes follow the path of his fingers to her nose. 
His brow creased with sadness.  "What happened?
Accident?  Were you hurt?"

Pain rose in her chest at the choking questions.
He thought she'd been injured.  It was a natural
assumption; it would never occur to him that she
might have done this of her own free will.  With
a small shake of her head, she dismissed his
worry, then watched as his confusion became
profound, his face tightening.

"Then why?"

Why do this to herself.  It was a question she'd
asked herself in the beginning.  One she knew he
was bound to ask; and the only answer she could
give him rested in her pocket.  She took the
letter from the folds of her dress and held it
up, but when he reached for it, she shook her
head and put it back.

<Later.  After you've settled down.> They still
had time and his well-being was uppermost in her
mind at the moment.  Besides, after the events
of the evening, the last thing she wanted was
the inevitable confrontation over her reasons
for being with him. <It can wait until morning.>

"Julia," he warned, narrowing his eyes.

<No.> She pursed her lips in a matched stance of
determination.

Thankfully, he relented with a sigh.  Fatigue
was getting the better of him, she could tell
from the slump of his shoulders.  "Okay.  You
win.  For now."  Before she could stand, he'd
effectively trapped her in place, his palms
wrapping around her neck.  "It's so close, but
not... I liked..." he sighed, tucking the fall
of her hair behind her ears with both hands
before cupping her face and letting his eyes
meet hers with regret.

She knew exactly what was left unsaid.  He liked
how she *used* to look.  Her nose, her chin...
even her lips had been altered slightly, though
not by design, when her skin had been stretched
across the new network of bones.

So did I, she thought, but in the interest of
avoiding his eminent journey into self-blame,
she brushed away the air of guilt surrounding
him by affecting an affronted stance, hands on
hips.

<And you don't like me now?> her eyebrow
demanded.

Instantly, he was rerouted as her plan worked,
his hands dropping away.  "No! No... I didn't
mean it that way, Sc - Julia.  Damn it.  You
know what I mean.  Shit... you're *beautiful* -
not that you weren't -"  His sputtering stopped
at the mischievous light in her eyes.  "You
little -"

<Your ribs are fine,> she interrupted, diverting
his reprimand. <Nothing broken.>

"Not anymore."

The soft reply halted her playful attitude and
melted her tenuous hold on strength.  She felt
the firm lines of her cheeks soften and knew she
was going to lose it.  Cowardice made her drop
her gaze to her lap.  Mulder brought his hands
to her face once again, soothing the hot skin.

"I feel whole again."

At the fervent whisper, she raised burning eyes
to meet his heated gaze.  He was looking into
her very soul and if he still had doubts about
her identity, she knew he couldn't help but see
the truth now.  She felt it drive its way out of
her through her eyes, manifesting itself in slow
tears of undeniable relief.

Her arms went around him once again.  This time
she didn't hold back, her body shaking with the
onslaught of release, crying at his pain. Most
of all, crying out her guilt for even
entertaining a moment's thought that he'd given
up the fight.

"Shh.  Stop, Julia.  I'm here and I'm staying." 
He kept up the litany of murmured reassurances
during her brief loss of composure.

Though he hadn't yet explained to her his role
in all of this, she knew now he was not here
voluntarily.  Whatever he had hoped to
accomplish on the inside, whatever he still
hoped to accomplish - it was because he'd never
given up the fight.

He was still Mulder; a more scarred Mulder,
inside and out, but his heart still beat with
the fire of the quest.  As she quieted in his
arms, Julia resolved that his months in this
prison would not have been suffered in vain. 
Beginning with her tender care of his physical
pain.  It was something she did best of all.

Sniffling back the remaining tears, she pulled
herself from his arms, composure returning in
gentle waves as she stood.

"What?"  He kept hold of her hand, apprehension
making his bruised face darken.  He said nothing
of her flirt with hysteria moments before and
for that she was grateful.  The tears had come
and were now gone;  she felt better for it and
Mulder knew her well enough to recognize she was
once again in control.

<Bed.  Doctor's orders.> She hoped her mouthed
words were understood; he had a deathgrip on her
hand.

Mulder sighed and reluctantly released her hand. 
"We still have to -" He broke off; Julia
finished the sentence for him.

<Talk?> She forced a reassuring nod; though she
knew she'd have to tell him of the plan - that
was the easy part - she didn't relish the more
personal discussion that was certain to come.
<Tomorrow.  You need rest.  So do I.>

"There's something I have to tell you."

Its urgency was written in the somber tone of
his voice and the unblinking depths of his eyes.

A sinking panic settling in her stomach.
<Skinner's manifest?> It was the only thought
that came to mind.  She *knew* she should have
put it back in the file.

"No," he rushed to assure her, then brought his
hands up as well to clarify. <They know a
manifest is missing, but they don't suspect me. 
Not yet.>

The 'yet' made her pale.  Mulder saw her
reaction and pressed ahead. <This is something
else.  Something that involves you.>

<What?> Now she was *really* panicked.  Did the
Appointing Authority suspect her presence here? 
Had she slipped up somehow?

Mulder stood gingerly and she steadied him with
her hands at his waist.  "Don't worry," he
murmured, rubbing her arms with his hands.  "He
thinks I'm dissatisfied with you.  I told him I
wasn't."

Julia sensed there was something he was not
telling her.  It wouldn't have been the first
time Mulder glossed over the details in an
attempt to spare her feelings.  Her missing ova
came to mind immediately; he'd said he'd not
told her to protect her from further hurt, even
though he'd known she would want to know.

<He wants to replace me?> she mouthed, her
throat tightening with fear.

"I won't let him." Mulder's statement was
adamant as he drew her to him.  He brought his
lips to her ear and added in a whisper, "I'll
think of something."

Julia shivered, fear draping her shoulders.  If
his father wanted to get rid of her, he could. 
There was little Mulder could do and he knew it. 
But why?  Her mind raced over the possible
reasons.

Obviously, she and Mulder had not hit it off, as
far as everyone knew.  It was very easy for them
to know this, as they were constantly listening
to everything that went on in this apartment. 
Was it so very important to the old man that his
son be happy?  She doubted that - his injuries
spoke for just how little Mulder's happiness
mattered.  What else could it be?  Something was
missing from this puzzle and she was determined
to find it.

"Enough."  Mulder pulled away.  "Stop thinking. 
I'm tired, aren't you?"

Yes, she was, she conceded with a nod.  And
exhaustion wouldn't help as far as figuring out
the motives of the man upstairs, nor would it be
conducive to the execution of the plan.

As she moved to turn down the covers of his bed,
she gave Mulder a small smile, knowing he took
her silence for what it was - the workings of an
investigative mind.  She remembered his playful
words of many years ago in a Florida forest;
yes, their communication extended beyond the
spoken word.  Like so many other matters between
them that surpassed the physical limits of the
human body.  Faith in each other... trust in
themselves and their ability to overcome any
obstacle.

She decided to put that 'unspoken' thing to the
test, crooking her finger with a wink as she
beckoned him to the bed.

Mulder's mouth dropped as he brought a hand to
his chest with mock surprise.  Moving slowly
forward, he said quietly, "You comin' on to me,
Julia?"  His eyes twinkled with mirth.

<In your dreams,> she mouthed with a roll of her
eyes.

"Or in my shower?" he threw back with a grin,
then waved off her embarrassment as he drew
closer.  "Sorry.  Couldn't resist it."

<Mulder,> she began, the need to explain gnawing
at her fluttering stomach.

"Later, Julia," he said, sitting back against
the pillows with a groan.  "Take my shoes off." 
His smirk became broader as he made himself
comfortable.

Now it was her turn to let her mouth drop.

"You heard me, woman."  He was teasing, but he
was also half-serious, testing the limits of her
patience.  Trying to see how far she'd go now
that he knew who she was.  She could see it in
the way his smile didn't quite reach his worry-
tinged eyes.  "My shoes?"  He nudged her leg
with his foot.

She realized he would never force her to do
anything she didn't want to do, even in the
pretext of their situation.  She raised an
eyebrow at him, then quickly pulled off the
sneakers, much to his delight.

<Anything else, master?>

"Foot massage?"

<You're enjoying this way too much.>

"Damn right I am," he murmured, reaching for the
bedside lamp.  With a click, they were plunged
into darkness.  "C'mere."

He was in no condition to take this any further; 
she knew it and more importantly, so did he. 
Was this some sort of retribution for keeping
her identity from him for so long?  If so, she
supposed she deserved some of his payback.  With
a sigh, she moved closer to him, shuffling
slowly through the pile of clothes he'd
discarded before his shower.

"That's better," he whispered from the shadows
of the bed, his words husky.  "Now, lose the
dress."

At that, she froze.  Her heart slammed against
her ribs.  This was not necessary to keep up the
ruse and he knew it.  What was he playing at? A
bit of teasing was one thing, but outright
humiliation was quite another.

The whisper became softer, more like a plea. 
"Julia... you know I would never hurt you."

Unable to resist the lure of his voice, she
complied, pulling the dress over her head.  He
shifted a bit, reaching for the floor.

"Here."

His dress shirt clasped in his hand, he offered
covering, keeping his eyes lowered.  Though he'd
seen it all before and there was only a trickle
of light from the bathroom door, she was
grateful for his concession to her modesty.

She took it from him and donned it quickly, her
senses suddenly alive with the scent of his skin
and sweat.  Heat traveled up her face at the
feel of the wrinkled cotton that once graced his
skin.  It was so very intimate, and suddenly, it
made her very aware of their close quarters. 
And just exactly what she was supposed to be to
him.

"Now, come to bed."

Was this part of his plan to keep her here? 
Pretend for those listening that they were
sleeping together?  Having sex?  God, she didn't
know what to think about all this.

But she did it anyway.  Pretense or not, she
wanted nothing more right now than to lie in his
arms for the night.

He gathered her close to his left side, letting
her adjust to his nearness until she relaxed. 
One arm went around her back and the other
brought her arm around his waist, carefully
avoiding the bruise.  Stroking her skin with his
fingers, he murmured, "I picked out that dress
for you, you know."

Lifting her chin, she tried to look at his face
in the darkness, her surprise hovering between
them.

"It looked like you.  I could see you wearing
it."

Joy suffused her at his admission; even though
at the time he'd thought her to be just another
in a long line of concubines, he'd been
sensitive to her need for normalcy.  He'd known. 
Somehow, subconsciously, he'd known she was
uncomfortable in the barely-there clothing.

"Did you like it?"

She kissed his jaw, saying yes in her own way,
her lips touching the puckered skin of the scar
  that which had changed his looks forever, just
as the precision of a surgeon's scalpel had
forever changed her.

"It's true, you know," he whispered, catching on
to her train of thought.  "Everything looks the
same in the dark.  It even smells the same...
feels the same... it's not what can be seen that
counts."

As she let her cheek rest against his heart, she
smiled.  So true.  She sniffled, pulling the
tears away from her eyes where they insisted on
breaking free.  Happy though they were, she
refused to ruin the moment with even an instant
of clouds.

For several minutes they laid together, touching
here and there, reacquainting themselves with
each other.  Breathing in sync, hands entwining
at last on the warmth of their embrace.

"I can't go to sleep." A broad yawn punctuated
Mulder's statement.

She chuckled, a breathy shake against him.  It
wasn't surprising; she didn't want to waste
another moment of this precious time, either. 
But they needed the rest.  Yawning herself, she
closed her eyes and snuggled closer, willing her
body to relax.  Communicating her desire for him
to do the same by letting go of his hand to feel
for his face.

At the brush of her fingers over his eyelids, he
smiled, grabbing her hand to enclose it once
again in his firm grip.  "All right, I get the
message.  You pinch me if I snore, okay?"

Sleep came easily, for the first time in months.



End Chapter Fifteen

Julia
Chapter Sixteen

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


Washington, D.C.
February 10, 2001
1:17 a.m.


It felt different, the moment between sleep and
conscious thought.  Not the kind of half-aware
drift where one thought of picking up the dry
cleaning on the way to work, or, on an
infrequent sleep-in, exactly what time it was
and then dismissing it with a yawn.

Unusual, but welcome.  Julia hadn't felt such...
peace... in quite some time.  She turned over
and hugged the pillow that smelled of him,
inhaling with a slight curve of her lips. 
Mulder.

Mulder!  Startled remembrance almost made her
leap from the bed, but she stopped when she
realized she was alone.  Why wasn't he there
with her?  She'd wanted him to rest, and the
complete darkness outside his window told her it
was still very early the next morning.

Vaguely, she remembered her fingers tightening
on his arms as he moved to get up, then quieting
at his murmured, "Go back to sleep, Julia."

Surely he slept with her, for a while at least?

But the pillow under her cheek was cold and she
immediately began to worry.  Gingerly, she sat
up on the edge of the bed, stretching the
muscles that weren't used to such unrelenting
tension.  It seemed as if every day since she'd
been here, she'd been poised on the edge of
flight.  Not having a good night's rest as long
as she teetered on the edge of distrusting
Mulder.  She spied her dress laid across the
edge of the bed and knew what he'd done.  A
flash of her keeping the letter from him by
putting it in her pocket made her realize why.

He was waiting for her.  Waiting for
explanations, for answers.  That he'd even
allowed her to sleep at all was testament to his
careful handling of her; he could have demanded
an immediate denouement and he would have gotten
it.  Hours ago she'd been ready to tell all. 
Now, with the imprint of his battered body and
soul upon her brain, she was afraid.

Afraid of his reaction.  Without her voice,
there was no way she could stop his tirade,
should he choose to have one.  Not that he was
normally given to exaggerated outbursts of
anger; on the contrary, his moments of hurt and
disappointment were punctuated by stony silence
and distant, pain-filled eyes.

Which made this abandonment the first step. 
He'd had time to think.  Time for the giddy haze
of their reunion to dissipate and let his mind
start to question.  She was in for it, but good.

Then again, she had a right to harbor some anger
herself, didn't she?  What the hell had he been
doing all this time?  She'd come to the
conclusion that he wasn't the murderer he'd been
made to appear.  But why had he not tried to
escape?  Suicide was one form of escape, yes,
but the man she once knew would only have used
that as a last resort.

All right, Julia, she told herself.  And she did
continue to think of herself as Julia, despite
the moments she'd become Scully in his arms and
in his heart.  She'd been Julia for so long now
it was a part of her, physical changes and all. 
Julia was only Scully in Mulder's eyes.  They'd
have to remember that.  It wasn't over yet.

Time to lay it all out in the open.  She quickly
stood and padded over the carpet to the door,
where the bedroom's darkness blended in to the
firelit expanse of the living room.  The lights
were off in there, too, but the curtains were
drawn back and the moon shone with grey coolness
on the figure in the chair.

The soft tones of Beethoven bled through the
air; loud, but not loud enough to wake her, she
surmised.  The music would also serve to make
his voice difficult to pick up, should they be
listening.  Mulder should have been a Boy Scout,
she thought.  He certainly knew how to 'Be
prepared.'  She sighed and moved forward slowly.

"Come here, Julia," he said, his voice flat as
it echoed off the glass panes before him.  "Sit
with me."

Moments before, she'd been steeped in resolve to
keep him from referring to her as Scully.  Now,
the name was almost abhorrent to her, though she
knew it was necessary.  But coming from his
lips, it was like a slap in the face.

So Julia did as he asked, moving to the ottoman. 
She sat before him, much as she'd done before.

Mulder sat sprawled in the chair, still wearing
nothing but the navy knit pants.  He spread his
legs to surround her, sitting up and giving her
a generous view of his bare chest, where the
cross gleamed orange-gold in the firelight.  An
empty glass sat on the table beside him and in
his right hand was the letter.

Julia avoided the paper for a moment, her gaze
darting to the glass.

"Water."  A derisive response to her unspoken
question.  "Makes things go down easier."  His
fingers curled around the letter as he waved it
before her.  "Ready to tell me?"

Julia swallowed hard and lowered her gaze for a
second before braving the hot sear of his.

<Where would you like me to start?>

"How about with the fact that -" He broke off at
her wide, panicked eyes.  He was speaking
entirely too loud and she shook her head
frantically, trying to stop him before he
revealed too much.

<They could be listening!>

Mulder clamped his lips together and his eyes
narrowed.  Dropping the letter into his lap, he
brought his hands up.

<You butchered yourself to get in here.> He was
more adept at sign language than she was, though
she'd never seen him use it.  She wasn't
surprised, though, at his mastery of it.  Lots
of time to do nothing but sit and read in this
place.  And learn, adapt.

<Just so you could save me?  Or kill me?  Were
you planning on martyring yourself along with
me, too - if it came down to that?  Was
vengeance or justice or... *love*... that
important to you?>  He looked away and slumped
back in the chair.  Julia saw the furious beat
of his pulse in his neck, making the scar more
pronounced.  Her cross shook in the hollow of
his throat, vibrating with his rumbled words.
"Believe me, I'm not that important.  On any of
those terms."

Julia laid a hand on his knee, urging him to
look at her.  He complied, and the anguish in
his eyes was palpable.

<You are to me.  Especially on the last one.>

He snorted, hanging his head as if to refute her
statement, then looked at her again, this time
with entreaty.

<Then why?  You know I wouldn't have wanted you
to do this.>

<There was no other way.  Someone had to do it
and I didn't trust anyone else.  Let me explain. 
Please.>

Mulder searched her face for several seconds,
then capitulated with a sigh. <Go ahead.  But
then you have to listen to me.  No arguments.>

Julia nodded. <No arguments.> They hadn't really
fought, and she was tired of it already.  The
air between them would clear and they would move
on.

She'd see to it personally, if she had to.

Her hands and fingers began to tell the tale....


**********


Undisclosed location
July 25, 2000
6:45 p.m.


"I'm telling you, it couldn't have been him!"

Scully was royally pissed.  Even the Gunmen were
buying into the horror of that videotape. 
Krycek she expected to; that son-of-a-bitch was
ready to believe Mulder was the anti-Christ.  It
was in the genes, he insisted.

She'd been arguing with Krycek and the Gunmen
for two days now.  Ever since Krycek had made
his intentions clear.  The only way to get rid
of the Appointing Authority was to wipe clean
the whole area, he'd said.  Surprise attack,
planned and executed with terminal intensity.

A few days ago, it wouldn't have mattered to
Scully.  She knew where Mulder was and that he
was okay, though his actions on the videotape
were hard to believe or explain.  Deep in her
heart, she believed that someday she'd get him
out of there and everything would be all right.

But this drastic move of Krycek's, while
admittedly a swift, deadly strike at the snake's
head, effectively exposed them to immediate
retaliation.  Until now, they'd managed to keep
themselves hidden, their small numbers an
advantage.  If she could convince Krycek to
wait, they could possibly create an even larger,
broader resistance force.  A coordinated effort
that moved with intelligence and cohesion.  One
that could withstand the Invaders' sure
response.

And give her a chance to get to Mulder.  To save
him or crucify him, she wasn't sure yet.  It was
too soon to be thinking of the possibilities;
she had plenty of time for what ifs.

"Look, none of this matters," Krycek said.  "We
know where they are now, and whether or not
Mulder is one of them, we have the perfect
opportunity to bring them down.  All we need is
an infiltrator, someone on the inside to give us
the signal when we have the exact location."

At the finality of his statement, she realized
she would never dissuade him from this course of
action.  But she *could* delay the inevitable.

"And that's going to be me," Scully grated out,
rising from the table to turn her back on the
incredulous faces.

Byers spoke up.  "Scully, we don't think that's
a good idea...."

She turned around.  "Why?  Because you think I'm
too close?  That I'd let everyone down because
of the way I feel... my friendship with Mulder?" 
She leaned down and drove her point home, palms
flat on the table.  "I am as objective as any of
you.  Besides, Cancerman is looking for me. 
Let's give him what he wants."

"Too dangerous," Frohike grumbled.  "Besides,
you're our only hope for developing the
vaccine."

"Damn it!"  Scully was weary of the overzealous
protection.  "The vaccine is going nowhere and
we know it.  I could get in, maybe get some
useful information on their research, and then
give you a signal when to attack.  You all know
that I'm the most qualified for the assignment,
medically... and professionally."

She also had the greatest stake in the operation
from a personal stance.  But she wasn't about to
let that creep in.

"We can't just wipe them off the face of the
earth without giving a thought to what
information we'd lose," she continued.  "You've
got to trust my instincts on this one.  The key
to our survival is hidden somewhere in those
towers."  She dropped her eyes and added a
silent, 'So is Mulder.'

"Scully, you saw the videotape.  You saw what
kind of man he's become."  Frohike's words were
quiet in the dim room; he knew exactly what
she'd left out in her bid for reason.  He raised
a hand to forestall her renewed protests.  "All
right, all right.  Let's say it wasn't him.  If
it wasn't, then who the hell was it?  A clone? 
A shapeshifter?  More dangerous than Mulder -
you know that.  You'd be sacrificing yourself
for nothing, when we could easily send someone
else."

"I have to go," she said, slumping into a chair
at the end of the table.  "It's me or no one."

"But -"

"No!  We don't know for certain if that's Mulder
or not on the tape.  If it isn't, then no one
would be quicker to kill the fucker - whatever
it is - than me."  Sighing, she leaned forward,
meeting the eyes of the gentlemen around the
table with grim determination.  "And if it *is*
Mulder... if they've turned him into some kind
of monster... then he's no longer the Mulder I
know, the Mulder I care about.  He would cease
to exist to me."

The men looked at her, then at each other while
silence ruled for a few moments.

"Could you kill him if you had to?"

Krycek's question didn't surprise her, but her
answer did.

"If he's a part of them now... then yes.  I'd
send him to hell where he belongs."

Though her voice was steely, her nerves were
not.  She hoped that scenario would never come
to pass; a good liar, she wasn't.  But her vow
seemed to win them over.  For once in her
life... at the most important moment... she
could lie convincingly.

It got easier from that day on.


**********


Washington, D.C.
February 10, 2001
2:05 a. m.


Almost an hour passed before she'd finished.  It
was painful at times, reliving the horror of
Invasion and how it had changed her life.  She
spoke of the months in the bunker and the
revelations of Cancerman's emergence as leader. 
Of the mass summoning of the populace through
subliminal messages... of the most awful day
when Mulder had reappeared out of the ashes,
only to have her hopes dashed as the evidence
proclaimed him traitor.  Of Krycek's plans and
her insistence that she be the one to infiltrate
the administration.

Mulder, as promised, hadn't said a word during
her story.  Though he now knew that, despite her
letter proclaiming her to be a rogue agent, she
was part of the Underground.  He hadn't been
surprised at that revelation.  He sat unmoving,
his attention focused on her completely, no
reaction until now.

<The Gunmen are all okay?> Mulder's question was
not the first she expected after her tale was
finished, but it was typical of his concern for
his friends.

<Yes, as far as I know.  I haven't seen them in
a while now.>

<And Krycek?  What's his motive in all this?>

Julia sighed. <I don't know.  He's a tough nut
to crack.  But you know that already.>

Mulder gave her a sarcastic grin. <He's Krycek. 
Why should we trust him now?>

<I had no choice.> She tried to convey to him
that Krycek had not forced her to do this.  He
hadn't forced any of them to stay in the bunker
after they'd gotten there.  <He seems sincere,
Mulder. Though he basically kidnapped us off of
the street in the middle of the swarms, he
didn't make us stay.  We could have walked out
at any time.>

<But... Krycek?  Somehow I can't picture him as
a hero, Scully.>

<Revenge is a powerful motivator, Mulder.>
Please don't ask me any more about a man I can't
figure out, she silently begged.  It was enough
that so far, the plan was going well.

It seemed to satisfy him, though they both knew
that their lives depended on a man they really
could never trust fully.  Julia was thankful
when Mulder dropped the Krycek tangent and
pursued the matter at hand.

<And this?> He waved a hand at her face.  Mild
disgust tinged his eyes; he tried hard to keep
it from her by scrubbing a hand over his jaw as
a distraction, but she saw it.

Moments ago she'd been thankful he'd not
lingered on the subject of Krycek.  Be careful
what you ask for, she reminded herself.  With a
lift of her chin, she gave him what he wanted.

<Though it would set back the plan for several
months, I convinced them I needed a new face.  I
didn't want Krycek to go off half-cocked when,
with time, we could build a stronger force.  I
traveled from site to site until the surgeries
were complete.  No more scars, no identifying
marks of any kind.  Then I met up with Eliza.>

A most fortuitous meeting, she added in her
mind.

When his fingers moved again, it was with quiet
anger.

<And just what would you have done if you hadn't
met her?  Fucked your way to the top?>

Julia's first inclination was to slap him.  Her
palm itched to do so; but she couldn't deny that
was just what she had been prepared to do. 
Instead, she reasoned with him.

<I knew Cancerman was looking for me.  Or for
anyone who looked enough like me.  The natural
assumption would be that he would put my picture
out there, which he did.  It would only have
been a matter of time until someone noticed me.>

<I can't believe you.> He jerked up from the
chair so quickly she flinched.  Storming to the
fireplace, he threw the letter into the flames. 
As it caught and burned to ash, he faced her,
jaw clenched and fists tight. <I told you
yesterday you weren't a whore.  But you are. 
You're the Underground's whore.>

Julia felt fire rush up her face and she marched
on her bare feet until she was toe to toe with
Mulder.

<If I'm a whore, then what does that make you?>

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, she thought
he might slap her, just as she'd wanted to do
earlier.  But restraint settled over his
features and he signed, <A traitor.  A killer. 
You name it, I've done it.>  Leaning in, he
grasped her upper arms and continued, his breath
hot upon her face.  His whisper was ominous. 
"Are you ready to be my whore, Julia?  Because
I'm already yours, just as I am his."

With perfect accuracy, his words stabbed at her
heart.  He was so good at laying bare everything
that was not supposed to be talked about between
them.  So many things that she'd just as soon
forget about.  Move past it, was always her
motto.  Lose yourself in the work.  This time,
though, she knew he wasn't going to let her off
so easy.  

The months had hardened him, just as they'd done
the same to her.  Bold, frank speech came easily
to him now, when before, he'd accede to her
twisting avenues around certain subjects.  Her
health, her infertility... her obvious love for
him that she wouldn't allow herself to act upon.

She told herself she was ready now.  But a dim
voice in the back of her mind nagged at her,
proclaimed her coward once again.  Would she be
so bold if she weren't Julia?  If she could
speak, would she deny those feelings fruition?

More importantly, did she think she could just
waltz in here, take him by the hand and sneak
away to live happily ever after?  He wanted to
talk and though it may kill her to hear it, she
had to do so.  For the sake of closure.  To make
him see that no matter what he'd done, he was
still worth something in her eyes.

As Scully or as Julia   made no difference.  Her
pride laid in tattered shreds between them.

Closing her eyes, she nodded, shaking in his
grasp.  Yes, she would be his whore.  Wasn't she
already?  She'd whored herself to the
Underground... all for him.

"Look at me."

She complied, swallowing back her fear.  Mulder
kept her in the grasp of his gaze as his hands
began to move, daring her to look away.

<When I was abducted, they held me on a ship for
days.  I have no real recollection of time while
I was there... then my *father* showed up one
day and brought me to a holding facility.>  His
lips curled into a sneer. <A prison, actually. 
At first, I tried everything I could to get
away.  So they beat me, tortured me.  He stood
there and told me he never wanted to hurt me. 
He only wanted me to be happy.  I begged the
fucker to kill me, you know.>

His eyes were dilated in the dim room, wild with
the memory.  Julia gasped at the sight.

<But he needed me... 'wanted me to be happy,' my
ass.  Dear old Dad needed... *needs* me alive. 
They started taking blood the very first day.  I
haven't figured it out totally, but *I'm* what's
keeping him alive.  Me and my God damned blood.>

He let go of her and moved away, giving her his
back, his hand rubbing the back of his neck with
agitation.  "Then -" He broke off, remembering
caution, and faced her, though it was obvious
from the avoidance of her eyes he didn't want to
do so. <I decided to do the job myself.>

Suddenly, Julia was cold, very cold.  She
shivered and wrapped her arms around her waist,
reliving the days with him in her mind.  She'd
already made her feelings clear on his suicide
attempt, but somehow, she didn't feel like
rehashing the subject.

<I stole a spoon from the dinner tray - took me
days to sharpen it.  Then I slashed my wrist. 
He wanted my blood, he could have it.  All of
it.>  He finally looked at her, regret written
in the lines on his face. <I was out of my mind
with grief, Scully.  It was a cowardly thing to
do, but I couldn't see any other way out.>

He was waiting for her to say it was okay, to
give him some sign that she understood.  But she
couldn't.  It would be a long time before she
reconciled herself to the fact that he tried to
take his own life, a life that she treasured
above her own.  Instead, she nodded, not in
agreement, but in temporary truce.

<Go on.>

Mulder sighed and stepped toward her. <After
that, he made sure I wouldn't give him any more
trouble.>  He paused, searching her face with
probing, moist eyes that glowed in the dim
light.  The memory disturbed him; she could tell
that he was trying hard to stay composed.  <He
told me he'd find you.>

Well, that made sense.  And Mulder would have
naturally believed him, especially when the
look-a-likes started showing up on his doorstep.
<The concubines?>

<No.> Impatience pursed his lips. <With the
chip.>

Surprised, she began to explain. <Mulder...>

But he kept on. <He said he could make you do
anything he wanted with that chip.  Throw
yourself off a bridge.  Blow your own head off. 
Murder children on the street.>

Aghast, she could only stare, her palms becoming
sweaty and limp.  She knew it; she'd *always*
known it.  Until colonization, she'd never
wanted to accept it.  Not even the lost trip to
Ruskin Dam had been enough to convince her.

She'd been right to remove it.

Mulder watched the play of emotions cross her
face and finished, <Or he could bring you to me. 
I almost told him to do it.> He half-turned,
wiping his brow. <But I couldn't.  Instead, I
made a deal.>

Julia touched his arm to make him turn back. <A
deal?>

The sadness and regret on his face created an
ache in her chest. <I told him I'd cooperate, in
exchange for leaving you alone.  I didn't even
know if you were alive or dead, but I knew one
thing - I didn't want you going through what I
was going through.  You didn't deserve to live
in this hell.>

It explained his examination of her when she'd
first arrived.  He didn't *want* her to be
Scully.  She could understand now why he'd
searched for scars, for the tattoo.  Cancerman
knew that Mulder would want to keep her far away
from this prison.  She remembered his sigh that
first night and thought he'd been disappointed
that he hadn't found evidence of her identity. 
Now she knew he'd been relieved.

<But you told me not long ago you thought I was
dead.> Why had he said that, if he held out hope
for her survival?

Pain creased his brow and he huffed, <Hell, I
don't know, Scully.  After a few weeks with no
sign of you, I figured he'd been bluffing.  If
he could do what he claimed, why not do it?  You
either had to be dead, or you'd taken out the
chip... which would have killed you, anyway.>

Yes, it would have.  It almost did.  She
caressed his cheek, reassuring him for a moment
before she replied. <When did he tell you this?>

<God, Scully, I don't know... July?  I'd been
imprisoned for at least a couple of weeks by
then.>

Steeling herself for his wrath, she took a deep
breath.  <I took out the chip.  Two weeks after
the invasion began.>

Mouth dropping, Mulder started forward, ready to
jump in with both hands.  Sign language escaped
him, however, as his face became white in the
firelight.  "You did *what*?"

<Took it out.  I didn't want to jeopardize our
location.  It was the safe thing to do.> She
fumbled with the signing, hoping to quickly
allay his fears.  But one thing she'd learned
was that when she became nervous, it was easier
to hold a pistol than make her hands
communicate.

Mulder's anger grew.  "I can't believe you.  Of
all the stupid, irresponsible, fucking
*dangerous* things to do - Ow!"    His mouth
dropped in surprise and he rubbed at the side of
his neck, the sting making him break off his
tirade.  "What did you do that for?"

Julia rubbed her fingers together with a small
smile. <You told me to pinch you if I didn't
like what you were doing.>

He flushed and cocked his head to one side,
still soothing the mark left by her fingers.  "I
was talking about *snoring.*  And this is not a
time for joking."

<Will you stop and listen to me for a minute?>
Stop being so hotheaded, she added with her
eyes. <It's okay.>

"Is it?" he asked, concern replacing his anger
in a flash.

She knew what he was asking.  Last June was a
very long time ago and he could do the math. 
She hastened to explain. <Krycek gave me another
chip.  One that he said would keep the cancer at
bay, but not be used against me.>

Mulder rolled his eyes with a huff. <Krycek
again?  Come on, Scully.  Since when are you so
ready to believe in Alex Krycek?>

<Since I haven't woken up in the middle of the
night with the urge to join a bonfire.  Since I
haven't had a nosebleed or a splitting headache
in the months since I replaced the chip.  Since
I traveled all over the country making ready for
this mission and not once have I been questioned
or detained.> It surprised her as well, but she
finally realized that if Krycek wanted her
captured or dead, he could have done it a dozen
times, in a hundred different ways.  Maybe he
really was on the right side this time. <He said
the chip would do the job.  Not long after I
took out the other one, I began to have
nosebleeds.  They stopped when I put the new one
in my neck.  Satisfied?>

"No," he mumbled, stubborn to the very end. 
Really, though, she wouldn't have expected
anything less from Mulder.  "But I guess I have
no choice, do I?"

<Damned right you don't.  Live with it, Mulder. 
I am.>

He sighed and pulled her into his arms, his lips
close to her ear.  "God, Scully," he whispered,
barely making a sound.  "I can live with
anything, as long as you're with me.  Just
promise me you'll tell me if you feel even a
twinge of pain, okay?"

Nodding, she let herself melt into him briefly,
knowing just how very frightened he was to hear
she'd removed the chip.  Living with the fear
that she'd be forced to do something to herself
or to others had also weighed heavily on him. 
If the roles had been reversed, she knew she'd
have made the same deal.  Given in on the one-
in-a-million chance that Cancerman could follow
through on any of his threats.  Their honor
forbade any other course.

However, it still didn't explain his actions on
that grainy videotape.  If it was even him. 
Cancerman could have beaten Mulder to a pulp,
dangled Scully herself before him as bait, and
he still would not have killed an innocent. 
Julia didn't think so, anyway.  With a little
shove, she pushed away from him.  Reluctantly,
he let her go and watched her hands.

<Mulder, the videotape.  The one I saw in the
bunker.>

His face hardened and again, he turned his back
on her, as if unable to say it to her face. 
Julia walked around him, preventing his flight
by planting herself before him.  Tell me, her
eyes demanded.

<For all the talk of mind control, Scully, this
is one thing that can't be explained away by
hypnosis or torture.>  Sadness tinged his eye as
he dropped his head. <That was me.  I killed
that girl.  Shot her in cold blood.>



End Chapter Sixteen

Julia
Chapter Seventeen

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


Washington, D.C.
February 10, 2001
2:18 a.m.


Was this real?  It couldn't be.  There had to be
a reason.  Or it had to be a lie.  Julia noted
the stiff set of his shoulders and the faint
tremble of his hands.

<I killed that girl.  He handed me a gun and
told me to do it.  I didn't hesitate.>  Sighing,
he paled before her. <I told you I was a
murderer.  I also told you I wasn't worth all
your trouble.>

Nausea rose in her throat at the realization
that he was, indeed, speaking the truth.  Had he
changed that much?  Was he really capable of
such cruelty?

No.  The truth hurt him more than it did her;
she could see the pain in his eyes.  No matter
what he'd done, he had done it under duress. 
Familiar, resounding faith in him rose up to
replace her wavering thoughts.

<If you killed that girl, you had a good reason. 
And you're going to see it.  You're the same man
I knew.  The same, good man.> Her new chin
lifted in an even more stubborn fashion, daring
him to refute her.

Mulder's eyes darkened and a stain of color
heightened his ashen cheeks. <Didn't you hear
me?> he punched into the air before her face,
stabbing at her with his words. <I'm my father's
son, Scully.>

<You're not.> She was adamant in her conviction.

<You want me to prove it to you?>

Julia's brow crinkled in confusion. <I don't
understand.>

His hand slammed at his chest for emphasis
before answering, <*I* could have easily taken
the gun and blown my brains out right there on
the runway.  But I didn't.  I am the worst sort
of coward.>

<Mulder.>

<No, Scully.  You came here hoping to find the
man you knew, but he's dead.  I'm nothing more
than the lowest... > He backed away at the sight
of her fingers making a beeline for his neck. 
"Don't you dare."

Pinching seemed to be a very good way to shut
him up, she thought.  If she'd only known this
years ago.... <Are you finished?>

"No."  He raised his hands when she threatened
with her fingers once again.  "Yes.  As long as
you don't pinch me again," he grumbled, eyeing
her nails with a sidelong glance.

<I can't promise that.  You need it, I'll do it
again.  You have my word on it.> Crossing her
arms, she stood there and waited out the war of
wills.

He pursed his lips, so did she.  He walked to
the sofa and flopped down with a pout;  she
followed and sat on the coffee table before him. 
No way was he getting rid of her that easily.

After several moments of her unceasing scrutiny,
he relented, back in control and back to sign
language.  <Say what you have to say.  But it
won't make any difference.>

<Not if you persist in this angry stubbornness,>
she fumed, thoroughly incensed now with his
arrogance.  She felt the fire to the tips of her
fingers.  Her hands became red with the motions
of sign language, slapping together in her fury.

<You really don't want to let me in, do you?  I
was right.  You are the same old Mulder.  Fine. 
Go ahead.  Pretend that you don't need anyone,
that you don't need me.  You're doing just fine
by yourself.  So was I... in fact, I can very
well go it alone again.  Just watch me.>

Throughout her tirade, Mulder sat motionless,
watching her become more angry with every word. 
If she'd hoped for some reaction, she was sadly
mistaken.  He took every barb in the chest with
stoic silence, the only sign she had his
attention was the darting of his eyes from her
hands to her face.

With a broad sigh, she decided she was done. 
Tears of frustration threatened to overflow and
spill out when she gave him one last gesture of
defiance, something she'd wanted to do many
times, but never did because it wasn't the
*professional* thing to do.

But Dana Scully was the professional.  Julia was
the pro.  And the stab of her middle finger in
his face was satisfying.

Before he could say anything in reply, she was
up and stalking back to the fireplace, her arms
wrapped defensively around her.

After all she'd done, all she'd said, it had
been worth nothing.  The Underground would get
what it wanted, but she and Mulder would die
here.  Die as combatants on a field of pride and
false honor.  And they'd been so close... so
close to having what they once had.  No - *more*
than what they'd ever dreamed of.

"Julia."

At his whisper so close behind her, she
straightened, but didn't turn around.  She
didn't trust herself not to hit him, and she
couldn't bear to bring more hurt upon him, even
if he was being an ass.

"Kiss me, Julia," he said, louder now.

Julia whirled at the command, ready to spit fire
at him with her eyes.  But as soon as she saw
his face, the anguish drawn in harsh lines, she
knew his purpose was not one of amorous intent. 
Letting her rigid arms fall away, she took his
face in her hands and brought her lips to his.

For a moment, he let their mouths meet, his kiss
tentative at first, then strengthening until
they were both gasping for breath.  His arms
went around her and she found herself crushed to
him, his ragged breathing matching her own. 
Content that she had at least made a crack in
his defenses, she burrowed closer, her nose
nuzzling the thump of his pulse at the base of
his throat.

One of his hands came up and brushed aside the
hair at her ear.  She was pleased at the soft
words that started to pour from him, despite the
hurt and pain that serrated each syllable.

"I could have let her live, could have fought
them again," he began, so quietly Julia had to
strain to hear him, rising up on tiptoe to bring
her ear closer to his lips.  "But by that time,
I'd begun to sneak out information on the
manifests."

That's what he'd been doing all this time.  A
surge of joyful justification brought tears to
Julia's eyes.  She'd known it all along... he
was still her Mulder.  She tried to pull away,
to let her smile communicate her belief in him,
to ask how he'd been getting the information
out, but he held fast, the confession
continuing.

"He's someone we can trust, Julia," he
whispered, giving her a slight shake, "but once
this information leaves here, I don't know which
transports will be hit.  They're randomly
picked, the attacks spaced far enough apart to
divert suspicion from the leak.  From me.  If
the manifests went missing, they'd know, so I
memorize what I can and write it down later." 
He paused, then added shakily, "It's why I fell
apart when I saw Skinner's name.  I knew I had
to sign it... I don't know if his transport will
win this week's rescue lottery."

But she had it now, it was still in the pocket
of her dress.  Mulder felt her tense and
hastened to calm her.

"I told them when they came for me last night
that I didn't know where it was.  I denied all
knowledge of it.  They tried... *intimidation,*
but after a while, I guess they figured I was
telling the truth.  My - *father* believed me." 
He paused, then added, "I don't think they know
yet that Skinner's name was on that manifest. 
And they won't, not if I can help it."

Julia gulped and held him closer.  Intimidation
- they'd beat him because the manifest  was
missing.  His injuries were her fault.

"No, no," he whispered.  "Don't blame yourself. 
I was the one that took them from the office in
the first place."

For a few moments, she let herself grieve over
his hurt as he murmured soft words of
commiseration.  "What I did to that girl -
*that's* unforgivable."

No it isn't, she wanted to scream.  I forgive
you - why can't you forgive yourself?

She wanted to shake him.  Wanted to slap some
sense into him.  She understood that he'd been
through a very traumatic experience, and the
fact that he chose to blame himself for the
whims of fate was not unexpected.  But they had
more important things to do.

They could still save her Skinner.  And
themselves.  A fact she would make sure Mulder
realized when he would let her respond.  For
now, though, she let him go on, urging him to
let it all out by rubbing her hands up and down
his back.

"If I'd refused to kill the girl, they would
have punished me, put me back in the cell.  And
I couldn't do that to the thousands waiting to
be saved."  He began to choke out the words as 
soundless sobs threatened to burst forth.  "It
was wrong to sacrifice one person so that others
could live.  I'm not God."

At this, Julia did pull away, though Mulder kept
his hands at her waist, holding on as if he
thought she'd flee.  Tears shimmered in his eyes
as he waited for her response.

<Would you rather have seen her become a host,
sent her away to slow, torturous death?>

"No," he said, his eyes still haunted but
brimming with a burgeoning understanding.  "But
-"

<No buts,> she interrupted. <You did the only
thing you could do, Mulder.  Forgive yourself
and move on.>

"Easier said than done," he replied with a grim
smile.

Julia smiled back. <Then will you forgive me
instead?>

"For what?"

<For everything I did or didn't do.  For
everything I said a little while ago.  For not
believing in you, trusting you.>

With a sigh, he brought her close again and his
lips moved against the curve of her ear.  "If
you'll do the same for me."

Deal, she replied with a nod against his chest.
It was going to take time to heal.  For the both
of them.  And that time would come, after they'd
made it out.  For now, this was enough.

The fire hissed an crackled as they silently
embraced, surrounding them with warmth.  Julia
felt that she could stay that way forever and
she was saddened that she couldn't.  But there
was one more thing she wanted to ask him before
they got down to the business of escape.  And
though she realized he could very well refuse,
she wanted to know.  Needed to know.

Tell me, her eyes pleaded, as she moved slightly
away.  Soft, tender fingers touched the scar,
trailing down its length to settle over his
heart.

Though dry now, his cheeks flushed with
something that looked almost like guilt.  Julia
wasn't sure she wanted to hear what he had to
say, despite her curiosity.  They'd covered a
lot of difficult territory already and from the
hesitant set of his chin, his next disclosure
promised to be just as formidable.  But she
wanted no more secrets, just as he did.  The
time for solitary crusading was over; if they
wanted to get out of there alive, they had to
trust each other again.  Had to be together in
their resolve.

Putting a bit of distance between them, he
stepped away, his hands slow in his reply. <What
do you want to know?>

What *did* she want to know?  Why put herself
through this?  If he slept with any of the women
that had been paraded in and out of this suite,
what would it matter?

But it did matter, deep inside where her logic
and reason couldn't reach down to squash the
jealousy.  Yes, she knew he loved her.  Had
loved her for a long time, with a sweetness and
passion undeniably focused on her, and her
alone.  But they'd never become intimate.  It
just wasn't *them.* She'd resigned herself to it
long ago.

And now?  Impossible.  Though they were still
the same inside, there was no reason in this
mangled world they lived in to succumb to the
pleasures of sex.  Much more important things to
do... like always.

If jealousy wasn't her motivation, then what
was?  She told herself that health concerns were
paramount; despite her assumption that the
others had undergone the same rigorous
examination that she had, it was best to be on
the safe side.  And that meant abstinence.

<Did you sleep with any of them?>

There, that was straightforward enough.  She
could see his reply in his hardened gaze before
she heard from his fingers.

<No.  Did *you* fuck anybody?>

Fair enough, her eyes blinked. <No.  Though I
suppose I would have if I'd had to.>

Mulder tensed, but bit back his angry retort. 
She knew he wanted to pounce on her last
statement, but their newborn truce forbade it. 
Instead, he answered her with another story.

<After they put me up here, gave me my...
*job*... the women started showing up.  All
redheads, most looked like you.  And I can't
deny that I was tempted, Scully.  But mostly, I
ignored them, just to piss him off.  My father
knew that I wasn't fucking them... he could hear
everything that went on in here.  Hell, he can
still hear everything.>

Julia let the corners of her mouth turn up in a
wry grin.  They'd figured out how to beat the
surveillance.  Thank goodness for sign language.

<Then one day he shows up with one... she looked
*exactly* like you.  Her voice was different,
but somehow the plastic surgeon was successful
in every other way.> With a pointed look he
added, <Took only a few days for my resistance
to fade.>

Oh, Jesus, she thought.  Hang in there, he's
just being honest.  He said he hadn't slept with
any of them, hadn't he?  And she knew he was
sexually attracted to her, just as she had
always appreciated his sensuality.  It came with
the territory.  Put two reasonably attractive
people together in a very stressful partnership
and they were bound to have developed some sort
of physical desire for one another.

<She was good, I'll give her that.  Didn't even
flinch when I touched her.  I was totally
unprepared for the knife.>

<The knife?> Julia butted in, thankful he'd
skipped over the juicier details.  How had she
smuggled in a knife?

<She was fucking one of the Guardsmen assigned
to watch me.  Later, she told all, confessed to
stealing it from him.  She hated my guts, hated
me touching her.  Can't really blame her, you
know.  Torn from all that she loved, made to
wear a different face the rest of her life. 
Treated like a slave, whore to the man most
likely responsible for your family's death.>

Don't start, she warned with her eyes.  Don't
make me listen to your guilt trip all over
again.  It's done.  She brought her fingers up
and snapped the thumb and forefinger together
like pincers, daring him to make her do it.

"Okay, okay," he said aloud, throwing his hands
up in surrender.  "Just keep your fingers to
yourself."  A small smile accompanied his added
murmur, "For now, anyway."

<Go on.> She wasn't letting him off the hook
that easily, though she couldn't help her
answering serious smile.  Always ready with the
innuendo   she was glad to know that hadn't
changed.

Sighing, he signed, <I would have slept with
her, you know.  I lost all reason.  It was
you... or as close to you as I'd ever come.>

His eyes drifted into sadness, his playfulness
of a moment ago forgotten. <I even called her by
your name.>

Julia wanted to hold him, to comfort him, but
she stayed back.  Finish it, she pleaded with
her gaze.

<She saw how far gone I was and took the
opportunity.> He swallowed hard, as if the fear
and panic had taken hold of him once again. <I
managed to get her off me and grab the knife. 
In a minute or two, the Guardsmen burst in.  I
guess it's the only time I was glad they were
listening; by that time, I'd lost the will to
die.>

For all her rage at their captors' insensitivity
and suspicion, she too was thankful they'd come
to his aid.

<They took her away.  I never saw her again. 
Then the next one....> He lowered his gaze. <The
next one drowned herself in the bathtub after
the first day.  I'd told him time and again I
didn't want anymore.  And I thought he'd finally
listened to me; I was alone for weeks.>

Mulder finally looked at her again, this time
with watery eyes. <Then he brought you to me.>

Through the fresh tears, he laughed, a short,
mirthless exhale.

"Looks like he finally succeeded," he whispered. 
"You always could bring me to my knees."

Julia quickly moved forward and shushed him with
her hand.  Mulder's mouth opened beneath her
fingers to press a kiss into the pads.  She felt
the moist breath caress her skin and her tears
joined his.  He was wrong; it was *him* that
could bring her to her knees.  She'd known all
along that her mission was not one of blind
devotion to the resistance.

The only mission in her life was Mulder.  Saving
him, saving herself.  Leading him out of this
place of despair and greed back into the more
uncertain world of thin hope and tenuous
freedom.

Together, they moved into a tight embrace, and
Julia's hands moved slowly over his back,
soothing the scars on his body and soul.

"We're gonna make it out, you know," he
murmured, rocking her in his arms.

She nodded, feeling in her heart that he was
right.  They'd make it out, or die trying.

"Ready to let me in on this plan of yours?"  It
was so soft, breathed into her ear with a
feathery sigh.

At that moment, her empty stomach roared with
displeasure.  Mulder laughed, pulling away to
grin at the interruption.  "I guess we missed
dinner, didn't we?"

Glancing ruefully at the cold plates of food on
the table, she shrugged.  She'd gone without
eating many times in the past months and she
could do it again.  This time, though, she would
gladly put up with hunger, as long as she could
feast on Mulder's presence.

"Let me call downstairs.  We need something to
eat.  Suddenly, I have quite an appetite."  He
winked and moved to the telephone.  When he saw
her follow him with her gaze, he added, <We can
discuss where we go from here while we eat.>

Okay, she answered, bringing her thumb and
forefinger together.  As he dialed, she made
herself comfortable on the couch.

It had been a long night already, and there was
still much more talking to come.  She wondered
if she could stay awake.

Coffee, she needed coffee.

"And a pot of coffee... don't forget the
creamer."

Mulder's order made her smile.  Who needed
words?


End Chapter Seventeen

Julia
Chapter Eighteen

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


Washington, D.C.
February 10, 2001
4:35 a.m.


Mulder stuffed the last of his eggs into his
mouth and swallowed them down with a gulp of
coffee.  Julia let a pleased smile curl her
lips; it was the most she'd seen him eat since
she'd been here.  It reminded her of his
voracious appetite in a diner in New Jersey so
many years ago.  He'd aged a bit, but she saw
the same boyish energy emerge.  Like a kid with
a new toy, Mulder latched on to the unknown with
exuberance.  This time was no different; in
fact, she couldn't help but feel excitement at
the hope that this would be the ultimate victory
in their lengthy struggle against Cancerman and
his project.

From across the table, he stilled, eyes wide. 
"What?"

She set her coffee cup down and said, <Nothing. 
You just haven't changed, that's all.>

Letting a grin flirt over his mouth, he set his
cup down as well, lowering his gaze.  "Yes, I
have."  He reached for her hand, rubbing his
thumb over the palm as he looked up again.  "But
it feels good to know that you don't think so."

Reaching over, she squeezed his hand in both of
hers.  He hadn't changed in all the ways that
counted, and one day soon, he'd come to realize
it.  It would take time, but she'd make sure of
it.

Mulder sat up, pullling his hand away with a
straightening of his shoulders. <So, what's the
plan?>

Julia did the same, ready to get on with it.
<I'm not exactly sure.  Last time I received a
message was in Alexandria.  All it said was,
'We're ready when you are.'>

<You have no idea what Krycek's plan is?> He was
incredulous. <You let him send you out here
without concrete information?>

<Let me explain.> Lifting an eyebrow, she forced
him to quiet.

He sat back, arms crossed, impatience etched on
his face.  And he thought he'd changed, she
mused.  One day, she was going to tell him just
how often he'd pissed her off with that look.


**********


Undisclosed location
West Virginia mountains
July 27, 2000
12:20 a.m.


"You expect me to believe this shit?"

Scully's voice was incredulous as she eyed the
minute speck resting in the petri dish.

"I don't know the exact mechanism, but yes, I
expect you to believe, Scully," Krycek replied. 
"It's what's in Skinner."  He leaned over the
table, piercing her with deliberate eyes.  "It's
what Spender had me thrown in prison for.  He
wanted that artifact and he tortured me to get
it.  He would have let me rot in that hellhole,
but he needed me to get Mulder for him."

"And you think he just *forgot* about the
artifact?" she sneered, moving away to pace the
dim room.

"No, I'm not that stupid.  I have no doubt he
would have sent me back to Tunisia until I
broke.  He couldn't kill me, you see.  I was the
only one who knew where it was."

Scully rubbed a weary hand over her eyes,
stopping to say, "So you say you know nothing of
it's mechanism?  Then why experiment with
Skinner?"

Krycek's jaw moved and he looked down at the
chip, nodding.  "The nanites are simply carbon-
coated pieces of the same type of alien
spacecraft material, salvaged over the years. 
You have a degree in physics, Scully.  Think
about it."

Her mind began to race.  "Carbon is a good
conductor of electricity," she breathed.

"Right the first time," he drawled with a smile. 
"The material possesses regenerative qualities,
we've known that for years."

"It can rebuild itself."  She recalled how
Krycek had insisted that the crippled ship in
Oregon was doing just that.  At the time, she'd
taken her usual stance, more concerned about
Mulder chasing after it than the remote
possibility of it even *being* and alien craft.

But time and circumstances had changed all that. 
There were many things she believed in now that
a year ago, she would have dismissed with
science.

"Carbon-coated alien material inserted into a
human body... a small electromagnetic pulse from
the palm pilot, which triggers the electrical
energy already present in muscle tissue..." 
Krycek trailed off, waiting for her response.

She raised wide eyes to his.  "And they begin to
reproduce, to bind together."

"All it takes is the right recipe."  He smiled,
a humorless acknowledgment of her understanding. 
"Now do you see what we have here?"

If what he was saying was true, then it
staggered the mind.  The alien material
possessed the capability to utilize electricity
in a way not known in nature.  To reproduce
itself like a biological entity.

"It will connect with others of its kind when
electrically stimulated."

He nodded with a slow smile.  "Any modem port
will do, Scully.  This little piece of metal,"
he raised the petri dish to the light, casual in
his scrutiny, "will open all doors to us in its
search for home, like a child looking for its
mother."

Despite his calm words, Scully allowed a moment
of continued skepticism.  "You're saying this
chip will connect with a similar one -?"

"Inserted into one of the computers those
friends of yours are making love to in the
control room, yes."

She ignored his mean jibe at the Gunmen and let
her eyes narrow.  "You're full of shit, Krycek."

"I've seen it happen, Scully.  The Project had
been experimenting... and not only with the
biological life forms."

His implication was not lost on her.  "You're
saying this - *thing* - is alive?"

"Is it any more implausible than creating
artificial intelligence in a silicon medium?"

She paused at his question, remembering Esther
Nairn and her quest for immortality with her
lover.  At the time, she'd scoffed at the
possibility of intelligence let loose on the
Internet.  But now, after all she'd witnessed in
the past few months... *anything* was possible,
and she'd better start believing it.

"So... when the connection is made...?"

"It will enable us to break into their system. 
We can download as much as we can before we
attack.  I figure twelve hours of snooping is
our limit.  How much time do you need?"

Before he came calling on Cancerman's door. 
Scully thought his time limit unreasonable,
especially if she wanted any chance of making it
out alive. *With* Mulder.

"Twenty-four.  I need twenty-four hours."

"It'll be pushing it, but you've got it."  He
extended his hand, but Scully refused to shake
it.  She'd never be *that* comfortable with him. 
Seeing her reaction, he laughed, dropping his
hand.  "You've been hanging around Mulder too
long, Scully.  Trust me.  You get inside and
I'll be there when you call."

"You'd better be," she murmured, then gasped at
the warm gush from her nose.  "Shit."  She
turned away and ran to the restroom, hearing
Krycek's booted thuds behind her.

"Still haven't used that chip, have you Scully? 
What are you waiting for?  What the hell use are
you gonna be to us if you're dying?"  His anger
made his words icy cold.  "That's it - I'm
sending someone else."

"No!"  She wiped away the last of the blood and
faced him, furious color creeping up her face. 
"It's me or no one!"

"Then first thing tomorrow, we set out for
Dubuque, just as planned.  That chip is going
back in or you'll spend your last days in this
hole," he grated out.  "I insist."

She had no choice but to agree.


**********


Washington, D.C.
February 10, 2001
5:15 a.m.


<You're not taking it out.> He was adamant in
his concern, frantic worry making his eyes
bright in his face.

<It's a different chip.> She rushed to explain. 
<The other... the one in my neck... the one
Krycek gave me... it's staying there.>

<You wouldn't lie to me, would you?>

<No.> Well, a half-truth wasn't exactly a lie. 
She neglected to tell him just where the other
chip was, knowing that it's removal was bound to
be painful.  She didn't want him to worry
needlessly.  The extraction was something she
could steel herself against, she was sure of it.

His eyes narrowed and his jaw worked with the
effort to hold in his words.  <Don't ever lie to
me, Scully.  No secrets anymore, okay?>

<Okay.>

He seemed satisfied and relaxed once again in
his chair, leaning over the table. <So, once
it's out, we have to figure out a way to insert
it into a computer.>

<Piece of cake,> she answered. <I'll just get
sick... I saw a computer in the Infirmary the
first day I arrived.>

Nodding, he continued, <Then we have twenty-four
hours to get out, right?  Which means we need to
be as close as possible to the exit downstairs
when Krycek comes calling.> At her nod, he
asked, <Just how the hell is he going to pull
this off?  There's an army of Guardsmen in the
building.  No way can he take them all down.  It
would require a large force of men, something
that wouldn't be easy to come by, much less
sneak into the area.>

<I don't know that either, but I imagine the
chip will enable the Underground to disable a
lot of the security systems in this building. 
Krycek hinted that once the portal was open,
they could basically take over the building's
computer system.>

<Bring down the shield...> Mulder's eyes took on
a faraway look as his mind began to work.
<Disable the cameras and alarms...> He shook his
head to clear it and added, <I still don't see
how they won't get slaughtered before they even
make it to the front door.>

<Maybe they won't come through the front door.> 
Realization dawned and she hurriedly moved her
hands. <Krycek had access to weapons of all
kinds, Mulder.  He traveled with militias and
agents of many organizations.  Who's to say what
he'll come up with?>

The thought frightened her.  Chemical,
biological... weapons of mass destruction...
maybe even a nuclear device.  It was not beyond
the realm of possibility.  Her eyes met Mulder's
and she saw the same thoughts flit through his
brain in rapid-fire succession.

<We'll get out before then.>

<We have to,> she said, her hands shaking now. 
When she'd first volunteered for this mission,
it was with the expectation that she probably
wouldn't make it out alive.  But now she wanted
to live; she wanted Mulder alive as well.  She
wanted it all. <But how?  We have to think of
something.>

<Leave that to me.> He pushed away from the
table and walked to the bedroom, Julia trailing
behind in confusion.

What could he do?  She knew he had a contact for
the purpose of leaking out information on the
manifests, but other than that, he was just as
trapped in here as she was.  And he wasn't
Superman, despite his arrogant propensity for
thinking he could save the world.

When she rounded the doorframe, she was brought
up short by the sight of his bare ass.  Quickly
she half-turned and flushed at his small
chuckle.  She couldn't speak to him without
looking at him and he knew it, the bastard.

"It's nothing you haven't seen before, Julia,"
he drawled.

He was enjoying her discomfort, moving in and
out of her line of vision wearing only a smile. 
"Laundry day today," he murmured, picking up the
scattered clothes.  When he stopped before her,
she saw her dress held in one hand.  Passing it
to her, he said, "Make sure you empty your
pockets."

Skinner's manifest.  Jesus, she'd almost
forgotten where it was.  Quickly, she took the
dress from him and felt for the paper, closing
her eyes in relief when her fingers curled
around it.

Mulder moved to the dresser and pulled out a
pair of boxers.  As he slipped into them, he
threw over his shoulder, "Get my notepad,
Julia."  His notepad?  She was really confused
now.  As he walked to the closet, he added, "Get
your laundry together, too."

Though the question remained in her mind, she
did as he asked, retrieving the pen and paper
from the living room.  By the time she'd
returned, he was zipping up his suit pants.  She
breathed a silent sigh of relief; too much
Mulder skin tended to make it difficult to
concentrate.

Holding the pen in one hand and the pad in
another, she stood with the question on her
face.  What now?

Mulder walked over to her, slowly sweeping her
shirt-clad form with warm, appreciative eyes. 
As he took the pen and paper from her hands, he
murmured, "I need to leave him a note.  Not
enough starch in my shirts.  Too... clingy."

Eyes wide, she glanced down, sure he could see
every curve.  No way.  For one thing, it was
huge on her, almost hanging to her knees.  For
another, it wasn't like it was made of any
transparent material....

"Julia."  He brought her chin up with his
fingers, interrupting her inspection.  His eyes
twinkled with teasing for a second, as he took
in what she knew to be a furious blush.  Then
they darkened, a more serious tone accompanying
his next words.  "He's the only one I trust to
do this right."

Of course... the laundry man.  Mentally slapping
her forehead, she wondered why it was only now
making sense.  Ferrying messages hidden in the
black bags.  No wonder she'd sensed something
unusual about him.  God, she was getting soft. 
She'd missed that one by a mile.

Mulder smiled and began writing on the paper. 
Without looking up, he asked, "When do you want
that dress back?  By tomorrow night?  We're
eating downstairs tomorrow night, aren't we?" 
Glancing up at her, his smile was beaming.

Slowly, her lips turned up as well. <Yes, we
are, aren't we?  Tomorrow night.  Eight p.m.>

"Sounds good to me."  The pen moved furiously
over the paper.

Julia spied the black bag in the corner and
stuffed her dress inside, then held it open
while he put the note in the pocket of one of
his suit jackets.  They stuffed his clothes into
the bag, adding a few towels from the bathroom
for good measure.  As she cinched it closed, he
finished dressing.

"Would you?"  He turned from the mirror, his tie
hanging around his neck.

Reaching up, she mouthed, <Where are you going? 
It's not even six yet.>

"To work.  Lots to do today."

Like what? she posed, looking up from her task
with a crease of her brow.

"Paperwork.  You know... boring stuff.  I have a
backlog sitting on my desk that needs immediate
attention.  Mostly I need to catch up on my
reading."

He was going to try to memorize everything he
could, she realized.  Dates, places, modes of
transport... all in preparation for when they
escaped and were able to rescue the many
awaiting sure death.

And she thought he wasn't Superman.  With nimble
fingers, she finished the knot on his tie and
smoothed it down.  No, he wasn't Superman, but
he *was* the next best thing.  A human being...
compassionate, heroic, and flawed.  Most of all,
determined.  He may stumble, but he always rose
up.

<There.  Perfect.>

Mulder looked down at her for a moment as
fleeting concern shadowed his brow.  She knew he
didn't want to leave her alone today.  They were
so close to freedom and she'd be lying if she
said she felt secure.  But they had to keep up
the appearance of normalcy, and that meant
Mulder had to go to work. <Go on.  I'll be okay. 
I'll ask Eliza to come visit with me.>

Relaxing just a bit, he pulled her close and let
his lips touch her forehead.  "Okay."  Moist
heat warmed her skin as the smell of clean
cotton filled her nose.  She couldn't help but
inch closer.  "You know... you could give the
laundry man all your clothes..."  His hands
wandered over her back.  "My shirt suits you
just fine."

She left him standing there, his fingers
soothing the crease on his pants seat made by
her fingers.  His voice followed her out.

"Now *that's* a pinch I can live with."

Trouble was, so could she.  Her fingers were
getting *way* too used to touching Mulder,
period.



End Chapter Eighteen

Julia
Chapter Nineteen

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


Washington, D.C.
February 10, 2001
1:45 p.m.


Boredom had set in about an hour ago, much to
her dismay.  Listening to Eliza prattle on and
on about nonsense grated on her nerves.  She
really shouldn't have felt that way about the
woman; it wasn't that she was cruel, unlike the
rest of the personnel in the hotel.  As Julia
sat and smiled, she wondered if maybe she should
attempt to warn Eliza of tomorrow night's
events.  Not overtly, of course.  She would not
jeopardize the plan with such foolhardy
sentiments.

But how to do it?  Eliza, for all of her
shallow, conniving ways, was her friend.  But
Julia had no doubt that the woman would not
hesitate to go straight to the Appointing
Authority with even a hint of something
suspicious.  Best not to take any chances; she
knew that Eliza dined in the restaurant nightly
and the woman would be on one of the lower
floors when the time came.  It was enough for
Julia to know that Eliza would at least stand a
fighting chance to survive.

"I'm getting very used to this, Julia," the
woman purred, sipping at the wine she ordered
with lunch.  "You know, if it weren't for you,
I'd still be on a bus in the middle of Podunk,
USA... or maybe not.  I like to think it was
fate for us to meet."

Julia smiled and sipped at the wine, still
nursing the same glass of Chardonnay she'd
poured for herself at the table.  Eliza,
however, had nearly finished the bottle.  Her
voice seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet of
the room, despite the Handel drifting in the
background.  Julia hoped the woman wasn't
getting tipsy; she certainly didn't feel like
dealing with an drunk Eliza.  Sober Eliza was
quite a handful without the added charm of
obnoxious inebriation.

As Eliza opened her mouth to veer off into
another train of thought - the woman couldn't
keep her mind on one thing for more than two
minutes - Julia heard a knock at the door. 
Briefly closing her eyes in relief, she stood to
answer the door.

"What?  What is it?"  The knock finally
penetrated the incessant drone coming out of her
mouth.

<Laundry man, I think.> With a small grin, Julia
made for the door, ignoring Eliza's huff.

"Why don't you just get some more clothes,
Julia?  Something more... feminine.  You persist
in wearing the same things over and over.  The
Minister probably doesn't appreciate those
jeans, you know."

Julia ran her palms down her thighs; she'd kept
the jeans and sweater Eliza had given her the
first day, and had talked the woman into
sneaking in one more pair, along with another
sweater.  She wore them at every opportunity
when Mulder wasn't there.  She'd change into the
lingerie before he came home, intent on living
the part of concubine as required.  But now that
he knew who she was, she'd be damned if she'd
don any of those skimpy clothes again.

<He's never seen me in this, and he never will,
okay?> She backed away to the door, throwing her
hands up in a show of capitulation.  The lie
came easy to her, but she almost laughed at the
consternation on Eliza's face.

"Why I ever thought I could get the tomboy out
of you is beyond me," she sighed, downing the
last of the wine before reaching for the bottle.

<Believe me, Eliza... the Minister likes me just
the way I am.> She threw a pointed look at the
woman before turning for the door.

"What?  Julia -"

But Julia waved off the startled questioning and
opened the door.

"Miss?"  He searched her face as she did his. 
"Your laundry?"

Who was this man?  And why was he helping
Mulder?  She tried in vain to see beyond the
bland mask, but to no avail.  The placid blue
eyes were expressionless, waiting as a
subordinate should.

At her inaction, he asked again, "Miss?"

That snapped her from her scrutiny and she
backed away, ushering him in.  Behind her, she
heard Eliza's huff of impatience.  People of
importance didn't have time to deal with
menials... Julia could sense the unspoken in
that short sound of displeasure.  But she
ignored the woman and signed to the man to come
in and wait.

The bag was in Mulder's bedroom and it only took
a few seconds for her to retrieve it.  She was
relieved to see that Eliza had moved to the
telephone, where she was ordering more wine.  So
she took the opportunity to do a bit of probing,
handing the bag to him before raising her hands.

<The Minister has put specific instructions in
there this time.> She waited, hoping he
understood that she knew exactly what was going
on.

As she watched, his eyes widened just a bit, the
only outward sign of awareness.  "Not the
usual?"

<More starch in his shirts.> Glancing over her
shoulder, she saw Eliza still facing away. <And
a means of escape.  Tomorrow night.  It's all in
the note.>

The man nodded slowly and Julia smiled at the
hope that grew with every passing second.

"Tell him I'll take care of it personally, Miss. 
Thank you."

She followed him to the door and let him out,
just in time before Eliza hung up the telephone.

"Now," she said, walking back to the couch with
a deliberate stare, "tell me."

Julia moved to the opposite side of the couch,
feigning ignorance. <Tell you what?>

"You know, Julia... despite the fact that you're
still here - a good sign, apparently,
considering you've lasted the longest - I had my
doubts that you were going to work out."  She
shifted on the cushions, examining one perfectly
manicured hand.  "Oh, you had the looks.  And
the Appointing Authority knew there was
something special about you right away."

He did?  Julia's heart tripped, but she knew
Eliza was speaking in more general terms.  There
was no way the Appointing Authority could know
who she really was.  Actually, lately he'd been
having doubts about Mulder's acceptance of her -
he'd told Mulder as much himself.

"But I've been worried.  Rumor has it that the
Minister isn't... satisfied with you.  That
they're already looking for your replacement." 
Eliza, despite her calm voice, fidgeted in her
seat, avoiding Julia's eyes.  "You say he likes
you?  He's taken with you?"

Eliza was more worried about her position in the
Administration than she was about Julia's, that
was obvious.  She lived like royalty because
she'd lucked out, basically.  But the woman had
heard rumors; quite possibly knew everything
that went on in the apartment, via the escort
hierarchy.  And what she didn't know, she
guessed at.

Julia seethed inwardly at the quasi-confirmation
that it was probable *everyone* with any pull in
this place knew which way the wind blew with
regards to Mulder's sex life.  But of more
concern was the fact that it appeared that
discussions were ongoing to have her replaced. 
It was a real possibility and it could happen at
any moment, despite Mulder's protests that he
was happy with her.

Eliza knew. *They* knew.  They knew that he
hadn't touched her.

She didn't know what was worse... the nausea
their intrusion summoned or the fear of
premature removal.

<We get along well.> It was no use denying
Eliza's suspicions. But neither was she going to
discuss the lack of intimacy with the woman,
despite the fact that really, it was her sole
purpose for being there.  It was simply none of
her business.  <He's happy with me.>

One more day.  One more day and she would have
been out of there.  She and Mulder forever
leaving this place of greed and unspeakable
horror hidden in the folds of opulence.  One way
or another, they would have been gone; dead or
alive, repatriated or reborn in freedom.

Mentally she swore, using a word she seldom used
when she could speak.  Was it Krycek she'd
cursed with it the last time?

"Not happy enough, apparently," Eliza sighed. 
"Julia -" Her lament was interrupted by the
knocking at the door.

Relief spurred Julia to stand, glad for the
respite.  It was probably the maid; a mousy
woman who vacuumed and changed the bed linens
once a week, but little else.  Her visits were
haphazard at best, and Julia ignored her when
she came, mostly.  This time, though, she'd make
the woman dust every corner if it would prevent
Eliza from continuing.  With a slight smile, she
opened the door.

Then stilled, her smile freezing into a blank
stare.  She pushed the door closed, but was
thwarted by a large boot.

"Now, is that any way to greet an old friend?" 
The voice was slimy in its arrogance, the
Guardsman poking his head through the crack with
insidious threat.

Using all her strength, she levered herself
against the door in a vain attempt to keep him
out.  Eliza's slightly panicked, "Julia?" came
from close behind her.

It was the same guard that had come on to her in
Mulder's absence just yesterday.  Despite her
growing alarm, she cursed the fates.  What else
could possibly go wrong?

He could muscle his way in, she thought, which
is precisely what happened in the next instant. 
Julia fell back, rigid with indignation.

Eliza fell into place beside her.  "What do you
want?"  Julia could have kissed her for not
cowering in the face of his intimidation.  But
she didn't know how long this show of bravado
would last, considering neither of them dared to
cause a scene.

"Surprise inspection," he drawled, his hand
resting upon his sidearm.  "Required weekly by
the Appointing Authority."

"Inspection for what?  The Bogeyman?"

At that, his face hardened.  "You," he nodded at
Eliza, "out."

She bristled at his command, but her voice was
shaky as she answered, "You have no right to -"

"I said, get out.  Unless you want *your*
surprise inspection next."  His eyes narrowed. 
"There've been suspicions of a leak in the
Administration for some time now... the evidence
could turn up *anywhere.*"

Don't leave me, Julia pleaded with her eyes.

But Eliza cleared her throat and lowered her
chin, clearly afraid of the man.  They both knew
that their word against his was worthless; no
matter what he said, he would be believed.

Eliza grasped Julia's hand and gave it a slight
squeeze.  Their eyes met and Julia knew she was
going to leave.  But something else glittered in
those dark depths and Julia was reassured.

Whatever you're going to do, do it quick, she
answered silently, squeezing Eliza's hand in
return.  Another small sneer at the Guardsman,
and Eliza was gone.

"What's she gonna do?"  He directed the question
at Julia, moving closer as she backed away. 
"You think she can just pick up the phone and
call that eunuch boyfriend of yours?"

If anyone's listening - and I know you are -
Julia thought, please do something.  She stood
her ground, arms crossed and chin lifted in
defiance.  No way was she showing an ounce of
her ever-growing fear to this man.

And it was growing, despite the fact that she
hadn't allowed herself to feel fear in months. 
She looked catastrophe in the face the day of
the Invasion.  Watched all manner of atrocities
since then, shamed herself before the men that
ruled now without blinking an eye.

Listened to Mulder berate her for degrading
herself this way... God... Mulder.

She paled at the feel of the Guardsman's sweaty
palm on her face, letting her eyes close with
distaste as she gave in to the urge to back
away.  But the backs of her knees hit the couch,
signaling an end to her retreat.  His hand
clamped onto her chin, forcing her to look at
him.

"No one's coming, baby," he whispered.  "It's
just me and you.  The other one... she wanted it
bad."

The other one?  The one who'd tried to kill
Mulder?  Was this the Guardsman she'd been
screwing behind Mulder's back?

"Too bad she did an Ophelia after the first
day... we could have had some fun."

Dear God... he was speaking of the concubine
before her... the woman who'd drowned herself in
the bathtub.  She hadn't been repulsed by
Mulder, as he'd thought.  She'd been attacked by
*this* man.

"She was a scared little thing."  His breath was
hot on her face.  "Easy pickings.  But you..." 
His other hand moved to her waist and he pulled
her toward him.  "You think you're better than
everyone.  I got news for you, baby.  You ain't
nothing but a whore, just like all the rest."

He couldn't hit her, she knew.  Couldn't really
be rough with her, or the marks would certainly
show.

"You think I won't hit you?"  He picked up on
her thoughts so easily; was she that
transparent?  Her fear was getting the better of
her, sweating out through her skin.  "Maybe,
maybe not.  But all it would take is one word
from me that the Minister's whore couldn't keep
her hands off me, and you're history."

She could take his gun.  Shoot him before he
knew what hit him.  Take him down with moves
learned long ago and perfected on criminals more
vicious than he'd ever aspire to be.  It would
be over in a handful of seconds.

But she couldn't.  To do so would jeopardize
everything she'd worked so hard for these past
months.  Bring a swift end to any hope for
escape.  Doom Mulder to this life forever.

Closing her eyes, she brought an image of his
beloved face to mind.  Submit, she must submit. 
She'd lost her body to this masquerade long ago,
all for Mulder.  This was just another piece of
her that would be lost, that's all.  Except this
time, she knew her soul would suffer.

Just let him do what he wants, her mind
screamed.  You are not Scully.  You are Julia. 
Act like it... *be* her.

Julia had no soul.  Nothing to be shattered,
nothing to be lost.  Scully had everything to
lose if she fought back.

A single tear squeezed out from beneath her
closed eyelids, winding its way down her cheek
in a hot betrayal.

"That's better," the Guardsman drawled, his
hands moving to her shoulders.  "Now... on your
knees."

I am Julia.  Mulder will never know.  I am
Julia.  Don't screw this up now.

If she said it to herself enough, it would sink
in.  She dropped to her knees, repeating the
words over and over.

I am Julia.  I am Julia.

The rasp of his zipper could not drown out her
mantra.

I am Julia.


End Chapter Nineteen

Julia
Chapter Twenty

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


Washington, D.C.
February 10, 2001
2:25 p.m.


The ringing in her ears almost drowned out the
shout.

"Get the fuck away from her!"

The Guardsman was gone in an instant, pulled
away by unseen hands.  Julia melted to the
floor, eyes still closed, her heart threatening
to pound right out of her chest.  Someone had
come... nothing happened.  It was okay.

She feared she would lose consciousness, her
relief was so palpable.  In the dim recesses of
her mind, she heard the dull thud of fist
meeting face.  Mulder?

Muttered profanity joined the meaty sounds,
penetrating the fog.  No, she had to do
something.  Get up, get up... he's going to kill
the Guardsman... can't let that happen.

Shaking, she stood and tried to focus.  Mulder
had the man pinned to the floor, but the fight
wasn't nearly over.  The Guardsman had a good
twenty pounds on Mulder and was wrestling to
remove the furious weight that was trying to get
his gun.

Gun... no.  If Mulder shot the man, they'd
surely be detained for questioning, quite
possibly imprisoned.  Staggering to the men, she
cursed the jello legs that her new fear
produced.

But she was too late.  Mulder had the gun and
was standing over the frightened guard, seconds
away from pulling the trigger.  Slowly, she put
a hand on his arm, feeling the muscles tense
under her fingers through the suit coat.

"Get away, Julia," he snarled.  The bloodlust on
his face made her tremble; she'd never seen him
angry to the point where he wanted to commit
murder.  The click of the hammer being pulled
back spurred her to action; she put herself
between the two men.

"God damn it, move!"

<No.  Don't do this!>

His jaw dropped and he gulped in air, finally
raising his eyes to hers.  With her back to the
Guardsman still lying on the floor, she pleaded
with frantic hands.

<We're so close.  Mulder, stop.>

He blinked the sweat from his eyes and
swallowed, slowly lowering the gun.  Julia
stepped forward and wrapped hesitant arms around
him, laying her cheek on his heaving chest.  He
didn't reciprocate;  she knew he was still
keeping watch on the man behind them.  His form
was tense, ready to spring at any movement, any
threat.

Julia could have cried when she heard the bustle
come through the door.  It all happened in a
flurry of activity; more Guardsmen hauled away
their comrade, amidst his shouts of innocence
and Julia's complicity.  The gun was wrenched
from Mulder's hand and his arms stole around
her.  The breath left her body as he clutched
her to him, his hands grasping her sweater with
tight fists.

"You okay?" he whispered, hoarse concern
drifting into her ear.  The aftermath had set in
and she felt the adrenaline draining away from
him in small tremors.

Nodding, she pulled away slightly to look up at
him.  The fierce, unrecognizable cast to his
face was gone, replaced by anguished, pale
worry.  Bringing a hand to his cheek, she
smoothed the lines in his cheek and saw his gaze
soften.  It was going to be okay.  Or so she
hoped.

"What happened here?"

The steely comment drew her from the lock of
Mulder's gaze and she broke away from him,
creating some distance to answer the question. 
But Mulder beat her to it, turning with a snide,
"Are you blind?  She was attacked."

It was Laura, flanked by Eliza and a Guardsman,
whose firearm was drawn and ready.  So *that's*
how Mulder found out.  One look at Eliza's face
said it all; she was unable to contact Mulder,
but she'd done the next best thing - telephone
Laura.  Laura had the power to notify Mulder.

This was not good.  From the distaste marring
the compressed line of her mouth, Julia knew
Laura was put out that she'd had to deal with
this mess.  But Julia couldn't help but be
thankful to Eliza for putting her neck on the
line, and she gave Eliza a small smile, which
the woman returned before looking away.  The
less said by the both of them, the better, Julia
knew.  She lowered her eyes as well.

"I don't like my girls to cause trouble," Laura
was saying to Mulder.  "And I especially don't
like becoming involved."  The last was directed
at Eliza with a pointed look.  "But I have to do
something when I get a phone call like that."

Mulder was still angry, starting forward to
confront the woman.  Julia wanted to stop him,
but knew she couldn't; it wasn't her place to
intervene.  Instead, she transmitted her worry
by pretending to feel faint, placing a hand on
his arm.

He picked up on it at once, and guided her to
the couch, his reply to Laura more calm.  "And I
thank you for calling me," he said, gently
helping Julia to sit before turning back to
Laura.  "It won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't."  Laura bounced the demand
between Eliza and Mulder before walking out.

Eliza murmured a quick affirmative before
inching forward to whisper, "I'm sorry, Julia. 
I didn't know what else to do."

Mulder sat before Julia, perched on the coffee
table with her hands in his.  He said nothing,
his anger still slow t subside.  He searched
Julia's face, ignoring Eliza.

Julia looked away from him for a moment to
mouth, <Thank you.> She was grateful to Eliza
for eventually coming to her aid, but she would
rather the woman had just refused to leave.  The
Guardsman would have backed off to try another
day, Julia was sure of it.  Now they were in
even more trouble.

Laura was sure to report this to the Appointing
Authority.  As Julia raised nervous eyes to
Mulder, she knew he was thinking the same thing. 
Julia could very well be out of there in an hour
or two.  If a menial like the Guardsman
suspected they weren't having sex, then the
Appointing Authority was probably certain of the
fact.

"Get out."  Mulder didn't mince words, didn't
offer his thanks.

Julia heard Eliza leave, quietly closing the
door behind her.  As soon as the click faded,
Mulder questioned her again.  "Are you sure
you're okay?"

<Yes, I'm fine.> She enunciated the words
carefully, unable to free her hands from
Mulder's grip.

At that, he stood, jerking away from her to
pace, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. 
Julia saw the raw skin of his knuckles and stood
as well, intending to administer first aid.  But
the sudden headrush of fading nerves finally
caught up with her; this time, it wasn't a
pretense at all.  The room whirled in a
kaleidoscope of color.

"Julia!"


**********


She awoke to the softness of a mattress beneath
her back and the coolness of a washcloth on her
brow.

"Come on... that's it... open your eyes."

Mulder voice had lost the grating sound of
leftover panic and was soothing to her ears. 
Her eyelids fluttered open to find him sitting
beside her.  He'd put her in her bed and drawn
the curtains closed against the late afternoon
sunshine.  In the meager light from the bedside
lamp, his smile was tremulous.

"You scared me for a minute," he admitted,
gently wiping her face with the blessed relief
of the wet cloth.

<What happened?> Her mind fogged momentarily
with confusion, unable to piece together the
events that led her to this situation.  What was
she doing in here?

"You fainted."

<I don't faint, Mulder.> She couldn't recall
ever fainting in her life; she was made of
sterner stuff.

"Well, there's a first time for everything," he
chuckled, obviously more at ease now that she'd
awakened.  He was in his shirt sleeves and his
tie was gone; just how long had she been out,
anyway?  "About fifteen minutes."  It was
getting to where she *hated* when he did that,
though she knew it was helpful that he could. 
"I think it was exhaustion more than anything
else."

<Exhaustion?  From what?> Her mind was blank. 
Besides the fact that she *had* apparently
passed out, she couldn't remember a thing after
Eliza came to visit...

Shit.  It came to her in a flash... the
Guardsman, Mulder's rescue and frightening veer
into madness... the way she'd given in for fear
of discovery.

Sobering, he asked, "Do you remember what
happened to you?"  Though he probably knew the
answer to that question already.  She could feel
the blood drain from her face.

<Yes.  I'm sorry, Mulder.>

"For what?  None of that was your fault.  I
shouldn't have left you alone."

<I wasn't alone.  Eliza was here.>

"And a damn good thing she was, too."  He fell
silent, shifting away from her.  Arms draped
over his knees, he slumped, squeezing the
washcloth.  In a shaky voice, he added, "It's me
who should be apologizing to you."

Sitting up, she laid a hand on his arm, forcing
him to look at her. <Why?>

Dropping the washcloth to the floor, he signed,
<I would have killed him.  Ruined everything.>

She smiled, a short, reassuring show of
confidence. <But you didn't.>

"I wanted to."  It was a fierce whisper.  "I
don't want anyone to touch you."

It was the kind of jealous statement expected
from the master of a concubine.  But Julia could
see from the fiery glow in his eyes that it
meant so much more.  He thought he'd let her
down and was already blaming himself.

Sighing, she wished he *was* jealous.  Not only
was she really tired of all the guilt, but a
small, selfish part of her wanted him to feel
what she'd always felt for him.  Despite his
drunken confession of love, he always held what
he felt for her in check.  Feeling and speaking
were two vastly different things.

And now, love was an option that would never
happen... destiny had dealt them the hand of
friendship and nothing more.  They'd come close
before, but to no avail.  Whether by something
as simple as a bee sting or something as
monumental as his abduction, it just wasn't
meant to be.

So she resigned herself to giving to him the
truth, hoping to at least absolve him of his
unnecessary self-blame.

<I would have let him do what he wanted, you
know.> It was no use lying about it; Mulder knew
just how determined she was to get them out of
there.  She steeled herself for his anger, but
was surprised when he dropped his chin and bit
his lip.

"I know."  He wasn't angry - or if he was, he
did a damned good job of hiding it, she thought. 
"It makes what I have to tell you more
difficult."

This was not good.  She tried to stop him from
standing, but he got up, shaking off her hand. 
Her legs were still rubbery and though she tried
to follow him, she needed a moment more to
recover.  Instead, she sat on the edge of the
bed and willed him to look at her.  He paced,
hands on hips, the look on his face beginning to
frighten her.

Just when she was considering throwing the lamp
at him to get his attention, he stopped.

<While you were out of it, I got a phone call.>

She didn't have to ask who'd called. <What did
he want?> Though that was a foolish question
too, it was all she could come up with.  This
conversation was rapidly becoming a chore.

<He heard what happened.  He's taking you away
from me.>

It was the answer she dreaded most, but knew was
coming. <When?>

<I tried to tell him I was happy with you, that
I wanted to keep you... >

Strength borne of desperation made her stand,
fingers moving stiffly.  <WHEN?>

"I don't know," he murmured.  "It could be
tonight, or tomorrow.  They could be on their
way right now."  Distress lined his face as he
stepped forward to grasp her arms.  "I won't let
them.  They'll have to get through me first."

<You can't stop them.> And they were so close; 
just one more day....

She knew why the Appointing Authority wanted her
gone.  So did Mulder, though he wouldn't admit
it.  But it puzzled her still - why was it so
important that they have a sexual relationship? 
It couldn't be for propagation; she knew all the
concubines underwent sterilization.  Why would
the Administration want to repopulate the world,
anyway?  They had the masters of genetic
engineering at their disposal.  When the time
came for re-seeding the world, it wouldn't be
with the bastard children of whores.  It would
be with a master race of superhumans, grown in a
pristine laboratory environment and bred to
rule.

Shaking off the questions in her own mind, she
decided that it didn't really matter what the
motivation was.  Silly as it seemed, Mulder's
father wanted him to fuck her.  And while not
the way she'd always envisioned intimacy with
Mulder, it was the only hope they had of staying
together.

She found herself weighing the options, like
choosing which lane to use to pass the slowpoke
in the middle lane.  The fast lane was naturally
more speedy, but the merge lane definitely had
less traffic.  A slower option, but Mulder had
the advantage of speech, and he'd always been a
motormouth.

Merging was the way to go... until she had him
where she wanted him, naturally.  Then it was
fast lane all the way.

Now that she'd made up her mind, she felt
rejuvenated.  Decision spurred her forward with
deliberate steps and her hands moved to the
buttons on her sweater.  Unblinking, she
fastened her gaze on his face and licked her
lips.  Don't chicken out on me, she warned with
her raised brow. 

Gulping, he choked out, "Julia?"  He knew what
was coming and she almost laughed at the 'deer
in the headlights' look plastered on his face. 
Panic blossomed for a second, that almost benign
shift of eyes he'd teased her with in Dallas
years ago.  Then, she'd thought it silly, an
attempt to make her smile.  Which she almost
had, she remembered.  But now, she recognized it
immediately.  And just as immediate was its
disappearance as he became firm.

"Stop right there."

Oh, no, that wouldn't do, she told him, slowly
shaking her head.  Her sweater fell away and
satisfaction welled up in her as his gaze fell
to her lace-covered breasts.

"We are *not* doing this."  His protest was
bordering on a weak plea as he dragged his eyes
back up to her face.

Oh, yes, we are, her fingers said, stealing to
the top button of his shirt.  One by one, they
reinforced her commitment, exposing the warm
skin beneath.  The skin that already glowed with
a fine sheen of sweat in the lamplight.

As she touched her lips to the pale scar that
disappeared beneath the white cotton, his hands
flew to the bare skin of her waist above her
jeans.  For a moment, she felt him struggle
within, seriously considering shoving her away. 
Moist beckoning crept from her open mouth as she
touched her tongue to the salty treasure before
her.  It expanded with a groan, bumping her
nose, but she moved with it, not losing contact.

She refused to give way to his misguided, noble
intentions; they were on the brink of separation
and he needed to realize this was their best
chance at staying together.

"We... we can..."  The rumble was accompanied by
a rhythmic tightening of his fingers as they dug
into the curves of her body.

Fake it?  Slowly shaking her head, she dismissed
the idea outright.  No.  The physical evidence
of their joining would reinforce any doubts
should it come to that.  A silent shudder ran
through her at the image of that slimy doctor in
the Infirmary, running his hands over her again.

Forcing the revulsion aside, she concentrated on
Mulder.   She demanded his capitulation, her
teeth closing over the pebble of his nipple.

"Shit!" he hissed, finally bringing his hands up
to grab her shoulders.

In a flash, he pulled her from him, though not
far.  She watched his eyes follow her tongue as
it snaked out to lick her lips, the taste of him
making her sway closer.

"No."  The protest was gravelly and deep, half-
hearted and anguished.  Dark red singed his
cheekbones and his eyes were mere slits in his
face.  "*No.*"

Lowering her gaze, she let her hands trail over
his stomach, her head nodding with slow
emphasis.  Yes.

"No."  Weaker, his breath now stirring the hair
that swung forward to cover her determined jaw.

Yes... as her nails rasped over the muscles of
his abdomen, those which betrayed his arousal
with tense, rippling waves above the goal in
sight...

His hands moved to her neck and she paused, the
cool buckle of his belt caught between thumb and
forefinger.  Would he stop her now?  All he had
to do was tip her chin, break her concentration
and shove her away, the rejection given fruition
with a stern look.  He'd been protesting with
his mouth, but his eyes told a different story. 
But her resolve, while strong, could not
withstand the piercing blow of a visual
rebuttal.

"No," he whispered, tilting her face up.  Her
gaze couldn't make it past his chin.  His mouth
was lax, inches from her own.  The musky heat of
their bodies drifted up and she inhaled swiftly
of the hot scent of desire, letting her lashes
lift to face the denial she was sure to see in
his face.

"No."  But it wasn't the type of negative she
expected; his gaze locked with hers as the
protest died and was reborn in the touch of his
mouth to her trembling lips.  "Let *me.*"

The words were lost in his kiss.



End Chapter Twenty

Julia
Chapter Twenty-one

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


Washington, D.C.
February 10, 2001
3:15 p.m.


It was soft at first, a tender approach unlike
his previous forays into the unknown.  His lips
were slightly chapped, as if he'd worried them
with his teeth and tongue while he'd waited for
her to awaken.  The small cut on the lower one
added to the friction and her own worry for his
safety and sanity; in a move designed to soothe
and communicate just how necessary, how *right*
this was, she touched her tongue to it.

Like a spark to tinder, he ignited, his mouth
opening above hers to plunder deep within,
stealing oxygen in one sure, swift blow.  She
could do nothing but return the kiss as best she
could, letting her head fall back under the
pressure of his hands as she gripped his belt to
counter the sudden cowardice of her knees.

Yes, yes, she begged with the frenzy of her
kiss.  Faster - we have to do this now.  There's
no time to feel love... no time to feel.

Just when she felt she would have to stop the
kiss to breathe, he released her, gulping for
air as she did.  "Let me," he muttered again,
sliding his hands down her back in search of the
clasp of her bra.

The scrap of lace fell away in an instant and at
his urging the straps feathered down her arms. 
She felt his gaze on her but didn't look up,
busy with the buckle of his belt.  As the bra
settled over her upper arms like loose bindings,
she huffed.  Someone was going to have to let
go.  Still, she kept working at his belt, her
trembling fingers refusing to cooperate.

A soft chuckle answered.  "We seem to be at an
impasse."  His fingers wrapped around the lace,
caressing its softness into her skin. 

No, don't make me stop.  Keep going, Mulder.

"Hey," he breathed, bringing one hand to her
chin.  Her concentration was broken at the
slight pressure of his fingers and she looked
up.

Afternoon stubble shadowed his face, but his
eyes were bright in the lamplight, smiling but
nervous.  They drifted over her like the softest
of touches; not lingering in any one spot, but
giving equal attention to all.  Over her face,
her neck, pausing at the almost naked allure of
her chest before rising once again to cover her
face with warmth.

"I don't care who's listening.  Take it easy."

He was going so slowly with her.  Her mind
screamed that they must hurry; time was not a
luxury given to them in this circumstance.  But
her heart... it wanted to savor every moment,
burn it all onto her brain so she'd have
something to hold on to if ever they were
separated again. *When* they were separated....

His words hit her with sledgehammer force.  They
were listening.  Waiting for this to happen.  It
*had* to happen.

The impatience of desire fled in a heartbeat. 
In its place came the impatience of just...
getting it over with.  She felt like a million
eyes were watching - a million ears floating
around in the black ether, waiting to hear one
slip-up, one 'Scully.'

That couldn't happen.  The omnipresent ghosts
covertly huddled in some room filled with tape
recorders would lunge at any mistake.  Panic
made her breath quicken and her fingers clumsy.

Breaking the lock he had on her gaze, she tried
again to push them along, finally getting his
belt undone.

"Julia, slow down."

She ignored him; he was ready and she could feel
it beneath her hands, his erection straining at
the material.  With swift, firm accuracy, she
slid a hand within, cupping his straining flesh. 

"Shit," he hissed, his hands tightening on her
arms as his eyes slammed shut.

It was hot to the touch and, despite his
protests, eager with life of its own, his hips
shoving out to trap her hand between them.  "God
damn it, Scu - Julia," he muttered, hanging his
head, "slow the fuck down."

Scully.  She knew it.  In making him abandon his
noble ideals, she'd also loosed his tongue. 
Dimly, she remembered him telling her he'd
called the other one 'Scully' - but it was
different this time.  She *was* Scully... and to
invite even a moment of suspicion could be
disastrous.

A furious need for reaching the goal overwhelmed
her.  She stroked him, her mouth lowering to nip
at the muscles of his chest.  He rocked against
her and it was so very easy to maneuver him the
few feet necessary to reach the bed, releasing
his cock to guide him where she wanted him.

It must be done, she kept telling herself. 
Mulder was practically boneless, so easy to move
and position.  His breathing became louder and
heavier, pleasing to her ears as she stood him
beside the bed.  Pausing only to divest him of
the rest of his clothes, she wasted no time in
stripping him, though she knew the brief lack of
contact meant he had a chance to think once
again.

Sure enough, the protest returned as she gently
shoved him to sit.  "Will you stop a minute, for
Christ's sake?"

His plea was angry, but weak.  In no time, his
shoes and socks were gone, as were her jeans and
panties.  The hands on his thighs clenched and
his inhale was shaky, but he said again,
"Julia..."

Exactly, she thought, climbing onto his lap and
latching her mouth to his.  That's the point of
this exercise, Mulder.  Call me who I am; fuck
*what* I am.  Come inside me and make them think
I'm only a whore.

She could have smiled when she felt his moan
vibrate between them, felt the big, rough hands
cup her buttocks to pull her close.  His cock
was rigid, caught between the fleshy softness of
her lower stomach and his.  She began to move,
devouring his lips as if starving for the kiss.  

Quickly, she shoved against his shoulders,
breaking the kiss temporarily.  He fell back to
the mattress, chest heaving, the golden cross
the only artifice against naked, raw perfection.

Dilated, passionate eyes looked up to hers. 
Though storm-tossed, they were no longer
questioning, no longer protesting.  Just waiting
and watching.  He swallowed hard.  "Jesus."

The moment was at hand, she realized.  He was
primed and on the brink, unable to push her away
even if he wanted to.  She rose up to her knees
and grabbed his cock; in one move, she began to
lower herself, pushing him within inch by inch.

Mulder arched as if singed, eyes narrowing. 
"Fuck..."  The word pushed past thin lips as he
grimaced.

A sharp stab shot through her at the intrusion
and she bowed her back, refusing to stop.  Her
arousal had dissipated long ago, brought to an
abrupt halt by the realization that it was Julia
making love to Mulder, not Scully.  Lack of
foreplay hadn't helped and the prying ears made
her feel like the star of a second-rate porn
flick.  But it was too late to rectify the
situation; she knew the pain would ease in a
moment or two.

Mulder seemed to sense her discomfort, though
she kept her face down.  It wasn't difficult to
do - the friction of his penis through the dry
channel probably told him everything he needed
to know.

"God damn it!" he bit out, his hands gripping
her hips as if to push her off.  Pleasure
dissolved into anguish on his face as he sat up.

But she would have none of it, finally feeling
him sink to the hilt.  Her hands wrapped around
his shoulders, her legs around his waist.  With
a sniffle, she burrowed her face into his neck,
stilling for a moment.  Nothing he could do
about it now, she thought.  And she'd latched
onto him like a leech; he had no choice but to
finish.

"Not like this... not like this," he muttered
into her ear, his hands moving to her waist. 
"Let me go."  Rough, yet greedy fingers dug into
her skin, at once attempting to push her away
and hold fast.  Indecision colored his demand,
making it more of an entreaty; he wanted this,
that much was certain.

She could make him want it more;  her limbs held
him closer as she refused with a shake of her
head into the groove where his neck met his
collarbone.  The last thing he wanted to do was
hurt her in any way.  Just as the last thing she
wanted was to see him hurt because of her.  But
this was important and pain meant nothing.

Spreading with a tentative plea for empathy, her
hands traced the length of his back as she eased
her legs down.  She knelt astride him now,
acknowledging his concern.  But her mouth took
up the gauntlet, sliding over his racing pulse
with gentle, seductive kisses.

A deep breath expanded to close what little
distance there was between them, tickling her
breasts.  "You okay?"

She nodded, thankful the gamble had worked; he
could very easily have lifted her away.  I'm
fine, she told him with a kiss to his cheek.

Disbelief still tensed his body and he sighed,
motionless under her.  That wouldn't do, she
thought.  He must move.  The burning had
subsided considerably, just as she'd known it
would.

She circled her hips and was rewarded with a
sharp hiss. "No, not yet."

But it came to her ears in a garbled mess of
words as realization crept back into her brain. 
Listening... listening... come on, finish it...

The physical pain was now a distant ache, but a
deeper hurt rose up to take its place.  The
mournful loss of what could have been something
special.  Making love with Mulder... giving love
to Mulder.  There could only be one first time,
and it was forever tainted with calculated
desperation.  Survival, together - that was the
ultimate goal.  Not the simple need to love and
be loved.

Silent tears gathered as she rose up, then down
again.  Again and again, feeling his cock slip
and abrade on the way out only to stretch and
fill on its return.  A welcome sensation, now
that her body had adjusted.

"Shit... I told you not to..."  The rest was
lost in a hollow, shaky, "Ahhh..."

Long-forgotten but familiar wetness began to
gather deep within in reaction to his obvious
pleasure.  It wasn't enough to bring her
anywhere close to satisfaction, but it was a
pleasant stirring that warmed her and spurred
her on.

Faster she moved, her buttocks slapping against
his thighs.  His hands, once soothing and quiet,
fell away from her to plant themselves on the
bed behind him.  She saw his chin drop to look
at the amazing sight she'd already discovered...
the slide of his cock in and out of her.  As he
watched, fascinated, his face tightening with
approaching completion, she brought her hands to
his face.

Ragged gasps broke from his lips and his hips
pushed up against hers, faster and harder.  With
time, she felt as though she might join him in
the luxury of orgasm, but it would not be soon. 
And there was no way they were slowing now. 
Tilting his chin, she gave him a misty smile,
brushing his cheeks free of sweat.

The bruise on his face was dark and twin green
flames were almost lost between slitted eyelids. 
He knew what she was demanding; she knew what he
withheld in the name of love.

Come for me, she told him, letting him slip
almost completely out of her before sinking down
again in counterpoint to his rhythm.  She did it
again, clenching her inner muscles around his
cock.

"I hate what you've done to me... what you've
made me do," he whispered angrily.  "Hate it, do
you understand?"

Hate it all you want, Mulder... hate *me* all
you want... she tipped his head back and covered
his mouth with her own.  A salty, coppery tang
slipped over her tongue as she drank of his
every breath with greedy manipulation.  Finish
it, she demanded of him.  Finish it now.

Mulder suddenly stiffened, his mouth breaking
from hers to let out a low moan.  His hands
moved from the bed to hold her in place, a
white-knuckled grip on the sharp points of her
hip bones.  Pulsing warmth filled her for what
seemed like forever as his hips lifted and
ground against hers in small jerks.  Teeth
clenched, neck tight, he gushed into her.  She
rode it out, the palms of her hands gripping his
slick shoulders as she watched.  He was a
beautiful sight... a tortured, slender god
embracing the ecstasy she'd given him like fire
and ice.  Needing the joy, but loathing the
angel of worship.

She wanted to cry, but didn't.  It wasn't her
place.  Wasn't right of her.

Slowly he fell away, eyes closed, face relaxing.

Her nails raked his chest in a final gesture of
apology, wanting to cling to him and never let
go.  With horror, she noticed the smear of blood
on his lips.  She licked her own, tasting what
she'd done, her heart heavy.

Silence filled the room, surrounding and
smothering his fading gasps as he collapsed to
the bed.

It was done.  Whether or not it was a success
remained to be seen, but she put that from her
mind.

Her muscles almost didn't cooperate as she let
her feet drop to the floor and stood.  Mulder
didn't move, nor did he open his eyes.  She felt
sticky between her legs as she moved to kill the
lamp.

Done.  It was done.  The only thought in a
blank, weary mind.

Numbness settled over her and she walked to the
other side of the bed, pulling the covers down. 
She laid on the cool sheets just as the first
trickle of semen painted her thighs.  One last
detail, she reasoned, knowing the telltale stain
on the sheets would be proof.

Hot, treacherous drops escaped from her eyes to
mirror the moisture below as she covered to her
chin, hugging the edge of the bed.

He hated her now.  What she'd done was textbook
seduction... bordering on rape.  She'd often
wondered if it was possible, the reversal of
traditional, criminal gender roles.  She now
knew it to be true.

The shift of the bed next to her made her hold
her breath.  She squeezed her eyes tightly shut
and waited for him to leave.

But he didn't.  Cool air bathed her back, then
warmth enveloped her.  Strong, hairy warmth that
cocooned around her from behind.  A trembling
hand brushed the hair from her face and his
whisper was firm.

"Next time, we do it *my* way.  Got it?"  A
small kiss graced her cheek and she felt his
head settle beside hers on the pillow.

Relief poured through her.  She knew he wasn't
going to let this go without discussion, but at
least his anger had taken a temporary hike.  And
amazingly, he was already planning on doing it
again.

Sniffling loudly, she turned in his arms and
melted into him, pressing kisses to his throat. 
He gathered her close, murmuring soft words of
comfort.

It was okay.  Everything would be okay. 
Happiness mixed with residual shame made her
bury her nose into his chest as he stroked her
hair.

"Just to let you know - before you talk yourself
out of it, Julia - there *will* be a next time. 
You can bet on it."

Smiling, she raised damp cheeks, trying to make
out his features in the rapidly darkening room. 
She brushed a thumb across his bloody lip,
regretting her overzealous kiss.  Mulder cupped
her face in his hands, dropping a kiss on her
brow before pulling away, his eyes glittering.

"And it will be slow," he whispered fiercely,
punctuating the vow with a kiss to one corner of
her mouth.  "And easy." Another dotted the
opposite corner.  "And you'll come, Julia...
under my hands, under my mouth... over me,
beneath me... surrounding me."  His warm breath
hovered above her lips.  "That's a promise."

He sealed the promise with a kiss and Julia
responded... for once, skepticism thrown to the
four winds.  


**********


7:45 p.m.


Staring at herself in the mirror, she thought
back upon all she'd been through.  The torment
of Mulder's disappearance, the invasion... the
surgeries and the subsequent degradation of her
mind and soul to enable herself to infiltrate
the new administration.

It was all worth it, every painful second. 
Especially as she glanced back through the open
bathroom door at the dozing man in her bed.  He
had always been worth anything life threw at
her.  She wasn't sure she could have done all
she did for the love of anyone else.

Even what she was about to do - to herself and
to him.  After what she'd done earlier, she
couldn't bring herself to bring more hurt upon
him.  But the time had come and if she tried to
explain it to him beforehand, he would surely
balk.  Or at the very least, insist upon being
in here with her, watching over her.

And she couldn't stand to have him do that.  It
was horrible enough that he had to see what
she'd done to herself already.  And to make
matters believable, she'd have to ask him to do
something he would never, ever do to her.  But
to warrant a trip to the Infirmary, she must be
convincingly injured.

A black eye should do the trick.  Placed there
by a very displeased master.

Enough, she told herself.  Just do it.

With shaky hands, she opened the vanity drawer
and removed a pair of tweezers, surprised again
that they'd allowed her to keep them.  Eliza's
insistence that they were a necessary part of
any woman's makeup bag helped considerably,
though she'd raised one carefully plucked
eyebrow at the slim length of the hard plastic
pincers.

Julia had heaved a silent sigh of relief when
the Guard inspecting her meager bag had just
shrugged his shoulders and said, "Whatever."

Because they weren't tweezers, they were
forceps, fashioned from plastic to seem
innocuous.  But only trained medical personnel
would know the difference.  She supposed they
were blunt enough, with square tips, to not be
of any lethal significance.  Not a weapon, they
didn't rouse suspicion.  And they would more
than suffice for the purpose she had in mind.

Just before he'd slipped into sleep, she'd
informed Mulder of the laundry man's visit.  In
return, he'd said that all she now needed to do
was give Krycek the signal.  Once again, she
carefully deflected him away from the subject,
promising she'd tell him when she was ready. 
Sated by sex and comfortable in her embrace,
he'd only nodded as exhaustion took hold.

But she hadn't slept.  As she listened to his
breathing and stroked his back, she'd kept one
eye on the clock.  Ticking away the minutes
until night came, it glowed red as if counting
down to bloodshed.  She'd tried not to worry,
soothing her nerves by touching her lover.

The evening shadows filled her bedroom and she
closed the bathroom door on his sleeping bliss,
knowing she needed light to do the job and very
unwilling to take the chance on waking him.

The harsh light of the bulbs that surrounded the
mirror would do nicely.  Leaning closer, she
brought the tweezers up to her face and took one
deep breath, then two.

It hurt like hell, and if she'd had her voice,
she would have certainly cried out from the
pierce of the sensitive skin in her nasal
passage.  But she persevered, clamping onto the
foreign object at last.

Her eyes slammed shut at the excruciating pain,
and she almost pulled away, not sure if she
could continue.  But the faces of her friends
and family swam before her closed lids, urging
her to complete her task.  She had to do it, if
not for them, then for the millions that still
had a chance at survival.  For Mulder.

With a firm yank, she silently screamed as the
mass was removed.  It slid from her nose in a
torrent of blood, grasped between the tongs of
the tweezers and shining with red fury.

The pain was still a problem, though lessening
with every second.  She smiled wanly at the
thing caught in the tweezers, then looked up
into the mirror.

It was her only mistake.

Blood poured from her nose, dripping down her
chin and neck in a torrent that began to stain
the collar of his shirt, the one she'd picked up
off the floor.  Not again, she thought, feeling
lightheaded.

At least he won't have to hit me now, was her
last thought before she fainted dead away.



End Chapter Twenty-One

Julia
Chapter Twenty-two

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


Washington, D.C.
February 10, 2001
7:47 p.m.


"Jesus, oh Jesus."

The low, frantic words sounded so far away to
her ears, but the arms around her were very
close.  Too close, in fact, as she immediately
struggled against their confining hold.

"Shh... Julia, it's okay.  Stop it, it's just
me."

A cool, wet cloth wiped across her face and she
swallowed, the acrid taste of blood making her
gag.  In a second, she was pushing the voice
away and turning to retch.

The strong arms supported her as she emptied the
contents of her stomach onto the bathroom floor. 
She hadn't eaten much all day, and what did come
up was a ghastly mixture of bile and blood.

As her eyes fluttered open to ascertain what
exactly was going on, the sight of the pinkish
froth puddling on the white tile brought it all
back.

"So much for never fainting."  Mulder's low,
cynical murmur shook with residual fright.

Embarrassment made her hang her head as she
gulped for air.  In all her years as a student
of medicine and pathology, never once had she
been sickened by the sight of blood.  Her iron
stomach had served her well.  It wasn't unusual
for her to tackle the most gruesome autopsy
after eating a full lunch.

But this time, a little blood had done her in
and brought the cavalry running.  She tensed in
Mulder's arms and waited for the tirade.

"I heard you fall," he said behind her, the hand
not gripping her waist holding the washcloth to
her neck.  "Jesus, Julia... you scared the shit
out of me."

It wasn't a tirade, not yet, anyway.  She could
feel him tremble behind her as he draped close
over her back, feel the tremor of fear in the
fingers that held the blessedly cool cloth to
her skin.

The chip!  Where was the chip?

Her eyes scanned the floor and she spied the
forceps laying at the base of the toilet, still
clutching the prize.  With relief, she sagged
against Mulder and sat up a bit straighter,
squeezing his hand in reassurance.  Noticing
just how close they were to the bathtub, she
thanked her lucky stars she hadn't hit her head
on the edge on the way down.

"Don't try to move," he commanded, his voice
carrying more of a hint of anger, now that the
immediate danger had passed and she was awake.

What he must have gone through, she thought,
closing her eyes.  It was the main reason she
hadn't clued him in to this particular aspect of
the plan.  She had an inkling that the sight of
her blood, especially streaming from her nose,
would upset him.

"I could fucking slap you."

Okay.  'Upset' wasn't exactly the correct word.

'Furious' was more like it.

Taking a deep breath, she turned to face him. 
Pale white lines of fright still hemmed the
corners of his mouth and the scar stood out in
red relief against the green-brown flash of his
eyes.  He was naked save for his boxers, and his
torso was dotted with faint smears of red.  Her
blood, fingerprinted on his chest and arms by
her panicked hands of moments ago.

His hands were streaked more heavily, she
noticed as they fell away from her to form
uneasy fists.  The washcloth in his right bled
small teardrops of faint pink as it suffered
under his squeeze.

He waited, the tick in his jaw speaking of the
slight hold he had on words at the moment.  Even
though he was angry, she knew he wouldn't
compromise them.  But he waited.

<I knew you wouldn't like it.  That's why I
waited until you were asleep.> Her eyes pleaded
with him to understand.

"What."  It wasn't a question; more of a
statement to continue, made through thin lips.

She drew in a sharp breath when she scooted the
few inches to the forceps and she felt Mulder's
hand settle upon her hip in reply.  Forcing a
small smile to her lips, she turned her head and
nodded, transmitting her well-being, though she
actually was becoming stiff and sore.  But she
swore to herself she wasn't going to give him
anything more to worry about.  The crease
between his eyebrows smoothed out a bit, and for
that she was grateful.  Now, to take care of his
anger.

The chip was safely enclosed in a multi-layer
sheath of paper thin processed bovine skin, the
kind used as temporary grafts in burn patients. 
It was a ball of flesh colored artificial dermis
around a piece of metal more valuable than gold.

Very carefully, she grasped the forceps between
her thumb and forefinger and held it up to the
light for him to see.

His eyes narrowed and he stood with a small
snort of frustration.  "I need my God damned
glasses," he muttered, extending his hands to
help her up.

As she stood, the blood loss, combined with the
wane of adrenaline, worked against her and she
swayed, closing her eyes for just a second.

"Stay here," he ordered, sitting her down at the
vanity.

Like she was going to argue with him.  Her head
ached and she gently set the forceps, their
precious cargo in place, on the vanity.  Though
she was loathe to let go of it just yet, her
fingers still clutching them like they'd vanish
into thin air.

Mulder stormed out and she took the chance to
bring her hand to her face, wincing at the
tender spot at her temple.  Seemed she *had* hit
the floor with more force than she'd thought;
this was good, though she was starting to feel
like she'd been run over by a truck.  But at
least it was an excuse to visit the Infirmary.

She didn't want to check out her nose quite yet. 
Not even in the mirror.

"Guess it's a good thing you have a hard head,
isn't it?"

The sarcastic question came from the doorway,
startling her into facing him.  With a sad nod,
she sighed.  She didn't feel like getting into
it with him.

Thankfully, he said nothing, just set his jaw
and donned his glasses, crouching before her to
gently take hold of her wrist.

She saw his hand reflected in the lens of his
glasses; his scrutiny was intense as he brought
it close to his face, twisting his hand slowly
from side to side.  After a few moments, he sat
back on his heels and focused his attention on
her.

"I'm waiting."

She felt like a bug under a microscope.  The
assessment of the chip was nothing compared to
the stare he afforded her.

<It's the signal I told you about.  The one to
Krycek.>

With a sigh, he let go of her hand and removed
his glasses, dropping them on the vanity amidst
a splatter of tiny red drops.  His hands, now
crusty with her blood, moved to his face and he
allowed himself a crushing moment of leftover
despair as they scrubbed at the remaining panic.

She saw the exact moment he smelled her blood
again; he pulled his hands away and looked at
them as though they were on fire.  "Jesus."

Scrambling up from the floor, he got fresh wet
towels and cleaned himself up, then her, before
wiping up the mess on the floor.  All this was
done in silence and she watched his every move
with worry.  He was still shaking, most notably
when he forced his legs to bend to the floor.

His task done, he threw the soiled towels into a
pile in the corner and gave her his hand.  She
willed him to look at her, but he was obstinate
in his withdrawal.

"Come on," he said, his gaze averted to the
chip.  "We have to get you to the Infirmary."

He still remembered the plan; she was relieved
that he'd calmed down enough to follow her lead,
even though she'd definitely surprised him with
it.  But plan or not, she wasn't leaving this
room without reconciliation.

Taking his hand, she stood, then quickly
encroached the rest of the way, wrapping her
arms around his stiff form with urgency.  Head
tucked under his chin, she begged for his
forgiveness, sliding her cheek over his bare
skin.

For a moment, he was unyielding, his muscles
tense and angry.  Then with a long exhale, he
let his arms go around her.  She closed her eyes
in relief and thanked the stars for his
acceptance.

They drew her close, those trembling arms, and
she swayed with him in silence for a half a
minute, feeling his tension leave by slow
degrees.  His breathing evened out as his hands
traversed her cotton-covered back.

When his face dipped close to her ear, she could
have cried with joy.  Though a last, frightening
tremor flashed through her at his low plea.

"Don't *ever* do that to me again."  He gave her
a light shake, emphasizing his need.  "I lived
through that once.  Lived through watching *her*
die before my very eyes."

At that, Julia felt the tears come.  Speaking to
her as Julia, he distanced himself from the pain
while keeping up the pretense.  But she felt
every word pierce her soul with remembered
heartbreak.

"I can't be with someone who doesn't tell me
*everything* - do you understand me?  I won't. 
Not anymore."

Nodding, she lifted her face from his chest and
brought her hands up, cupping his jaw.  His eyes
were sad and glassy with unshed tears, but
determined.  He meant every word.  They were in
this together, and their intimacy had compounded
the need for absolute honesty.

<I promise,> she mouthed, <always the truth.>

As his hands came up to the smooth column of her
neck, she saw his expression soften and he
nodded, satisfaction dawning in his eyes. 
Lifting her face, she pressed a kiss to the
corner of his mouth, expecting him to respond in
kind.

Instead, he sealed their pact by sliding his
hands to either side of her head.  Her eyes
closed in anticipation as her head tilted.

The tears came anew as his lips brushed her
forehead.  It was like so many times before;
actually more intimate to her than any of the
heated kisses of the past day.

It felt like home.


**********


8:45 p.m.


"She told me she hadn't eaten much all day and
got light-headed," Mulder explained to the dour
man that passed for a doctor in the tower.  "I
made her eat something before we came down
here."

Which wasn't exactly true.  They had dressed and
Mulder had ordered some juice for her from the
kitchen.  But Julia hadn't been up for much more
than small sips.  Mulder hadn't fared much
better, sitting at the table staring at her like
she was liable to disappear before his very
eyes.

She tried assuring him that the blood loss had
been minimal.  It was nothing compared to her
bout of hypovolemic shock of so many years ago. 
He seemed satisfied with her explanation, but
still he hovered.

All the way down to the Infirmary, he'd kept
hold of her arm, or her waist.  She kept silent,
affording him the small luxury of constant
contact.  It was the least she could do.

Now, he paced as the doctor did his examination.
It was the same small man that had given her the
initial exam her very first day here, and Julia
couldn't help the shiver of revulsion that
crawled over her at his touch on her face.

From the moment he'd walked in, she could see
the wry amusement draw up the corners of his
mouth.  He believed that Mulder had beat her;
Julia felt sickened at the thought that he
probably saw this scenario quite often.  Abuse,
rape, torture... all condoned by the
Administration.

She hadn't bathed before coming to the
Infirmary, either.  Even now, she smelled the
musky scent of sex clinging to her clothes.  As
the doctor moved closer, his nostrils flared. 
He smelled it as well.  Good.  Another link in
the chain of information had just gotten the
goods.

Yes, we fucked, she wanted to scream.  Are you
bastards satisfied?

"And you say she lost consciousness?"  He
checked the dilation of her eyes with sharp,
impatient movements, a knowing smirk hovering
over the angry line of his jaw.

The doctor wasn't happy at being summoned back
to the Infirmary, that much was obvious despite
the grin.  Julia guessed he really didn't have
all that much to do; probably spent his days
chasing the nurses around the cubicles.  He
certainly didn't want to attend to minor aches
and pains... she had a feeling he loved to
butcher more than anything else.

"Yes, for about five minutes," Mulder replied,
pacing in the background, hands stuffed into the
pockets of his jeans.  His gaze met hers over
the doctor's shoulder, reassuring and calm.

That was an exaggeration, Julia knew.  She
couldn't have been out for more than thirty
seconds, tops.  But it sounded more dire and
served their purpose well.

"Well, she *does* have a pretty good hematoma
here," the doctor mused, touching his fingertips
to her temple.

Julia inhaled sharply at his cold, gloved touch;
it really was just sore, not a cause of great
pain to her.  More painful was her tailbone,
especially when she shifted to avoid the
doctor's probing.  Mulder reacted in a flash,
coming up beside the table to stare down the
little man.

"Watch it," he growled.

The doctor visibly paled, but held firm. 
Glancing down, he noticed how she favored her
right hip and began to lift her sweater.  "Lie
down."

Panicked, she raised wide eyes to Mulder.  He
caught on immediately, his hands flying out of
his pockets to gesture at the table.  "Is that
really necessary?  She hit her head, I already
told you that."

Don't let him undress me, Mulder.

The doctor turned to face Mulder with a glance
of suspicious confusion.  "You wanted me to
examine her... it's obvious she's injured her
hip."  At Mulder's silence, he continued, "You
don't have to worry, Minister.  Whatever you do
to her is your business.  I'm here to patch her
up for the next round."  Winking, he turned back
to Julia and gestured for her to scoot up the
table.

Mulder could no longer argue; behind the
doctor's back, he cocked his brow with
exasperation.  What else could he do?

Shit.  She shouldn't have let the doctor see her
reaction.  It was only a sore ass from the slam
of it on the bathroom floor.  There was
something else entirely she hadn't wanted Mulder
to see.  Something that was bound to upset him.

She did as she was told, scooting up the table
with a grimace.  Averting her eyes from the
question in Mulder's, she fixed them on a spider
web in the corner of the ceiling.

Thankfully, Mulder had given her some privacy to
dress herself back in the suite.  But now, she
felt his eyes on her and knew there would be
hell to pay for not showing him.

The doctor unzipped her jeans and motioned for
her to lift her hips.  She couldn't help the
small hiss of pain at the feel of the denim
sliding over the reddened skin.

She already knew what they looked like.  Perfect
orbs in the shape of fingers... Mulder's
fingers.  Just pink fingerprints now, but sure
to be bruises by morning.  As the material slid
further down her thighs, she heard Mulder catch
his breath.  Felt him tense and turn away,
knowing he'd seen it all.

The dried specks of semen on her inner thighs...
the almost chafed skin underneath them.  She
closed her eyes, feeling a flush cover her
chest.

"Fainting spell, eh?"  The doctor's sarcastic
murmur broke into her sadness.  Well, she
thought, how much more concrete could the
evidence be?

Evidence be damned.  She felt horrible.  As
Julia, it seemed she did nothing but hurt him
over and over.

"Shut the fuck up and do something."

At the growling rebuke, Julia opened her eyes
and looked at Mulder.  He stood with his back to
them, fists clenched at his sides.  She
swallowed at the tightness of her throat.

**I can't be with someone who doesn't tell me
everything.**

God... and she'd agreed.  But it wasn't this bad
an hour ago... naturally, it would turn into
bruises, but nothing she couldn't live with.

"Not much I can do, Minister," the doctor said,
stepping away to discard his gloves in the trash
bin.  "I think she's okay.  Just keep an eye on
her tonight."

Julia quickly righted her clothes and sat up. 
From the corner of her eye, she saw Mulder turn
to face her, though his reply was directed at
the physician.  "She may have a concussion, or
worse," Mulder insisted, his eyes narrowing. 
"*I* think it would be in your best interests to
run a few tests, don't you?"  Hard anger flushed
his face as his head turned to pin the small man
with a furious stare.

The man gulped and backed away.  "Let me get a
nurse in here.  We can take a few x-rays, but it
may take a while."

Julia sat up straighter and her eyes flew to
Mulder with alarm.  No, no, they said.  The chip
isn't there anymore.  He's sure to notice it!

Mulder ignored her distress and said to the
cowering doctor, "We have lots of time.  Now, I
suggest you send the Guardsman outside for your
nurse."  They'd been accompanied to the
Infirmary by the ever-present watchdog outside
the suite's door.

"But he can't - can't leave -" the doctor
stuttered.  "Your protection -"

"I don't care," Mulder broke in, looking down on
the man with disdain.  "We're expected tomorrow
night for dinner with the Appointing Authority. 
It would be a shame to have to explain a last-
minute relapse, wouldn't it?"

Get out, get out, Julia silently said, almost as
a mantra.  Please get out and take the Guard
with you.

"Yes, sir," he said quickly, his hand on the
doorknob.  "I agree.  We'll get right on it." 
With those hasty words, he was gone.

At once, Julia's hands began to move. <You can't
let him x-ray me - the chip is gone!>

<Don't worry.  We'll tell him it must have
jarred loose when your head hit the floor.  Got
lost in all the blood.> His initial fury had
subsided into a slow burn, but a tense jaw still
spoke of his displeasure as he added, <Besides,
I think that's the least of your worries right
now - don't you?>

This wasn't fair.  And it wasn't her fault - she
didn't hurt hardly at all anymore, and her fair
skin magnified the bruises; didn't he realize
that?  Her chin lifted in defiance, but she said
nothing.  No time for arguments... but he
*would* get the message later on, her eyes told
him.

Mulder huffed, then walked away to crack the
door.  After a quick check of the outer room, he
signed, <He wouldn't dare cross me on this.  In
fact, I'll insist he procure another chip as a
replacement.  By the time it gets here from one
of the testing facilities, we'll be long gone. 
And so will he, right?>

Julia shoved aside the personal matter and
nodded, taking Mulder's lead.  Though she knew
he wouldn't keep quiet about it once they were
back in the suite.

She still felt uneasy about the chance of
discovery, but Mulder's confidence bolstered
her.  Events had been set in motion and like it
or not, there was no backing away now.

"Speaking of," Mulder said quietly, moving to
stand before her, "let's have it."

With a grimace, she stuck her tongue out.  She
wasn't sure if the pleasure she felt was because
they'd made it this far, or simply because the
simple gesture of defiance felt so damned good.

He plucked the little ball from her tongue and
murmured, "Admit it.  You've always wanted to do
that, haven't you?"

Before she could answer, he'd turned away from
her.  Shocked, she stared after him, hating his
sudden, juvenile attitude.  He'd listen to
her... eventually, he'd have to.  She'd make
sure of it.

Quickly, he moved to the side table and began
digging through the drawers.  Julia hopped off
the exam table and joined him, putting her hand
on a pair of fine point surgical scissors almost
immediately.

"Show off," he muttered, placing the ball on
several paper towels and stepping aside to allow
her to move in.

In two snips, it was free.  Julia slipped the
forceps from her pocket and nodded at Mulder,
then at the closed door.

He moved to the door and barely opened it,
keeping watch while she disinfected the forceps
and chip with alcohol.  In seconds, it was clean
and dry and on its way to the computer in the
corner.

<The doctor?> she asked with a tilt of her chin.

"All clear," he whispered.

It was just a matter of pulling the telephone
line out and inserting the chip.  When she put
the telephone line back in, the chip would
enable the Gunmen to break through the firewall
and thereby have access to the network's
archives.

Detection was nearly impossible, they had
assured her.  She'd been highly skeptical of the
power of the little piece of metal, but they
explained its use, likening it to a wiretap.  An
insidious, metallic worm with the lifelike
capability to grow and attach itself to a host. 
In this case, the computer network.  She knew
better than to ask for a more detailed
explanation, trusting them to have all the
answers.

"Just turn on the CPU and leave the monitor
off," Frohike had said.  "We'll take it from
there."

So she did so, hoping beyond hope that they were
finished in the examination room.

Mulder eased the door shut and hissed,
"Incoming!"

Julia scrambled back onto the table, a split
second before the doctor poked his head in the
door.

"Minister?  If you and the lady would come with
me, we're ready."

Together, they walked out the door, closing it
firmly behind them.

One step closer to freedom.



End Chapter Twenty-two

Julia
Chapter Twenty-three

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


Washington, D.C.
February 10, 2001
9:58 p.m.


Stiff fatigue dogged her every step into the
suite, as did Mulder's shadow.  All through the
x-rays, he'd remained within sight of her; the
nurse had to insist he stand behind the
protective panel.  Even then, it wasn't until
Julia had flashed him a covert warning look that
he'd complied.

The doctor, while sorely lacking in bedside
manner, was thorough.  And, as she'd thought,
he'd noticed the missing implant in the head x-
ray immediately.  In a terse explanation, Mulder
told him about the nosebleed and the implant's
probable disappearance down the toilet in a wad
of tissue.  As promised, he'd put on quite a
show;  the doctor visibly flinched at his blowy
insistence they procure another.

His angry act wasn't totally fake, either.  Jaw
clenched, face tight, he pushed the doctor into
submission, stony displeasure directed at Julia
in tense, hot waves.  Only she knew the extent
of the guilt that made him lash out at the
doctor in her place.

Silence reigned as they entered the dark suite,
leaving the ever-present Guardsman out in the
hall.  Julia didn't quite know what to do;
though she longed for a hot bath, she was
reluctant to leave things alone for even a
moment.  Before they'd left for the Infirmary,
they'd reached a tentative truce.  Knowing the
plan must be carried out, they'd set aside the
personal and embraced the professional.

But how to approach him?  It wasn't that she
relished the conversation to come, especially
when he'd seen the physical evidence of their
encounter.  She knew the discomfort was minor;
*he* treated every mark on her body as another
sign of his unworthiness.  It was written on his
face - etched out in harsh lines that grooved
his cheeks and brow.

He looked as stiff as she felt, slowly walking
to and then rounding the bar to open the small
refrigerator under the counter.  Julia paused,
holding her breath.  He wasn't hitting the
bottle again, was he?  In a heartbeat, she
padded to the couch and flicked on the lamp.

Mulder looked up and squinted, holding an ice
tray in mid-air.  She knew he'd noticed the
apprehension on her face when he mocked, "Ice,
Julia.  Just ice.  Though there's something to
be said for alcohol when the occasion warrants,
don't you think?" Grabbing a hand towel, he
began to fill it with ice cubes.

It was then she noticed the swollen knuckles of
his right hand.  The force of his blows to the
Guardsman came to mind and she paled, more so
with worry than from guilt at her silent
accusation of him.  Though she felt *him* shrink
about two inches as he looked away.

"Maybe I will have a drink... why change now?" 
Self-derision slurred his words, though he made
no move for the whiskey decanter that sat within
arm's reach.

She moved to his side and finished his task for
him, taking the ice cube tray from him.  He let
her, his sigh speaking of reluctance, but he
said nothing.  Wrapping the towel around the
ice, she took his right hand and gently pressed
the cold compress to his skin.

He allowed one moment to pass, then two, before
jerking away.  "Will you stop it?" he hissed,
side-stepping her to walk to the huge window. 
Back to her, he rubbed at his neck and added,
"You go too far."

Dumbfounded, she stared after him.  Tending to
his injury was going too far?  After a second's
confusion, she realized his comment meant so
much more.  His statement angered her; she
slammed the towel on the bar and strode after
him, wrenching him to face her with a strong
hand to his shoulder.

<And just where should I stop, Mulder?> Fury
stained her cheeks, making them hot. <When will
it be enough?>

"Look at yourself, damn it," he cried, his eyes
blazing with equal passion on the subject.  "I'd
say enough came and went months ago.  Only it
seems to have sailed right over your stubborn
head."

His talk was bordering on suspicious, and the
thought floated through her mind that he was
dangerous close to saying something he
shouldn't.  But his words were veiled enough to
be directed at Julia - and pointed right at
Scully with swift, piercing truth.

Remembrance of a loaded conversation in his bed
in Bellefleur added fuel to the fire of her
wrath.  He'd told her she had to stop, that
there was so much more for her than her life
with him.  When would he realize that her life
was nothing without him?

<You idiot.> For once, her fingers moved in
perfect synchrony, stifling his protest.  He
stilled, his mouth dropping open with shocked
surprise.  Mute at last.  <Yes, I called you an
idiot.  You think I would have done all I did
for anyone but you?>

Dull color stained his cheeks and his eyes
darted away as crossed his arms defensively. 
"Well, don't expect me to shower you with
thanks."  His lower lip was defiant, pushing out
as he looked up again, his voice softly
resigned.  "You can't explain this away... can't
justify what you've had to do.  Nothing you
could say to me would convince me that it was
the right thing to do, Julia."

God, it was worse than she thought.  Hours ago,
in the aftermath of sex, he'd held her as if she
was the most precious piece of crystal.  But
that was before he'd found her unconscious on
the bathroom floor, blood pouring from her nose. 
Before he'd seen what their joining had done to
her body.

She could let it all go, she knew.  Turn away
from him and retreat in familiar, Scully form -
toss and turn in her bed for the next few hours,
waste more time ignoring everything until they
made it out.  Treat this personal impasse just
like all the others over the years... with
silent drifting until the next crisis.

No.  There was no case around the corner; no
sudden diving back into work to force their
relationship to return to normalcy.  If they
made it out - *when* they made it out - their
lives would be changed.  They already had
changed; from the moment Mulder disappeared,
their work lives were on hold.  The bees took
care of what little hope for normalcy that
remained.

Partners?  Friends?  Strictly speaking, she
agreed with the labels.  Just like old times,
working together toward a common goal, albeit
from different ends of the spectrum.  But in her
heart, she considered them lovers now.  And it
was time she told him so.  If he didn't want it
just as badly as she did, then so be it.  Like
she'd told him before, she could very well go it
alone.  As long as he was safe, she could do
anything.  Hadn't she already proven that?

Standing her ground, her hands began to move.

<I changed my face for you.  Changed my body for
you.> At his huff, she continued, knowing
exactly what he was about to say. <It wasn't for
the plan.  It was for you.>

He said nothing, though his arms dropped and he
took a step forward.  She retreated in return,
shaking her head, wanting to finish while she
had his undivided attention.  Her lips joined
in, soundlessly moving, unconsciously pleading.

<I would do it again.  I would go as far as I
had to, would let them do anything to me.  I'm
sorry if I hurt you, Mulder.  Sorry if I used
you.> Her eyes began to burn.  Almost there,
almost done. <But of all the things I've had to
do... all the suffering people I've had to
ignore on the street... all the times I've lied
and whored myself to the Underground...> And she
had, she knew it.  Lost her pride and
compassion, reason and dignity. <I never
regretted an instant of it.  Until tonight.>

Anger dissolved in her, her throat tight.  She
was gratified to see it disappear from him as
well, replaced with something guaranteed to fuel
her emotional swing.  Regret, sympathy,
compassion... all trademark reactions from a man
used to dealing with victims.

Mulder gulped, his husky, "Julia," pleading with
her to stop.  Eyes of dark, misty pain implored
her as well, but she wouldn't let him deter her. 
She backed away even further in response to his
approach.

She wasn't a victim.  She wasn't anything but a
woman who loved him.

<You didn't hurt me, Mulder.  You didn't do
anything to me that I didn't want.  If anything,
I forced *you.* And I'm so very sorry for that.>

"Damn it, Julia, listen to me."

<No.  Let *me* finish for once.>

Seeing her stealthy shuffle toward her bedroom,
he paused, hands in the air in concession.  She
knew her implied threat to put her bedroom door
between them was feeble, at best.  All he'd have
to do is follow her.  Really, she wasn't going
anywhere until she'd finished.  But he didn't
have to know that.  She demanded the floor
simply by the tears she now felt sliding hotly
down her cheeks, and he gave in with a sigh.

<It may have been Julia who didn't trust you
enough to tell you everything from the
beginning.  It may have been Julia who denied
you the truth until she was presented with
proof.  And I know it's Julia you look at every
day, wishing she were Scully.>

He grimaced at the last and started to speak,
but she held up her hands with a frown.  When he
nodded, she kept on, though she knew from the
slow burn in his gaze he was determined to
address some of what she was saying.

<But inside,> she touched the heart that raced
under her chest before continuing, <this heart,
this soul... belongs to you.  Scully's heart and
soul.  It was Scully who made love to you. 
Scully who loves you still.  Scully, who if she
had her voice, would tell you so.  Over and over
again.>

There, she'd said it at last.  Robbed of speech
by circumstance, she'd never lamented the loss
of her voice more than at this moment.  Her
hands could never tell him the depth of feeling
in those words... her eyes never adequately tell
him a truth she'd felt for so many years.

Mulder stood transfixed, his face one of shocked
surprise.  She waited, unable to look away from
him, watching him absorb what she'd never been
able to say before now.  Would he say it in
return?  He'd already said it to her in a
drunken confession not long ago; he'd even said
it to her in a Bermuda hospital, though she'd
not believed it then.

Sadly, she supposed she deserved his silence. 
It was only fair; after all the years of her
denial of his growing love for her - and he did
love her then, she knew that now - she deserved
whatever retribution he chose to bestow upon
her.  Dropping her chin, she half-turned, her
pride in tatters.  The bedroom beckoned with
dark safety and she took one step.

"You know, I never thought I'd say this to you,
Julia..."

The muttered reply was *not* was she expected,
but it made her pause.  Wiping a shaky hand
across her damp cheeks, she sniffled, turning
with the question on her face.

"... but you smell bad."  Mulder's smile was
warm and he closed the distance between them,
reaching up to finish drying her tears, his
fingers soft and sure.

The breath escaped her lungs in a soundless
chuckle as shy relief lowered her eyes.  From
the tips of her toes to the ends of her hair,
she felt life return.  Eyes that smiled at him
rose to meet his.  <I smell bad?>

"Yeah."  He moved closer and she swayed into
him, letting her hands encircle his neck.  "I
think you need a shower."

Of course - they could speak freely under the
din of running water.  From the heat of his
gaze, she knew that's not all they could do,
either.

<I smell like you,> she mouthed. <Is that so
bad?>

Mulder's arms went round her.  "Did I say bad?" 
Gently, he lifted her from the floor, asking
with his gaze if it was okay.  She nodded,
feeling pretty helpless - but loving every
moment of it, as her hands grabbed hold around
his neck.  "I meant *bad.*"

At his jive, she smiled, laying her cheek upon
his shoulder.  He started toward his bedroom,
his long strides eating up the distance to
privacy in the span of seconds.

"What say we hit the shower, home girl?"  His
breath hitched as her tongue touched his ear. 
Suddenly, his voice dropped to a shaky purr.
"And... maybe later... another game of 'one on
one'?"

As he shouldered open his door, she stopped him,
turning his face with one slim hand.  She wished
she could stop the moment, stay forever with him
in this room.  Hours... they only had hours
until all hell broke loose.  Inches from her own
mouth, his seductive grin faded into a slow
burn, his eyes drawn to her lips.

Yes, she told him with her kiss.



End Chapter Twenty-three

Julia
Chapter Twenty-four

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


Washington, D.C.
February 10, 2001
10:18 p.m.


"I should shave," he murmured, lowering her to
the carpet.  "You go on."  He touched her cheek,
telling her with his soft gaze that he
understood her need for lingering under the hot
water.

Julia nodded and turned her back on him, still a
bit reserved.  They both knew exactly what was
going to happen in that shower. *She* knew there
wouldn't be an inch of her left untouched.  The
question was - was she ready for it?  She felt
like he'd already drained every ounce of feeling
from her body; what if, once free to speak, he
said nothing?

Mentally, she laughed at herself.  Since when
was Mulder at a loss for words?

As she slowly drew her jeans over her hips, she
heard the taps come on and the rustle of his
shirt leaving his torso.  She felt his attention
waver from his task;  could feel the dart of his
eyes travel down her back as it was reflected in
the mirror.  Her sweater fell away next and he
almost suppressed the sigh, but not quite.  She
hoped he wouldn't start in again about the
redness of her skin, and after a moment or two
of silence, she realized he wouldn't.  The
splash of his razor under the water, however,
was furious.

Breathing a bit slower, she released the clasp
of her bra.  When she pulled the confining
elastic from her breasts, his soft, "They missed
one," made her pause and turn, her hands
automatically coming up defensively.

What? her brow asked.  Clad in only her panties,
she felt so exposed, so raw.  Not only
physically but emotionally, her declaration of
love still hanging in the air between them. 
Suddenly, she wanted this over with.  More than
their frantic coupling hours ago; it seemed
fucking Mulder was a hell of a lot easier than
standing still under his probing gaze.

Face half covered with lather, he stood at her
side, his approach masked by the carpet and the
nervous clamoring in her brain.  Seeing her
reticence, he let a small smile curl his lips as
his wet hand touched the curve of her breast. 
His fingers startled her, though they were warm
against the fleshy skin below her armpit.

"Here. Missed one here," he explained, glancing
down to where his thumb caressed her skin.

Craning her neck, she raised her arm.  She could
feel his thumb slide then pause as it hit the
tiny bump in the smoothness.  A long ago trip to
the doctor as a teenager came to mind and she
said, <I had a mole removed when I was sixteen. 
It kept getting irritated by my bra.  Figured
you'd never seen that scar, so it stayed.>  It
was hidden in the hollow where her breast met
her armpit and with her arm lowered, was
invisible. <It was the only mark I had left that
was me.>

The darkening of his face spoke of residual
regret, but she was thankful that its appearance
was fleeting.  "*This* is you," he disagreed,
touching his index finger to her temple.  "The
best part.  The one I like the most."  At the
misty smile she gave him, he touched his lips to
her nose, leaving behind a soapy dot.  Swiping
at it with his finger, he said, "Get in.  I'll
be right there."

Now she realized the pause was deliberate; he'd
known the silence was making her panic and had
deflected her anxiety with a simple touch. 
Standing on tiptoe, she brushed her lips against
his cheek in thanks.

Her smile was returned and he said, "Hold that
thought," before winking and turning away to
finish shaving.

In moments, she was letting her head drop under
the warmth of the water.  It was heavenly and
she moved her neck to and fro as the spray
dissolved the stiffness just under the skin. 
Reaching for the soap, she began to pass it over
her skin, loving the fresh smell that wafted up
in the steam.  Though she really wouldn't have
minded walking around a while longer with Eau de
Mulder as her perfume, she thought with a smile.

Cool air rushed in as she let her eyes close,
her head drawn to his chest like it was a
favorite pillow.

"Care to let me in on the joke?"  Solid, heavy
arms snaked around her middle as his jaw settled
on the top of her wet hair.  His chest and
abdomen were hard at her back, fitting to her
like a glove.

That wasn't all that was hard, she realized with
a swallow, her smile fading.  Sudden, piercing
nervousness made her tremble in his arms, her
eyes wide.  Dropping her head, she closed both
hands around the soap, clinging to it for dear
life.  They hadn't been intimate hours ago -
that was just a means to an end.

*This* was intimacy.  Something she'd always
wanted with Mulder.  Something she'd always
feared.  There was nowhere to hide.

"Scully," he breathed, his lips sliding over the
cap of her hair to her ear.  "Scully."

Days ago, when he'd said her name in a drunken
moment, she'd trembled at the sound.  The two
syllables had wormed under her defenses; making
her weak and vulnerable to him.  This time, they
broke through the barricade around her heart and
she melted.

His hands closed around hers, taking the soap
from her boneless fingers.  Slowly, he began to
work it, his mouth still saying what she missed
most.

"Scully."

Mouth lax, she nodded, letting her eyelids fall
again.  He shifted, and she heard the thunk of
the soap hitting the holder on the wall.  She
held her breath, then released it with a shaky,
soundless moan as his hands touched her.

Soapy, warm, big.  Grasping her waist, then
sliding over her stomach.  Long, thin fingers
splayed over her heart.  "Are you ready to hear
what I have to say?"

Her hand moved to cover his, to join with his
over the rapid beating beneath her skin.

"I told the truth, you know."

His serious statement caught her breath. Anxiety
- *fear* - rose up within her.  Lay it  on me,
Mulder.  I can take it.  You said it yourself -
I'm Scully.  Your partner.  Your friend... maybe
nothing more...

"In the bedroom, earlier.  While we were -"  His
other hand kept moving, kept touching as if
memorizing every curve.  "It was the truth."

Tears threatened as she realized he'd said a lot
of things in the bedroom earlier.  Uppermost in
her mind was the whispered vow of hate, spoken
with such vehemence she didn't doubt its
veracity.

"I hated that you could so easily bend me to
your will.  That you turned something so
beautiful into just another step in the plan."

Under their clasped hands, her chest heaved with
sadness.  He was right; had she so lost herself
to the plan that she'd become emotionless, even
in something so exquisite as making love with
the man she loved?  She'd told him she'd made
love to him as Scully, and she had - but Julia
had fucked him.  All for the success of the
plan.

"You may think you made love to me, but you
didn't.  I saw what I did to you, Scully."  He
sighed as his arm tightened in response to her
sudden tensing.  "And I'm so sorry."

She tried to turn, but he held fast, the words
continuing to spill from him.  "I'm sorry that I
hurt you.  Not just tonight... I'm sorry for the
way I've treated you, the way I've behaved
lately.  I've changed, Scully.  We *both* have -
and not just physically."

Every word resonated in the steamy confines of
the shower.  Giving up the fight for the moment,
she allowed him to keep her in the firm embrace,
knowing it was necessary.  Not for him, but for
her.  She knew it; most of all, *he* knew it. 
In this, they were blind.  Feeling, not seeing. 
Picking their way slowly through unfamiliar
emotional territory.

"I've said things..." Bitter regret choked his
voice down to a low murmur.  "Done things that,
no matter what the motivation, I will have to
live with the rest of my life.  I know you've
done the same.  And telling me that you love me
doesn't make everything right."

Of course it didn't... why had she thought it
would?  Did she expect instant happiness?  Did
she expect him to fall on his knees and declare
his undying love for her?  No.  Too little, too
late.  Their world had to come to an end for her
to realize that she should have told him long
ago.  Should have *listened* to him long ago.  

Her chin dropped and he followed, his lips slick
against the line of her jaw.

"It's gonna take me a while, Scully.  I can't
just forget everything that's happened.  And the
words, while heartfelt, would still be angry and
filled with hurt.  But I *can* tell you this..." 
His hand moved up, taking her chin with gentle
fingers.  She half-turned and looked up, meeting
the bright eyes framed by lashes dark with wet,
painful truth.  "At this moment, despite the
journey... I'm so very glad you're here with
me."

His sincere statement, delivered with a small
smile, caught her breath.  Her lips trembled
with the onslaught of happy tears and her arms
went around his neck as she hugged him tight. 
This was better than love; it was acceptance.

Mulder held her tenderly and she felt the rumble
of his chuckle under her cheek.  "Still doesn't
mean I forgive you for depriving me."

Her water-logged mind was weary from the
emotional overload and it took a second or two
for her to pull back and question, <Depriving
you?  Of what?>

His hands slid down her back, cupping her
buttocks to pull her closer.  "Of watching you
come.  Of feeling you love me."

His cock, semi-hard since he'd gotten into the
shower with her, now raged against her with
serious intent.  Dragging her lower lip between
her teeth, she looked down, taking him in hand. 
He felt like silk-covered steel, impossibly huge
and trapped in her slight fingers.  Letting her
hand slide up and down, she raised her eyes once
again.

Oh, yes, she told him with her gaze.

It was probably not going to be easy on her, but
she wanted it.  So badly she could taste it.

"That's not what I meant, Scully."  He pulled
her hand away and dropped to his knees before
she could reply.  With a gentle push, he settled
her back against the wall of the shower and
spread her legs.  "*This* is what I meant."

At the first touch of his tongue, she jumped.

"It's okay, it's okay," he said against her wet
curls.  "Let me."

Closing her eyes, she smiled at his erroneous
assumption.  It certainly didn't hurt - on the
contrary, it felt wonderful and her fingers
curled upon his shoulders, urging him on.  He
was timid in his exploration, his tongue barely
brushing her clit, his hands lying upon her
thighs as if afraid to damage her skin.

That wouldn't do, she decided.  She squirmed a
bit, inching her feet further apart, sliding
down the tiles to open herself to him.  She
could have cried when he got the message,
exhaling a moist blast of warmth in a soft
laugh.

Suddenly, his hands seemed to engulf her,
spreading liquid fire over every inch of her
skin.  The cool tile against her back worked in
counterpoint to the hot steam of the shower,
exacerbating the friction of his mouth in the
one place that had never seen scars, real or
imagined.  The stamp of his tongue tattooed
possession as she began to gulp for air.  It was
way too warm in the shower and she ached for the
heat to break.

"Scream, Scully," he muttered.  "I'll hear you. 
I want you to scream for me."

She clutched at the slick prickles of his hair,
her eyes drifting down to watch him work her. 
It was the most erotic sight she'd ever
witnessed; he worshiped her with his mouth and
hands, insinuating himself into her being with
bold urgency.  His brow was creased with
concentration and his eyes were shut tight as he
lapped at her heat.  In this, like all else, he
moved with single-minded purpose.

Wanting her to lose control, she knew.  It
wasn't difficult to do; she trembled under his
hands and mouth and her knees weakened with
every second that passed.  It was coming and she
was powerless to stop it.

Before, in the other world, she would have been
unwilling to surrender so completely.  A small,
distant part of her had always stood apart,
demanding composure within release.  It was her
nature to remain in command during sex, whether
by an action as overt as being on top or as
trivial as turning her head from a kiss.

This time, she let nothing stand in the way.

The first sharp tremor hit and her lower stomach
rippled under his nose.  Before her eyelids
slammed shut, she saw his teeth flash in a grin. 
At the feel of them nip at her clit, she was
gone.

Her fingers dug into his hair and her head shot
back, her mind just aware enough to stop its
crack into the tile.  A soundless cry erupted
from her lips as she felt Mulder's finger slide
in to replace his tongue.  He pushed in and up,
hitting the front of her vagina with gentle but
firm precision.  The contractions began in rapid
fire succession around his finger and her head
tossed in rhythmic time.

It seemed to last forever.  And not long enough. 
Finally, she slumped, reaching down to take his
hand.  He laced his fingers with hers, his words
husky against the soft skin of her belly.

"I take it back - *that* may just be my favorite
part of you."

Opening her eyes, she saw him through the haze
and knew he'd watched her come.  His awed stare
broke through her post-orgasmic bliss and her
legs no longer cooperated.  Almost boneless, she
straddled his lap, burrowing into him as a shock
wave of love consumed her - so intense it
threatened to eat her alive.

Mulder sat back on his heels and let her
snuggle, still whispering.  "Told you it was
going to happen.  You can only deprive me for so
long, you know."  Hands that just moments ago
made her sink into oblivion roamed up her back
to tangle in her hair.  His playful, satisfied
tone changed with a deeper, more serious query. 
"You okay?"  Always concerned, he gave a slight
tug on her hair to make her look at him.

Nodding, she smiled.  Well, it felt more like
the giddy grin of the thoroughly wasted on
margaritas, but she didn't care.  In fact, the
taste of herself on his lips beat the tang of
tequila by a mile.

"Mmm... Scully," he muttered as she showered him
with kisses, "my - my knees are - I need to get
up."

His groan broke through the fog of passion in
her brain and she quickly stood, shaking just a
bit.  Extending a hand with a smile, she helped
him to stand as well, silently laughing at his
overdone grimace.

But her laugh faded as she moved closer,
ignorant of the now-tepid water.  She wanted him
inside her and made her intentions clear,
running her hands down his chest in search of
her goal.

Mulder swallowed hard, his eyes darkening.  "We
can't... I don't want to hurt you again."

<You won't hurt me.>

"Scully."  It was a warning, but a rather weak
one.  She could tell he wanted it just as much
as she did.  The high cheekbones were flushed
with desire and he was oblivious to the cool
water that streamed over him.  Gooseflesh rose
on his arms and chest, but he made no move to
leave the shower.

Reaching up on tiptoe, she gave him one more
slow, deep kiss, then slowly turned her back to
him, moving to the far wall.  Leaning over, she
placed her hands on the tile and issued the
invitation with a lift of her hips.

Mulder's groan was far more painful than the one
of moments ago.  He hesitated for a few seconds
and she turned her head, pleading with a narrow
flash of her gaze.  Humiliation began to blossom
within her at his inaction; she'd never had to
beg anyone before.  One more moment of this and
she'd have to relent.

Defeat made her hang her head, her hands sliding
down... only to stop at the touch of his on her
hips.

"You tell me if I'm hurting you."  It was a
rough command, whispered in her ear and setting
her whole being on edge.

She nodded, thankful he'd come to her.  A
nagging part of her felt a twinge of fear, but
she quickly dismissed it.  This was not like
before - she was so ready it couldn't help but
be wonderful.  She held her breath as he spread
her legs with his.

Slowly, she felt his cock push its way inside. 
He paused, pulling back only to push a little
further in with each effort.

"Okay?"

God, it was more than okay.  He slid in and out
so easily, so warm and alive within her she felt
she may cry with pleasure.

"Scully?"

Dimly, she realized he needed an answer to
continue.  She brought one of her hands to his
head and turned her own, giving him a hot,
electric kiss, her tongue reaching in deep in
mimicry of his invasion.

Gasping, he pulled away.  "I take it that's a
'yes.'"

She grinned and leaned over again, this time
letting her upper body dip lower.  In reaction,
his cock pushed in completely as her backside
was forced against his hips.

"Jesus."  He folded over her, one arm going
around her waist, the other traveling up her arm
until his hand settled beside hers on the wall. 
"You sure know how to get what you want, don't
you?"  His mouth opened on her shoulder and his
chest filled with air, pressing down on her
back.  She felt his fingers glide over her wet
skin to her breast.

As he cupped the straining flesh in his palm,
his thumb caressed her nipple.  Her inner
muscles clenched in response to his touch and
surprise as another pang of impending pleasure
hit her made her squirm and gasp for breath. 
Memories of a time when she'd enjoyed a healthy
sex life told her exactly what could happen.  It
wasn't that she'd never had multiple orgasms. 
It was just that it was so long ago she'd almost
forgotten what it felt like.

"Scully, I don't think this is gonna last very
long if you keep doing that."

God, she hoped not.  Her legs spread wider and
Mulder went with them, his hips surging against
her.  "God, Scully."  The words branded her skin
as he began to move, his cock drawing out of her
only to plunge back in.

Over and over, in perfect counterpoint to the
circle of her hips, he moved within her.  She
leaned into him, focusing her fevered gaze on
the straining arm that paralleled hers.  Every
sensation, every nerve in her body pinpointed on
the feel of him, the smell of his heat as it
built around her.

Her name bled from his lips in a litany that
sparked the air.  Cooling water no longer made a
difference; she was overheated in a way that had
nothing to do with artificial means. Again, she
was going to come again.  And she knew he could
feel it as she did, as he shifted a bit down and
forward in his thrusts, learning quickly the
exact spot assured to ignite her orgasm.

OhGodohGodMulder... her lips beat out a
soundless, joyous plea in time with the shove of
his hips.  Through slitted eyes, she watched the
hand next to hers on the tile wall inch closer.

"Again, Scully."  The rasp curled into her ear
as his hand grasped hers.  Together, palm to
palm, fitting perfectly into an unbreakable
fist.  "Come on.  Again."

Her nails dug into the back of his bruised skin
unconsciously and he hissed a bit, breaking
through the growing sexual fog.  She tried to
loosen her grasp, but he didn't allow freedom,
saying, "Okay, it's okay.  Don't stop."

But she knew the strain on him was tremendous
and he wanted to make this last as long as
possible for her.  Their first time had been too
hurried, too *harried* for any lingering.  Just
a bit longer, that's all she needed.  She spied
the foot-high narrow ledge at the base of the
shower and made a decision designed to bring
their coupling to a quick, satisfying end.

Bringing her foot up, she used it for leverage,
scissoring her legs as she straightened.  Mulder
cursed, but stayed within her, following her to
the wall.  "Shit, Scully.  Warn me next time."

She brought their clasped hands to her chest,
enfolding his arm in a warm embrace, soothing
his hand with her lips and tongue.  Bending her
knees just a bit, she felt Mulder's cock begin
to expand within her.  The warmth of him at her
back and the coolness of the tile in front of
her worked in opposite fashion and she jerked,
her body assaulted by an overload of sensation.

Not as powerful as before, but just as
completing, she came in a series of gentle
waves, Mulder following with a muttered, "Yes,"
in her ear as he pulsed within her.

They relaxed together into the wall.  Julia felt
him slip from her after a few moments, his legs
trembling in the aftermath against hers.  He
shifted so his back was to the tile, taking her
with him and spooning her to him.

He was exhausted; she could feel it in the way
his body draped over hers, his muscles twitching
with overexertion.  Allowing a moment or two for
regroup, she let him catch his breath behind
her, his ragged draw of air swaying her in his
embrace.  He said nothing and she knew his mind
was just as taxed as his body.

But the water was now too cool to remain in the
shower any longer.  Amidst his sigh of regret,
she pulled away and killed the spray of water. 
Quickly, she drew him from the shower stall and
stood him on the carpet.  He watched her every
move with slumberous eyes as she toweled herself
dry, then wiped the beaded water from his
shivering skin.

Pausing only to douse the lights, she put him in
the bed and got in beside him, snuggling close
under the covers.  Her head laid close next to
his on the pillow; the light trickling in from
the sheer curtains was enough and her gaze was
drawn to the magnetic pull of his lazy, but
bright eyes.

Still, he said nothing, just looked upon her
with a soft, unsure gaze, as if she would fly
away if he closed his eyes.  The insecurity on
his face made her ache and she kissed him, a
light touch of her lips to his.  He didn't
respond, just accepted it as his shivers died
away.  But his hand still grasped hers like a
lifeline.

Sleep, she told him with her gentle touch,
letting her warm breath graze his cheek and
throat.  Closing the already small gap between
them, she sandwiched his hand between both of
hers, enveloping their clasp in the nestling
warmth of her chest to his.  As she settled in,
a broad yawn tickled her ear.

But nothing.  Not a word.

There was nothing to be said, she realized. 
Words could not express the contentment of the
moment.  They were together; it was all that
mattered.

Her body relaxed as she watched his eyes drift
shut.  Stealing a quick kiss to his chin, she
let her eyes close as well.  The heat kicked on
in the bedroom, lulling her into an almost doze.

Within her hand, his bruised fingers began to
move.  Senses dulled by impending sleep, she
loosed her grip, feeling the brush of knuckles
tickle her palm.  Her eyes drifted open, but
Mulder was asleep.  A soft snore came from his
open mouth and his eyes moved beneath his lids
as he drifted into dreams.

Her breath caught as her mind grasped his
unconscious words.  Over and over, he told her
what was in his heart.  A small smile curled her
lips and her tears wet the pillow as she looked
down, cradling his hand like the most fragile of
flowers.

She thought it didn't matter.  Thought that she
could live without it, as long as he was safe. 
That the words were an afterthought, especially
since he'd denied them life to shelter her from
hurt.

<Love you, Scully.  Love you.>

She was wrong.  Happiness made her bring his
hand to her mouth, where she touched her lips to
the truth.



End Chapter Twenty-four

Julia
Chapter Twenty-five

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


Washington, D.C.
February 11, 2001
7:18 a.m.


Dim, wintry light bled through the crack in the
curtains, giving the room a misty glow.  Julia
had held herself still the last half-hour,
waiting for the small burst of light.  Curled
under the covers at Mulder's side, close but not
touching him, her eyes open in the dark to look
upon him at her leisure.

Now, with the shadows of the room chased away,
she let her gaze roam over his profile.  So
familiar, so beloved.  Though her eyebrows drew
together at the bruise on his cheek; during the
night, it seemed to have completed its
transition from angry red to mottled shades of
black and blue.  Anger at the way he'd been
abused blossomed, as well as muted sorrow; the
bruise would heal, but the scar that marred his
chin and neck would remain forever.  If she
squinted, she could barely make out the
imperfection that trickled down his uncovered
chest.  She watched him sleep, his still swollen
hand rising and falling as it laid on his
stomach just above the blanket.

She wished she could make it all go away.  With
a touch of her hand, erasing his pain... making
his skin unpunctured and whole.  Make his mind
clean and free of nightmares.

He'd slept the night through, sometimes
clutching her to him with soft murmurs of her
name.  Spoken in dreams like he'd made a habit
of it; she knew it wasn't likely to bring anyone
running.  The thought made her sad and she
realized those listening had probably heard his
night ramblings for months now, ignoring them as
the workings of a mind lost to the reality of
her existence.  That they'd come together in
spite of the new way of the world made her want
to thumb her nose at those arrogant, faceless
eavesdroppers.

At least they couldn't see.  She thanked a God
she'd lost faith in long ago for this little
indulgence.  Every time she looked at him now,
she could feel her passion for him, her fierce
protectiveness and loyalty, stream from her eyes
with the light of truth.  Revealing who she once
was - who she *is* - to anyone who cared to
look.  Tonight, in the open spaces of the dining
room, she was going to have to steel herself
against giving away even a millimeter of what
was to come.

With a trembling sigh, she practiced, dropping
her eyes from their greedy exploration of his
form, swallowing back the need to touch him, to
make sure he was still with her.  It was going
to be damned hard, that much she knew already.

"That bad, huh?"

The soft question snapped her eyes open. 
Mulder's head turned to her and his eyes crept
open, a sheepish grin curling his lips.  Before
she could react, he'd turned to face her fully,
though he kept his distance.

"Guess I won't be the King of the Valentine
Dance this year, will I?"

Shaking her head, she inched closer, mouthing a
hopeful, <Maybe next year?> And maybe she could
get a better grip on the emotions that seemed to
bubble from her skin these days.  She was
determined that both 'maybes' come true.

Mulder chuckled, then yawned.  "I knew there was
a reason to live."  His face scrunched up and a
hand scratched lazily at his chest.  "What time
is it?"

She shrugged, not really caring to lose the
moment by peering over his shoulder.  Ever
closer she moved, until she wormed her way
beneath the covers to mold her body to his.  Her
nose nudged his breastbone as she breathed in
his warmth.

"I have to go to work, you know."  Though his
words spoke one thing, his arms said something
else, winding around her to complete their
embrace.  "I already missed my workout.  They'll
come looking for me soon."

The last was muttered with dread.  Her hands
gripped his waist, unable to let him go.  She
hated this; hated this new fear.  Weakness was
something she'd never allowed herself to feel. 
It wasn't that she was frightened of being left
alone.  She was scared that if he walked out the
door this morning, she might never see him
again.

"I'll get Eliza to come over again today.  And
I'll come home early.  If anyone dares come into
the apartment, tell her to call me directly. 
I'll leave my extension by the phone, okay?"  He
sighed, his voice becoming hard.  "I don't give
a shit what Laura says, or what anyone thinks. 
Call me if you need me.  Don't take any
chances."

Julia nodded against his chest.  She didn't feel
as though she'd have another unwelcome visitor
today; by now, the story must have spread far
and wide, scaring off any potential threat from
the Guardsmen.  For now, anyway.  Tomorrow, it
wouldn't matter at all.  If they were lucky.

Mulder pulled her tight against him, his hands
moving to the curves of her ass.  His next
statement was lighter, as if he sensed the
worrisome trend of her thoughts.  "Don't forget
- dinner tonight downstairs."

Oh, my, she thought.  Forget dinner.  Remember
this moment.  Impress upon herself the feel of
him touching her at every possible point.  Hair-
roughened legs that insinuated themselves
between hers; muscles that jumped beneath her
lips.  Fingers that mimicked another, more
sensuous rhythm as they massaged the round
globes of flesh, dipping low to push into the
crease where thighs met torso.  A full, hot
hardness that prodded her belly and pushed all
thoughts of eating from her mind.

Her tongue stabbed out between suddenly numb
lips, painting his flesh with the language of
the siren.  Stay with me, it begged.

He reacted as she hoped he would, his hiss of
breath followed by, "God, Julia... I have to go
to work."

Don't, she answered, her magnetic pull
intensified by hands that crept up to his neck. 
She lifted her head and pulled his down for a
kiss.  He gave in, opening his mouth over hers. 
He tasted of stale, morning normalcy, and at
that moment, she wouldn't have traded it for the
taste of the finest chocolate.

The kiss grew by leaps and bounds into a burning
hot inferno of teeth and tongues.  Before she
knew it, she was flat on her back and he loomed
above her, breaking away to murmur against her
lips, "Damn it, I don't want to leave."

Letting her legs fall open, she felt him settle
in, his thighs hitting the tender skin below.  A
sharp scream of muscles overused radiated from
her groin, and she couldn't suppress the grimace
that flitted over her features.

No, she cried with her arms, as she held him to
her.  I'm okay, she begged with the insistent
press of her lips to his.

"Julia, no."  Too late.  He'd already picked up
on her soreness.  Like the gentleman he was, he
refused to push the issue, despite her urgency. 
Pulling up onto his hands, he dropped a kiss to
her cheek.  "Not again.  We'll have plenty of
time later, okay?"

A fresh wave of fright assaulted her and she
tensed, trying to school her features into
acceptance.  Practice, she had to practice. 
Don't let him see how scared you are.  But what
if they didn't have time later?  No, everything
was going to be fine, they'd make it out, alive
and well.

What if neither of them made it out of here
alive?  They would, they would - she hammered it
into her brain.  Or worse, what if only *she*
did?

God, she was horrible at pretending.  When it
was just Mulder she had to fool, she was
perfect.  She'd been fooling him for years,
right?  Telling him what he wanted to hear,
never saying what she really wanted to say.  It
was so easy being Julia.  Scully could feel;
Scully could fear.

"Hey," he beckoned, his hands sneaking under her
shoulders to give her a shake.

It was no use.  She could feel every ounce of
fear within her rush to her face.  Don't cry,
she told herself.  Be Julia.

"... all right.  It's going to be okay."  His
attempt to soothe her drifted into the miasma of
growing agitation, and she forced her eyes to
focus on his.

Inches from hers, they were clear and bright. 
Nothing hidden in those hazel depths, only the
rebirth of a determination she hadn't seen in
months.  It settled her nerves a bit and the
corners of her eyes crinkled, relaxing from
their wide-eyed stare.

She forced her lips to move. <You promise?> Like
there was anything he could do if even one
Guardsman aimed a gun at him.

"I promise," he pledged softly.  He believed it
already, she saw.

She had to believe it, too.  The pretense of
courage must be maintained and she gave him a
shaky smile, cupping his face in her trembling
hands. <Go to work.  I'm okay.>

"You sure?"

<Yes.> And she was.  For now.

Mulder seemed satisfied and he lifted away from
her.  She shivered at the cool air that rushed
in when he drew back the covers to stand.  She
couldn't help the snort that whooshed from her
nose at the sight of his full arousal, raising
an eyebrow as if to say, "You sure you don't
want to -?"  Silent laughter shook her as she
cuddled back down into the warmth he'd left
behind.  Nothing like a bit of humor to chase
away her leftover nervousness, even if it was at
Mulder's expense.

Hands on hips, he mirrored her expression.  "The
shower is a great place to umm... think.  Among
other things.  I can solve a lot of problems in
the shower, Julia."  With a wink, he turned and
walked to the bathroom.

A moment's hesitation, then she was up after
him.


**********


9:15 a.m.


Julia sipped on tea while listening half-
heartedly to Eliza's drone.  She kept an ear out
for the knock on the door; the laundry man was
supposed to return with her dress - and
hopefully, an escape route - sometime this
morning.

Bringing the cup to her lips, she surveyed the
sparse landscape below, this time with an eye to
strategic planning.  Every few minutes or so, a
Humvee slowly made its round, circling like a
vulture.  On the next street over, an identical
vehicle moved in the opposite direction, but
with similar purpose.  She imagined there were
concentric perimeters of protection hewn out in
the rubble, but distance and the snowy winter
overcast made detection difficult from her
vantage point twenty-odd stories above the
ground.

However, she did know that there was an end to
it; remembered the checkpoints one by one from
here to the airport.  Five miles, maybe six,
with a circle of possible gunfire every mile. 
And numerous snipers along the way, if her
memories of the way Cancerman operated were
anything to go by.  She'd bet her bottom dollar
on it.

Biting her lip in concentration, her eyes darted
to and fro.  Of course, the protection would
collapse once the attack began.  On one hand,
making it harder to escape; on the other, making
the radius to freedom shorter.  Once outside the
last circle, they would enjoy the black cloak of
night to speed away.  Hopefully, in a vehicle of
some sort.  If not, on foot.  She wasn't letting
anything stand in her way, not even the
potential loss of a few toes.

Damn.  It looked like the snow was coming down
harder now, sure to be piling up in drifts down
below.  Her bones were already aching, just as
they had in Antarctica.

"Dinner with the Appointing Authority!  Dear
God, Julia, I'm so jealous!"  Eliza was so
excited her chatter had become almost non-stop.

It made Julia's stomach flutter.  She hoped his
father wouldn't be in the dining room this
evening, despite the fact that she had told
Eliza they were having dinner with him.  Mulder
had also told the doctor, she realized.  But
what was a white lie these days?  Chances are he
*was* going to be there, just not sitting with
the two of them, hopefully.  And they wouldn't
get caught in the lie... not if they were long
gone.

The soft knock at the door interrupted Eliza's
gushing.  With a shrug, Julia left the window
and placed her cup on the coffee table before
moving to the door.

"Miss," he greeted her, the bland word matching
his expressionless face.  He held out the black
garment bag.  "Just as the Minister requested. 
More starch in his shirts."  He paused for a
fraction of a second.  Pointed allusion flared
in his eyes. "And your dress is also in the
bag."

She could have smiled with relief; he'd done it. 
Whatever he was supposed to do, it was done. 
And it waited for them in the pocket of her
dress.

"Let me see that."  A flash of purple linen
appeared at Julia's side.

No!  Panic tripped her heart, but she knew
better than to react.

"That'll be all."  Eliza's frosty dismissal was
delivered over her shoulder as she turned with
the bag.

Julia's eyes met the man's with frantic worry. 
But he could do nothing.  In fact, she shooed
him away with a, <If I get taken away, get him
out anyway.  Don't let him stop you.>

He nodded and backed away.  Julia watched him go
before quickly closing the door on the face of
the curious Guardsman that had woken up from his
doze by the elevator.

Eliza already had the bag unzipped and was
brushing aside Mulder's shirts to get to her
dress.  With a gulp, Julia spied her dress,
half-hidden by the white garments in front of
it.  Don't pull it out, she prayed.

"*This* is what you're wearing?"  Eliza faced
her with an incredulous stare.

Julia pounced on the woman's dissatisfaction,
playing it up with, <Yes.  I have nothing else.> 
She affected a moue, laying her 'Cinderella in
ashcloth' act on thick.

Eliza pulled at the material, searching for the
bodice while Julia held her breath.  A small bit
of white peeked out from the pocket.

"It's all right, I suppose... if you want the
staid virgin look.  Oh my God!"

Julia started forward, ready to pluck the bag
from Eliza's fingers.

"You can't wear this!  It's much too low in
front."

Her heart pounded as she waited.

"We must find something else."  Eliza grimaced
at the bruises that dotted Julia's collarbone
above the sagging satin robe.  "Something that
will cover those hideous marks."

The marks the Guardsman had made with his
fingers as he forced her to kneel before him,
Julia realized.  Despite the way she'd acquired
the black smudges on her skin, she was thankful
they'd darkened overnight.  Quickly, she took
the bag from Eliza and zipped it back up before
bringing it to her bedroom.

"You'd better hope those fade in a few days, my
dear."  Eliza's voice followed her.  "Quite
ugly... and definitely not something a man wants
to see on a woman."

As she hung the bag in her closet, Julia smiled,
remembering Mulder's reluctance to touch her
shoulders in the shower this morning.  Even now,
his groans echoed in her ears and she could feel
his hands grip hers as they rested on his
thighs.  His worry at reminding her of the
Guardsman's almost-assault had been quickly
dispelled as she'd knelt before him with a
smile.

"Julia?"

Face flushed with remembrance, she turned to see
Eliza in her bedroom doorway.  Closing her
closet door, she smiled, feeling Mulder in the
prickles of heat on her skin.  And liking it
very much.  <Yes?>

Puzzled, Eliza said, "Okay, what gives, Julia? 
You look like the cat that swallowed the
canary."

Oh, if she only knew, Julia thought.

Ushering Eliza from her room, she closed the
door and faced her. <You really think I need
another dress?> An idea had taken root in her
mind; all she needed was Eliza's cooperation.

She could taste the lobby air already.

"Should we chance it?" Eliza asked, already
halfway to the apartment door.

That was easy, she congratulated herself.  Now,
time for a bit of reconnaissance.


**********


Thank goodness it hadn't taken an act of
Congress for Julia to talk Eliza into a trip
downstairs.  Julia told her that yesterday's
incident with the Guardsman was already
forgotten by the upper echelon.  No one was
coming to take them away.  She wasn't going to
be taken away from Mulder, especially since
circumstances had changed.  A hint dropped with
the utmost tact had told Eliza what she needed
to know.

Of course, she dreaded telling Mulder of this
little excursion.  But that wouldn't come until
after the fact and he'd just have to live with
it, she figured.  A little trip away from the
gilded cage was guaranteed to make the time go
by faster, as well as give her an opportunity to
acquaint herself with the exit routes.  If
Mulder was unable to guide her out for some
reason - God forbid - then she could take the
lead.

As the elevator glided to a stop, Julia gave
Eliza a small smile.  They made their way
through the lobby and she forced herself to keep
the smile in place.  Eliza left her behind in
her haste to begin looking at the racks of
evening dresses visible through the shop's
doors.

Julia quickened her steps as well, following
Eliza as if she was just as anxious for the
dinner.  It wasn't hard to pretend; not that she
relished the time spent with the Appointing
Authority.  She didn't even know if he was going
to make an appearance in the dining room this
evening.  God, she hoped he wouldn't be there. 
She wasn't afraid of him, but she knew things
would go a lot easier without his presence.  But
if she had to, she could.  Practice makes
perfect, she thought.  And Eliza, while not
possessed of a keen eye for subterfuge, would do
nicely.

Stopping by a rack of lingerie, she fingered the
silk.  Only a matter of hours now, and she could
leave this horrible life behind.  Hope was
growing with every second that passed.

"Julia?  I think you have quite enough of those
already."

She looked up to find Eliza waving her over to
the rack of colorful taffetas and velvets.  Yes,
she had enough of sexy, slinky things.  She
turned away from the unpleasantness of this life
as represented by the decadence of the silk. 
And looked forward to the days to come, for the
future... a future with Mulder.  Hopefully, a
world without tyranny.  A world where they'd be
free to live and love as they wished.

"We'll try this one, and this one...."

Eliza pulled dresses from the racks and passed
them to the shop girl as Julia slowly perused
the racks.  She dragged her thoughts from Mulder
reluctantly and glanced through the shop's
windows.  Her hands kept busy going through the
clothes, but her eyes scanned the lobby.

Guardsmen everywhere, at every exit... including
several that patrolled up and down the expensive
carpet.  Escape would be difficult unless
Krycek's men took care of some of the obstacles
that were armed and ready.

"Find anything, Julia?"

The voice broke her away from her musings with a
start. <No, I can't decide,> she mouthed with a
sheepish grin. <So many.>

Eliza laughed and pulled her toward the dressing
room in the back.  "Then let's start with those
I've selected, shall we?  We have all morning if
necessary."

Just as Julia wanted.  The more time spent in
the shop, the more she could look around.  With
a nod and a smile, she followed Eliza to the
dressing room.


**********


12:20 p.m.


"Will *that* one do?"

Eliza slumped with exhaustion in the chair,
eyeing Julia with barely concealed impatience.

Julia would never have imagined it in her
companion, due to Eliza's lust for the material,
but it seemed the woman was worn out.  Could
there be such a thing as *too* much shopping?

As for herself, she'd tried on just about every
dress in the store that came in her size,
parading in front of the mirror with an eye to
the lobby.  Watching the Guardsmen come and go. 
It appeared they had no real routine, mostly
just meandering with haphazard purpose.  The
soldiers in the Administration's army were no
more than hired mercenaries, from what she could
tell.  Lackadaisical in attitude and vigilance.

A lilt of her lips did not go unnoticed by
Eliza.  "Please tell me this is the one, Julia."

Julia cast another swift look in the mirror,
admiring how the black sheath clung to her
figure.  As she turned, she decided it was a bit
long - damn the no-shoes policy - but the best
thing about it was it came with a black velvet
bolero jacket.  Embroidered with silver and gold
applique', it was heavy and warm, and would do
nicely in the frigid climate outdoors.  Besides,
it was time to stop the pretense and get back
upstairs before Eliza became suspicious.

Nodding, she faced the woman with a smile. <This
is it.>

Eliza, for all the fluff between her ears,
surprised Julia with a narrowing of her eyes. 
"Didn't you try this one on an hour ago?"

Julia faltered for just a second, then said, <I
wasn't sure then.> Be cool, she warned herself. 
This woman is sharper than you think.

Eliza stood and, after a brief pause where she
probed Julia's gaze with her own, replied,
"Well, I guess it's settled.  Get out of it and
we'll be on our way.  Hurry, I'm starving."

It didn't take long for Julia to don her own
clothes; nothing more than a slip dress of aqua
satin that she felt very exposed wearing.  But
it was one of the more concealing outfits she
had.

The black dress would serve her well when they
finally got outside.  From the looks of the
weather out the front door of the tower, the
storm appeared to be very heavy.  The Guardsmen
that ventured in were red-faced and shivering,
even with their heavy down jackets.  Hopefully
she and Mulder could make off with a couple of
those jackets before they left the building for
good.

As she passed the dress through the curtain to
Eliza, she glanced down at her bare feet,
cursing her impotence in that regard.  Frostbite
was a distinct possibility in the harsh
conditions outside and what she really needed
more than a jacket was a pair of shoes.  But no
go, unless she stole them from the shop.  Or
from Eliza.  But how to do either?

The slip dress was falling to her knees when
Eliza poked her head into the cubicle.  "Ready?"

Julia nodded and took the garment bag, following
Eliza out into the lobby.  The spacious area was
teeming with workers now, mostly service
personnel passing out sandwiches to the
Guardsmen.  As Eliza made her way to the
elevators, they became separated as a wave of
people headed to the front door, trays in hand.

Julia was bumped into and she silently cursed as
the garment bag fell to the floor, followed by a
half-dozen wrapped sandwiches.  Crouching, she
reached for the food at the same time as a white
gloved hand.

"I'm sorry," she heard a deep voice murmur. 
"Please... let me."

Her head snapped up at the familiar tones, her
eyes widening.  The man's eyes were familiar
above a close-cropped beard, holding her gaze
with hard determination.

"Nine p.m.," Krycek whispered.

An unconscious, <How?> burst from her soundless
lips.  What would the attack entail?

"No time to explain.  Get out if you can.  Don't
use the elevators.  Just run for it."

After a brief moment of disbelief, she shook
herself and let her chin drop in a slow nod. 
Seems she had her confirmation.  The chip had
done its job.

"Julia!"

The sharp rebuke from Eliza made Julia lift her
head as Krycek lowered his and moved away. 
Quickly, he gathered up the food and fumbled
with the tray, his useless arm dangling at his
side.

"Julia, what's going on?"  Her companion stood
before them, anger making the heavy makeup
crease into furious lines.

Julia draped her dress over her arm and stood,
dismissing Krycek in Eliza's eyes with a glare.
<Stupid fool ran into me.> Reaching for Eliza's
arm, she turned them toward the elevator.

Eliza was not deterred, however, giving Krycek a
glance as he strode away.  "He spoke to you. 
What did he say?"

With a jab of her thumb, Julia summoned the
elevator and schooled her face into what she
hoped was a mask of indifference. <He just
apologized, that's all.> She kept her face
averted, watching for the 'up' arrow.

Don't use the elevators when the time comes. 
What was he planning?

"Impertinent fool," Eliza muttered.  "You
shouldn't have any contact with the other men,
Julia.  After yesterday's trouble, you're
risking a lot.  The Minister would be furious." 
Her angry eyes told of her own place at risk,
something Julia knew she worried more about.

Julia rolled her eyes at Eliza, just as the
elevator dinged. <As if I'd want anyone but the
Minister,> she signed with pursed lips before
walking into the car.

Eliza entered as well, and they both turned to
watch the doors close.  Julia held her breath as
she glimpsed Krycek's form, moving about the
lobby.  Apparently, so did Eliza.

"You escaped the wrath of the Appointing
Authority once, Julia," she said with disdain. 
"Don't let it happen again."

Thankfully, the conversation was dropped as they
ascended to the suite.


**********


2:55 p.m.


<I wish I had a pair of shoes.> Julia sighed as
she watched Eliza finish up dessert - *and* the
bottle of wine. <I want to impress the
Appointing Authority.>

Please feel sorry for me, she pleaded with her
eyes.

"You know that's not possible, Julia," her
friend answered between bites of chocolate bon-
bons.  "Besides, mine would be too big for you."

<I could stuff tissue at the ends.> She let her
eyes widen with hope. <Please, Eliza.  Just this
once.>

Eliza stopped eating long enough to think about
it, her face softening with doubt.  "I don't
know if it's a good idea.  We could get into
trouble."

Julia pounced at the woman's indecision. <I
won't say where I got them, if anyone asks.  And
they won't notice anyway - the dress is very
long.  Please?>

Eliza's doubt quickly became curiosity.  "Why
are you so worried about shoes, Julia?  If the
dress is really long, as you say, then no one
will see if your feet are bare, will they?"

Sensing Eliza's growing suspicion, Julia quickly
backed off.  Coupled with her meeting with
Krycek earlier, her insistence on the shoes was
making Eliza more nervous than usual.  She had
to relent, and quickly.

<You're right,> she said, smiling. <Guess that
was rather foolish, wasn't it?>

Eliza gave her one last questioning look, then
wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin.

"I'd better go," she purred, standing.  "It's
going on three o'clock and you need all the time
you can get to prepare before the Minister gets
home, right?"

Julia nodded, relieved that Eliza was leaving. 
She stood as well and put their plates and
glasses back on the tray, intending to set it
outside the door.  She wanted no interruptions
the rest of the afternoon.

"I'll just set this in the hall," Eliza said,
reaching for the tray and looking about the room
at the scattered remnants of their morning tea. 
"We mustn't let the Minister come home to a
mess, right?"

Despite her suspicion of the woman, Julia felt a
twinge of remorse at not telling her of the
attack that evening.  Eliza was a mercenary
human being, but she was really the only friend
Julia had in the place besides Mulder.  And
she'd saved her from the advances of the
Guardsman.  Could she really let her die with
the other collaborators?

<Eliza.>

The woman stopped in the act of turning away. 
"Yes?"

How to put this without giving it all away? 
Julia took a deep breath, then ventured forth.

<Are you dining in the restaurant this evening,
too?> Maybe if she could at least get Eliza
closer to the exits, the woman had a chance to
escape.

"I wasn't planning on it.  Why?"

<I want you there.> Julia feigned a desperate
look, as if she was afraid to dine alone with
the men.

"You don't need me there, Julia," Eliza said
softly.  "You'll do just fine by yourself.  I
wasn't invited, remember?"

<I'm inviting you.> Her hands shook, pleading.

Eliza smiled indulgently.  "I'm afraid you don't
have that authority, my dear.  And I don't want
to intrude.  I could get into trouble if I did."

As Eliza turned away, Julia rounded the table
and grabbed her arm.  The woman was startled by
her insistence.  "What is it?"

<You have to be downstairs tonight, Eliza.  I
insist.>

Julia searched the woman's face with worry,
trying not to give too much away.  If she could
convince Eliza that she was simply nervous about
meeting with the Appointing Authority, she could
possibly make her see that she needed her
presence downstairs.

<Please.>

"Where is all this coming from, Julia?" Eliza
asked, puzzlement now drawing her eyebrows
together.  "You've always been independent -
what's with all this worry?"

There really wasn't much more Julia could say
without revealing the attack, so she backed off
with a sad smile.

<I'm just frightened, that's all.> Looking at
her friend, she realized it could very well be
the last time she ever saw her.  Unbidden, a
sheen of tears gathered in her eyes.

Eliza put the tray down to take Julia's hands. 
"Don't worry, Julia.  I'll take my dinner
downstairs, if you wish.  I won't be able to sit
with you naturally, but I'll be close by.  Will
that do?"

At Eliza's promise, Julia embraced her with
relief, nodding.

"It'll be okay, Julia," she murmured. 
"Everything will be fine - you'll see."

Julia hoped so.  She really did.  Pulling away,
she sniffled away the tears.

"Now I really have to go."  Eliza picked up the
tray once again and rushed to the door with it. 
"If I'm going to dine downstairs, I must get
dressed, too.  And maybe procure a bit of
company for the evening."  With a wink, she was
gone.

She had done all she could do, Julia thought. 
When the attack came, she'd try to signal Eliza. 
If the woman didn't want to come with them, then
it was her choice.



End Chapter Twenty-five
 
Julia
Chapter Twenty-six

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers



Washington, D.C.
February 11, 2001
3:25 p.m.


She couldn't seem to stay away from the window. 
Just the prospect of breathing in fresh air was
tantalizing; she looked outside like a child who
was stuck inside with the measles.

"Hey."  Warm hands settled on her bare shoulders
and she jumped.  "It's just me.  Sorry."  His
murmur was apologetic.  "You didn't hear me come
in?"

Shaking her head no, she sagged against him.

"You're cold.  Come on, get away from the
window."  He guided her to the couch and moved
to get the fire going again.  He'd shed his suit
coat and, spying it on the arm of the couch, she
pulled it on.  Mulder gave her a grin at the
sight, but said nothing other than a casual,
"Did the laundry man come back with my shirts
today?"  After throwing a few logs onto the
fire, he stood and faced her, hands on hips,
serious in face and form.

<Yes.  Message is in the garment bag in my
room.>

<What does it say?>

<'White paneled truck, rear entrance.  Will wait
for you at service exit until 9:10.'> She quoted
the message back to him, word for word.

He passed an impatient hand over his jaw as if
ready to leave now.  "Good.  Sounds good.  Get
it for me."

She did as he asked, and he scanned it before
balling it up in his fist.

<Mulder, I saw Krycek today.> Now was as good a
time as any to tell him.

He stilled at her statement, his eyes narrowing.
<Krycek?  When did you see Krycek?>

Quickly, she told him of her trip downstairs, of
bumping into Krycek in the lobby.  Of wanting to
be prepared in the best way possible by doing a
bit of looking around. 

Anger flushed his face and he turned away,
mumbling, "Stupid.  Fucking stupid."  He walked
to the fire and fisted the paper in his hand,
throwing it into the roaring flames like a
missile.  She could tell he was about to explode
in a ball of overprotectiveness and it was time
for her to put a stop to it.  In three strides,
she was at his side, wrenching him around to
face her.

Similar fury rose up in her and she walked to
his side to grab his arm.

<Stop this.  I did what I had to do, what *you*
would have done.  Stop treating me like a
helpless female.>

His anger dimmed into a slow, worried hurt.
<What if you'd gotten into trouble?  We're so
damn close, Scully.  It was foolish to chance
it.>

<I can take care of myself, Mulder.  My putting
myself on the line never bothered you before.>

<This is different.>

<How?  This is just like a hundred other tight
spaces we've had to get out of, Mulder.>

He sighed, lowering his eyes for a moment.  As
he looked back up, she saw him work for words. 
"It's different because -" He paused, then
added, <Because this time, I think I would truly
die if I lost you again.>

All the fight went out of her at his admission. 
She enfolded him in an embrace, reaching up on
tiptoe to get as close as possible.  His arms
held her tight and he whispered, "All the other
times... I thought I could go on if - if you
weren't there.  Even the suicide attempt was to
get back at *him*, not because I'd lost you. 
This time, I don't think I could.  There would
be nothing left for me."

She didn't doubt him; he'd been through so much,
and while he knew better than to live his life
dependent on her existence, he'd reached a point
where the trauma had made him vulnerable.  Truly
unable to contemplate life without her... she
shivered at the thought of his death at his own
hand.

Pulling away, she cupped his damp cheeks with
her hands. <I'm here, Mulder.  I'm not going
anywhere.>

Smiling wanly, he murmured, "You promise?"

Her mind drifted back to their morning
conversation and her flight into panic.  His was
so similar, it was eerie.  But expected - the
fight of their lives loomed before them and they
wouldn't be human if they didn't experience
fear.  As he did for her this morning, she gave
him back what he needed.

<I promise.>

What they had, what no one could take away from
them, was their belief in one another.  Just
like his promise had settled her, she watched
hers bring him calm.  His hands loosed his grip
on her waist and his shoulders relaxed, his head
drooping.

"I'm such an idiot, aren't I?"

Cocking her head to one side, she pretended to
ponder the question before answering with a
grin, <Sometimes, yeah.  But no more than I am. 
We're made for each other, don't you think?>

"That we are," he laughed, then sobered just a
bit to point out, "Dinner is liable to be a
protracted affair.  We should try to get some
rest. "

She saw the possibility in his eyes; once they
were out of here, it was very likely they would
be sprinting for several days.  She'd told him
of the bunker in the West Virginia mountains,
which was their ultimate goal.  It was the only
safe place she could think of.  She just hoped
it hadn't been discovered by the government yet.

Of course, it would be impossible to sleep, much
like when she was a child, squirming in her bed
the night before a family vacation.  She gave
him an 'are you serious?' stare.

Which he ignored, as he pulled her with him to
the couch.  "Come on."


**********


4:45 p.m.


Despite Mulder's good intentions, neither of
them was able to relax enough to sleep.  She'd
made one attempt at a little diversion, which
he'd nipped in the bud, saying, <Next time I
make love to you, it won't be with an audience. 
And I'm beginning to look like a prune.>

She couldn't argue with that.  So they'd doused
the lights, settled onto the couch and watched
the snowfall by the light of the fire.  Mulder
half-sat, half-reclined at one end, Julia
resting against his chest.  It was warm and
wonderful, she thought, very little reason to
move except for the simple small talk by way of
their hands. 

<What's it like?  On the outside?>

Mulder's question gave her pause.  Memories of
life on the streets these past months were not a
time she wanted to re-live, but she knew he
needed some perspective before venturing out
from the relative safety within these walls.

The pain and uncertainty came back to her like a
fist in the chest.  It wasn't that she wanted to
spare Mulder the gruesome details; she knew he'd
seen things just as, if not more, horrible.  At
this point, she realized that keeping it short
and simple served to spare herself the regret of
not having done more to help.

With a sigh, she began.  <Hard.  Not very many
people left.  Those left work in the facilities,
or in support positions, providing food and
health care for the workers.  Even they won't be
needed eventually.> Everyone would go to the
ships one day; it was foolish to think
otherwise.

<And the Resistance?>

He already knew there was some connection
amongst those like Krycek, the Gunmen and others
like them, hidden underground.  What he wanted
to know was if there was any hope; she knew it
from the feel of his tense form behind her.

<If we can generate the vaccine, there would be
a chance for survival.>

"You," he pressed a hand to her stomach, "can do
it.  I know you can."  He kissed her cheek with
the promise; she could feel his easy smile drift
over her.

Even now, she felt the tug on her lips as she
realized just how easily he was falling back
into his old self.  Despite their dire
circumstances, his courageous, bright nature
thrived, just as it always had.  She'd thought
it gone forever when she'd first seen him again,
and had grieved for its loss, sure his psyche
was scarred beyond repair.

His torture, the suicide attempt, the role he
played in the demise of so many unfortunate
souls... in a lesser man, she could very well
understand total madness as a result.  But
Mulder had always been resilient, just as she
had.  Together they could do anything.  And they
*would* survive this.

Smiling, she replied, <Oh, yeah?>

"Yeah."  Once again, he brought his hands up.
<You're saving my ass again, aren't you?  What's
another few million to Dr. Dana Scully?>

She nodded derisively. <Right.  Except Julia
Longfellow hasn't been Dana Scully in quite some
time, Mulder.  She's a little rusty in her
research skills, you know.>

"Just like riding a bike."

<Easier said than done.>

"If at first you don't succeed...."

<Shut up, Mulder.>

He chuckled, switching back to sign language.
<Just making conversation.>

<Well, talk about something else.> Her attempt
to re-create the vaccine had always made her
feel like a failure, and failure was never an
option before these troubled times.  Just
thinking about how she could fail now, when she
was so close to getting Mulder out, was not
something she wanted to dwell on.

"Okay."  He must have felt the direction her
thoughts were taking, and he did as she asked,
quickly diverting his hands with a curious, <Why
Julia?>

<Why what?> She didn't understand the question.

<Why the name?>

She shrugged a bit. <No reason.  I've always
liked the name, I suppose.  I had to pick
something before I left the bunker, so I picked
Julia.>

<Nice.  At least you didn't pick Esmerelda.> She
joined in his shiver of revulsion before melting
back into his chest. <Or Vixen.  Well, that
would have been kind of cool, actually.>

Pinching his hand, she replied, <Yeah, like a
bad porn movie kind of cool.>

Mock hurt colored his voice.  "Now, did I say
that?"

<You didn't have to.> She lowered her chin,
struck by just how sordid her life was as Julia. 
Perfect fodder for a sleazy movie, much to her
shame.

"Hey."  Mulder turned her to him, lifting her
chin.  Regret at his unintentional implication
shone in his dark eyes, lit by the orange glow
of the fire.  "Stop."

<Okay,> she mouthed, sorry she'd put a damper on
the situation.  Matters were dire enough without
her gloomy mood swings.  Time to become happier
once again. <You always said you hated your name
- if you could pick one, what would it  be?>

Without missing a beat, he said, "Elvis."

<Elvis?> Her brow shot up. <You're kidding.>

"No.  I always thought Elvis was cool.  Great
voice, nice cars, lots of chicks hanging around. 
Gotta love the Memphis Mafia.  Even his name was
unique."  Was he serious?  Julia doubted it, but
she could see the familiar logic - Mulder style
- in his face.  Just as she could see tthe
mischief break free in his eyes.  "Of course,
the polyester jumpsuits left a lot to be
desired."

A small finger came up to poke him in the chest. 
<Be serious.>

"I am."  His lips pursed and he huffed, "Okay -
what would you choose?"

<For you?> At his nod, she waited a few moments,
pretending to give it due consideration.  He
rolled his eyes after a while and gave her a
little shake.  Served him right after teasing
her like that, she figured. <Michael.>

"Michael?  How bland."

<I like the name Michael.  He was the warrior
archangel, you know.>

"Someone paid attention in catechism, I see," he
muttered.  "Well, I hate it.  Every Tom, Dick
and Harry is named Michael."

At his oxymoron, she couldn't help but break
into what was, for her, gales of laughter. 
Mouth open, she gulped for air and tears came to
her eyes.

"That was ridiculous, wasn't it?"  He smiled and
brushed the moisture from her cheeks.  "Pick
something else and I'll try not to make a fool
of myself this time."

Her mind went blank; at his mention of religious
studies in Catholic school, all she could think
of was Sister Raphael's stern looks that could
silence a lunch room full of children... and
Sister Gabriel behind her back, summoning the
mean old nun away to Mother Superior's office
with a wink at the relieved kids.

<Gabriel.>

He sagged.  "*Again* with the Biblical."  His
hands came up. <I'm not the angel type, you
ought to know by now.>

<Now, did I say that?> She smiled at her use of
his words.

"Then what gives?"

<Gabriel means 'strength of God' - he sits at
God's left hand and delivers His messages.  He
even has a counterpoint in Islam, you know. 
'Jibril' - bringer of truth.  He revealed the
Koran to Mohammed.>

Mulder brightened at her explanation, saying in
a soft voice, "Bringer of truth?"

She nodded, holding his gaze with her own. <Just
like you,> she pointed out, touching his heart
with one slim hand.

He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a
firm kiss to her palm, his lashes lowered in an
effort to hide his emotions from her, she knew. 
After a moment, he looked up again, though his
eyes were still misty.  "Jibril, huh?  Sounds
like he could be the starting point guard for
the Knicks."

Her smile widened, then her lips came together
as she replied, <Unfair advantage, though.>

"How?"

She pulled her hand away from his and curled one
thumb around another.  Then, flapping her
fingers like wings, she raised one eyebrow.

Mulder's words took on a stadium announcer edge. 
"Jibril flies above Kareem and *slam* dunks for
his eighty-ninth basket of the night!  And it's
just the second quarter, ladies and gentlemen!"

Dropping her hands with a wry look, she said,
<You see my point, then.>

"That I could be Jibril?  Definitely," he
teased, pulling her closer and tucking her head
under his chin to whisper, "You always liked me
sweaty and in gym shorts... admit it, home
girl."

Julia lifted her head and brushed his cheek with
a kiss before settling back into the nest of his
arms.

"I knew it."

They both fell silent and Julia thought she may
be relaxed enough to doze when Mulder shifted
and said sleepily, "But I still like Elvis."


*********


7:45 p.m.


"God, Julia, you look amazing."

Mulder didn't look half bad himself, she
thought, catching his eye in the mirror.  His
suit was severe black, and the crisp white shirt
and red patterned tie completed the dapper look,
despite the bruise on his face.  But most of
all, he looked happy.  Even with the sure
dangers of the evening ahead, he was calm and
assured.  Ready to blow this joint, he'd told
her a few minutes ago with sign language.

Julia, on the other hand, was apprehensive to
the point where she was having trouble clasping
her earrings.  They'd finally napped on the
couch, but came close to oversleeping, waking up
when Mulder's watch had beeped the seven o'clock
hour.  He didn't seem to mind, but she'd always
been one for allowing plenty of preparation
time.  And this dinner was unarguably the most
important appointment they'd ever had.

As the eight o'clock hour approached, she became
more and more nervous.  It was a wonder she'd
put on her makeup as well as she had, she
thought.  Applying mascara with shaking hands
tended to make one look like a raccoon.

Mulder, on the other hand, was bouncing around
the apartment with a burst of energy.  The two-
hour nap had totally refreshed him, erasing any
cobwebs from his mind.  He walked around her
with an ecstatic smile; she could see the
prospect of freedom had overtaken any
trepidation about the danger they would face
tonight.  Krycek's presence and the laundry
man's note were encouraging, though she secretly
fretted about the time constraints.

 Will wait for you at service exit until 9:10. 

Which meant they only had ten minutes to get
from the dining room on the third floor to the
rear exit.  Mulder seemed to think it was no
problem; they'd probably be lost in the chaos of
Krycek's attack.  Keep low, use the stairs,
fight only if you had to.  That was the plan. 
He figured the Guardsmen would be too busy to
worry about them.

The disclosure of her conversation with Eliza,
however, had given him pause.  He didn't get
angry, just wary.  She assured him that the
woman knew nothing and she couldn't find it
within herself to let Eliza face certain death.

As he saw her insistent assurance on the matter,
he relented. <I trust you,> he'd signed, looking
upon her as he'd always had.  As Scully.

But was she still Scully?

Despite her outward pretense, seeing his
determination manifest itself as their goal
began to take shape in the near distance
frightened her.  They both knew this wasn't
going to be a cake walk out the front door.  And
the variables in the equation were many, each
one carrying the possibility of lifelong
imprisonment or worse - death.

What if she'd lost her edge?  Faked right
instead of left when faced with a gun?  Put
Mulder in danger because of her now rusty FBI
skills?

All this and more she could have said in the
hours since Mulder had arrived home.  But she
said nothing, unwilling to dwell on the what-
ifs.  They were both trained professionals and
for years, they'd survived numerous perils to
life and limb.  She didn't want to make Mulder
as nervous as she was, so she said nothing.  One
of them had to stay calm.

"Let me."  His voice startled her from reverie,
and she turned to look up into his face, trying
to keep panic from her eyes.

Mulder brushed his hand on her cheek, his
fingers reaching for the earring.  "It's going
to be okay, Julia," he whispered.

Damn, she thought.  He'd noticed; not that she
could ever keep her worry from him before.  But
just as it had gotten easier as Julia to keep
her emotions hidden, they'd all come rushing
back once she'd revealed herself to him.

Just as she'd never felt so helpless in her life
as when she'd first come to this place.

Once again, she questioned her ability to resume
a role she'd played for so many years.  The ease
with which she'd succumbed to the pampering in
this place was alarming.  Had she grown soft? 
Never before had the prospect of confrontation
with the enemy made her shake so.

She'd faced down armed killers, men and women
moments away from ending her life, or Mulder's. 
And the strength she'd learned at her father's
knee had never failed her.

Though sure of her identity as she'd slept in
Mulder's arms, now she wondered if the next test
of reinventing Dana Scully would prove to be her
downfall.  And if she faltered, then Mulder
would suffer as well.

She couldn't quite meet Mulder's gaze as he
pushed the earring through her lobe and fastened
it.  But she felt his eyes probe her very
soul... a soul that may not be her own.

"*You* can do this."  She saw him pick his words
carefully, tiptoeing over the fine line between
Scully and Julia.  His hands cupped her cheeks
with a light caress and she raised her eyes to
siphon the commitment from his.

<I'm not the same.> Moisture sprang to her eyes. 
Her mouth barely moved, but she saw him realize
her meaning, as his jaw tightened.

"You are," he insisted.  "I have no doubt in my
mind that you can do *anything.*" A slow smile
spread over his face.  "My father will be very
surprised by your particular brand of charm."

He told her earlier he'd received a call from
the Appointing Authority, congratulating him on
his happiness with his new concubine.  As
expected, he knew they planned to dine
downstairs tonight.  And while he wouldn't
intrude, he hinted that he would be there as
well.  Posturing with pride over his success,
she knew.

Pushing thoughts of the Appointing Authority
from her mind, an answering smile broke free at
Mulder's confidence in her.  His hands fell to
her shoulders as she took a deep breath.  The
time for second-guessing herself was past.

<My *particular* brand of charm?  I don't think
they taught me manners at Quantico, Mulder.> She
winked, knowing full well what he'd been
referring to in order to keep up the ruse, but
unable to resist the joke.

"Precisely."  His short laugh was relieved. 
"Just remember what you *were* taught, okay? 
And we'll be fine."

With a kiss to his cheek, she agreed.

Mulder replied in kind, lingering just a moment
over her lips before murmuring, "Ready?"

She nodded, moving past him to retrieve her
jacket from the bed.  He was right behind her
and, after she shrugged into it, she turned to
face him.

<How do I look?>

"Beautiful.  But I think I told you that
already, didn't I?"

She raised her head to catch his warm, easy
smile.   She smiled as well, though it suddenly
dawned on her that they were forgetting one
important item.

<Skinner's manifest.> Mulder had taken it from
her, promising to memorize, then destroy it.

"All up here now," he said, pointing to his
head. "Don't worry."

Okay, she thought, looking around the room for
the last time.  There was nothing here she
wanted to take with her, just as she was sure
Mulder wouldn't miss any of these luxurious
trappings either.

But one thing she still wished she had... a pair
of shoes.  Her feet were going to get really
cold in a matter of hours.  And she told Mulder
so, raising the hem of her dress to look down at
her feet.  When she looked back up, intending to
tell him that they *had* to at least steal a
pair of boots before they departed, he was gone.

She walked into the living room and grimaced at
the steady snowfall shimmering in the darkness
beyond the window.  It was beautiful, but
deadly.  A chill ran through her body as her
bones remembered the cold of Antarctica.  But
she survived then, and she would now.

It was time to brave the storm, in more ways
than one.  Turning, she frowned at Mulder's
absence.  Faint thumping sounds drifted from his
bedroom.  As she approached his door, she was
brought up short by his tall form.

"I think this will do," he said, pulling a pair
of heavy gym socks from each of his pants
pockets.  "Improvisation is my forte, you know."

And well she did, remembering the moment she
came to full awareness on the ice.  Mulder laid
beside her, shivering in unconsciousness.  And
though she was cold, it was nothing like when
she'd first seen his face.  A thin blanket of
warmth surrounded her, and she knew he'd seen to
her comfort.  From the neck down, she was
covered in his outerwear.  She'd gaped at the
socks on her feet, knowing they'd do little
good, but amazed that he'd taken the time to
strip them off and put them on her.

<I know,> she agreed with a wink, grateful that
he was trying to protect her, though it would
once again be useless after several minutes in
the cold.  However, this time they'd have
immediate transport, so she didn't press the
issue, just gestured for him to hide the socks
back in his pockets.

"Are you trying to insinuate something, Julia?"
he drawled, stuffing the socks into his pants. 
He patted the bulges down, flattening them.

When he looked back up, she was ready.  Moving
closer, she brushed a light hand over the front
of his pants before backing away.

<Believe me, Mulder... that's one area in which
improvisation is totally unnecessary.>

For once, she seemed to have him at a loss for
words, his face bright with color.  But as he
opened his mouth to reply, the lights dimmed,
giving them both pause.  They came back up in a
few seconds, and Julia released her pent-up
breath.

"Must be getting bad outside," Mulder said.

No, she thought.  This was different.  She
couldn't explain the feeling, but she knew the
weather had nothing to do with the power surge.

<Mulder.> She raised wary eyes to him.

"What?"  He moved closer, reacting to the worry
she could feel on her face, his eyes skimming
her features.

The lights muted again and she jumped, nervous
energy dancing through her like the flickering
glow of the lights.  This time, they stayed low
a few seconds longer before coming back up.

The hum was barely imperceptible, but it was
there.

<Do you hear that?>

"Yeah."

Her body felt as though the electricity was
shooting through her.  Hands that trembled began
to move, and she cursed their slowness, her
words disjointed in her rush. <Electrical -
disable - Mulder! The chip disrupting - can't
you see?  Starting - it's starting - >

"Whoa, slow down, Julia," he murmured, grabbing
her hands.  "I know."  Leaning in closer, he
murmured, "I'd say it's a good sign.  Except for
one thing."

What?  She was impatient to speak, but he held
fast, giving her hands a slight shake.  His eyes
bored into hers and his voice became whisper
thin.

"If we can feel it, they can, too."

She swallowed down her excitement.  Mulder was
right; if anything was amiss as far as security
was concerned, they would seal this place up
tighter than a drum.

"Let's get to the dining room."

He didn't have to tell her twice.


**********


8:10 p.m.


They walked into the restaurant amidst a flurry
of activity.  Guardsmen were streaming all over
the third floor, weapons ready.  The elevator
hadn't given up the ghost yet, though for some
reason, it had to stop at every floor; she
supposed the electrical problems were playing
havoc with its smooth operation.  Mulder had
become impatient and tried to get off at one of
the lower floors to use the stairs, but his
guards had quickly vetoed the idea.  Julia
thanked their lucky stars they'd made it this
far without being ordered to return to the
apartment.

It was a packed room; men and women in evening
dress murmured to one another as the lights
continued to flicker.  Some were already
deserting the room in fear.  Julia held on to
Mulder's hand as they were escorted to their
table.

As they were seated, she looked about the room
for his father, though the lighting was too
haphazard to make out anything more than a few
concerned faces.  She half-listened as Mulder
ordered wine, then told the waiter they wanted
their steaks well done.  That penetrated her
concentration and she turned to him, raising a
brow.

"It may take a while longer than usual, but we
don't want half-cooked meat, now do we?"  The
soft explanation was delivered with a pointed
glance; it was obvious he wanted to stall as
long as possible.

She nodded in agreement and fiddled with her
napkin.  Mulder reached under the table for her
hand and squeezed it tight.  "Stay calm," he
murmured.  "Everything is going okay.  You're
doing fine."

Turning worried eyes to his, she gripped his
hand, siphoning the strength in his clasp and
the determination in his gaze.  Silently they
sat, Julia calming under his slow, easy smile. 
The voices around them became louder and more
fretful, but they ignored them, taking comfort
in the fact that the end was near.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your
attention, please?"

Mulder's face tightened at the interruption, and
his gaze broke away from hers to look somewhere
past her shoulder.  She hadn't really been
paying attention to the announcement; as she
turned to follow the path of Mulder's narrowed
eyes, her heart sped up at the sight of the
voice's owner, standing some three or four
tables away.

Cancerman.  The Appointing Authority, as he was
better known these days.  She shivered when he
seemed to look right at them before he spoke
again.

"Please don't worry," he said with a smile. 
"The power surges are nothing more than weather-
related anomalies.  Stay - enjoy your dinner." 
The Guardsman at his left leaned in to say
something in his ear, and he paused for a moment
to light a cigarette before sitting back down to
reach for his glass of wine.  He lifted it and
the corners of his mouth curled into a smile as
he toasted the two of them.

Julia couldn't stand to look at him any longer. 
She faced Mulder again and pinched the hand that
held hers, diverting his attention away from the
old man.

Mulder's lips pursed in a final act of defiance
before he looked back at her.  "I'm okay."

The waiter appeared with their wine and Julia
was thankful for the diversion, though Mulder
let go of her hand and leaned back.  He scanned
the room as well and took a sip of the wine,
urging her with his eyes to do the same. 
Normal, they needed to act normal, he told her
silently.

As Julia raised her glass, she saw Eliza enter
the restaurant.  She nodded at the woman,
pleased at seeing her just a few tables away. 
Eliza gave her a small smile, as if to say, I
told you everything would be all right.

What startled her was the young, handsome man at
Eliza's side.  He was many years her junior, his
skin smooth and his eyes downcast, though he
managed an air of subtle self-importance.  As
Eliza paused to wait for her escort to seat her,
she winked at Julia, gesturing with her eyes at
the floor.

He was a concubine, she realized.  Dressed in an
impeccable suit that hugged his lithe frame, he
exuded sensuality.  He could have been a model
parading through the restaurant, showing off the
latest in men's fashion.  Save for his bare
feet.

The woman had obviously gotten back into the
Administration's good graces if they graced her
with an escort.  Julia chastised herself for
assuming that concubines were only women;
history had proven that both sexes could be
sexual slaves.  Fear instilled into a human
being went a long way toward cooperation, no
matter what gender.

The minutes passed with agonizing slowness. 
Their dinner was delayed, with profuse apologies
from the waiter explaining that the electrical
problems were wreaking havoc with the kitchen. 
Mulder seemed to have no qualms about eating,
digging into his steak with relish.  Julia
thought it tasted like sawdust and picked around
her plate, knowing she should try to eat, but
unable to get the heavy food down her fear-
constricted throat.  She kept asking Mulder the
time; he finally told her he'd ask for dessert
at t-minus ten minutes.

"Then it's liftoff," he grinned.

The lights no longer flickered; they'd stopped
the annoying flash minutes ago.  Now, they
seemed to burn brighter than usual, in a
surreal, garish way that almost hurt the eyes. 
The hum, though, seemed to reverberate around
the room.  There was no way it could be missed,
Julia thought.  Couples had departed one after
the other, finally giving into their fear.  She
looked around; it seemed all the players were in
place.  She and Mulder, Cancerman and his
guards, and Eliza and her escort.  The poor
woman looked too frightened to move.

At last, Mulder set his napkin on the table and
looked at his watch.  He gave her a small smile
and signaled the waiter.  Relief flooded her and
she smiled in return, touching her napkin to the
corner of her mouth.  Mulder's smile faded, his
cheeks hardening.

She smelled him before she heard him, the
insidious swirl of smoke wafting over her head.

"Fox, Julia," he purred.  "Enjoying your night
out?"

She reached again for Mulder's hand under the
table.  Mulder, to his credit, lost all
animosity from his face as he replied, "So far. 
Though we'd rather be alone, if you don't mind?" 
A bland request, delivered with just the right
amount of desire for Julia's presence alone -
like he was jealous of sharing her company.

"Of course."

The waiter stepped forward, interrupting their
exchange.  "Yes, sir?"

"Dessert, please," Mulder requested over the hum
that was louder now.

"And coffee," his father corrected the waiter,
who nodded quickly and disappeared. "Do you mind
if I join you?"

"Yes," Mulder said, a defiant tone in his voice. 
"We're enjoying the night out, aren't we,
Julia?"  He looked at her; she nodded in
support.

But his father would not be denied, sitting in
the chair opposite the two of them.  "I won't be
long.  I haven't had a chance to congratulate
you, Fox."

"For what?"  Mulder looked away, his jaw
clenching over his anger.

"For bringing her to me."

Julia's heart skipped a beat and she couldn't
catch her breath.  Under the table, Mulder's
fingers twitched around hers reflexively, but
his voice was calm as he asked, "Her?  You're
speaking of Julia?  Be serious."

"I'm not speaking of Julia, Fox.  I'm talking
about Dana Scully."


End Chapter Twenty-six

Julia
Chapter Twenty-seven

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


Washington, D.C.
February 11, 2001
8:50 p.m.


Julia felt the blood drain from her face. 
However, she remained composed, pulling her hand
from Mulder's reluctant grip to sign, <I don't
understand.>

"And they say I'm crazy," Mulder muttered beside
her.  "Too much nicotine must dull the brain."

She was thankful that Mulder's dry wit hadn't
vanished in the face of this latest test. 
Sparing him a glance, she saw he had paled a bit
too, but was definitely still in control, a
typical smirk firmly in place.

"Nicotine hasn't made me stupid, Fox," Cancerman
replied, leaning back as the waiter approached
with coffee and cake, snuffing out his
cigarette.  "Though it certainly has proven to
be useful in other ways."

If he was hoping to capture her interest with
that cryptic statement, he certainly did.  She
had to stifle the urge to pounce on it, instead
forcing herself to remain unmoved as he watched
her for any sign of interest.

"Come now, Dana," he purred, then, at the sight
of her feigned confusion, amended, "Excuse me -
*Julia.* You've quite immersed yourself in this
role, haven't you?"  The last was said with
pointed insinuation.  "I imagine it must be
difficult for you to bow to the whim of a man,
even if it is your former partner.  Then again,
sex is a great motivator, is it not?"

Aghast, she lowered her eyes and picked at her
napkin.  How much longer would she have to
endure this?  The ruse was so familiar, yet so
foreign to her.  It was true, every word. 
Despite the re-emergence of her innate self, she
was still a whore.

"That's enough," Mulder said, interrupting the
old man's baiting.  "Say what you want about me,
but leave Julia alone."

"I apologize," Cancerman answered.  "There is no
excuse for bad manners... we can be civilized,
even with the world in ruins, am I right? 
Please, have some dessert."

Julia looked up to see him motion to the waiter,
then return his hollow gaze to the two of them. 
She felt like a bug under a microscope as the
old man watched her, the waiter hovering between
them to slice the pound cake with shaky fingers.

"Say something, Julia," he said softly.  "You
must be dying to ask questions of me.  And lucky
for you, I'm in the mood to answer them.  You're
going to be my guest for an indefinite period,
my dear, just like Fox.  Wouldn't you like to at
least have something to show for all your
effort?"  He flashed yellowed teeth at her
before he sipped at his coffee.

She felt Mulder's hand grip her knee, telling
her with the clench of his fingers not to give
in, not to give the old man the satisfaction. 
But a little voice inside told her to pursue
this; they would be out of here within the hour. 
And she'd be lying to herself if she didn't
admit to a mountain of curiosity about the
events of the past nine months.  With a brush of
her hand over Mulder's, she turned to look up at
his concerned face.  Don't do it, he pleaded
with his eyes.

But she had to, didn't he see that? she answered
with a crease of her brow.  All these months
searching for Mulder, searching for a way to
counteract the wretched death the bees spread...
searching for hope amidst the chaos; she had to
know.

Mulder's face became firm and he nodded,
capitulating to her silent plea.  Do what you do
best, he told her with his half-smile.

Encouraged by his faith in her, she turned back
to Cancerman, bringing her hands up to sign,
<Why the mutations?  You never meant for
colonization to succeed, did you?>

Their host smiled, a glib grin that made her
angry.  Yes, he'd gotten what he wanted; but her
ramrod straight back and frosty expression told
him that the game was just beginning.

Sidestepping the obvious, 'I knew it,' the old
man took his time lighting a cigarette.  After a
protracted drag on the stick, he said, "Why
would I want colonization to succeed?  Power -
*real* power - is the ultimate goal.  Not to be
the pawn of another, whether human or alien.  I
saw an opportunity and I took it."

<But infection is still ongoing.>

"Yes, but on *my* timetable.  When the time is
right, the alien threat will be eliminated from
the equation.  The people remaining will
naturally look to me as savior."

The alien threat will be eliminated?  Julia
pondered the phrase, lifting curious eyes to
Mulder.  He had the same look she felt on her
face; confused but curious.  Cancerman had a
plan.  He'd always been several moves ahead of
his opponents in the constant chess match of the
conspiracy.  If they could just figure out where
he was going with his broad scheme....

"Trust me, I know what I'm doing," he said,
getting their attention once again.  "If you
play your cards right, you could both savor the
victory with me."

"No, thanks," Mulder replied quickly, echoing
her thoughts.  "The accommodations, while
luxurious, leave a lot to be desired.  There's
something to be said for the freedom to walk out
the doors of this place."

Cancerman sighed, puffing away on the ever-
present cigarette.  "If you had the freedom to
live outside these walls, Fox, you'd find the
world a much more unforgiving place.  Am I
right, Julia?"

The memory of the stark, barren streets was
still fresh in her mind, as were the countless
faces of the starving and homeless.  Lowering
her chin, she found she could not form a
suitable reply.  In that respect, Cancerman was
right.  Once they got out of here, life would be
hard.  There was no doubt in her mind that they
couldn't just wander around; they would still be
hunted until the Resistance prevailed.  And life
underground was harsh, that much was certain. 
Constant threat of discovery meant living on the
edge night and day.

"She knows, Fox.  Knows that this is the place
for you both.  Why do you think she came here?"

At that, she raised her head.  He was twisting
everything... making her into someone outwardly
beautiful but empty and self-serving... as Julia
should be. <I didn't come here to be safe,> her
hands punched into the air.

"Then why did you come here?  To save him?  I
don't think so.  You knew once here, there was
no escape."  He lowered his voice.  "I think you
came here for a very different reason, Julia."

Dear God, she thought.  Did he also know of the
attack?  He couldn't have; suspecting she was
Scully made sense, but she'd done nothing to
give away the plan.  Nothing.  Yes, he knew the
electrical problems were unusual, but he could
only guess as to the source and reason.

"You obviously had help... the new look is
interesting, by the way.  Very good work."

She cringed at the pleased sweep of his eyes
over her face. <If you think I'm going to sing
like a bird, you're mistaken.>

"Sing?  My dear Julia, you can't even speak,
much less sing."

Mulder jumped in, his growing anger radiating
from his tense body.  Julia could feel the heat
through the layers of clothing, his and hers. 
"Shut up, do you hear me?  Shut the hell up."

But his father kept on, poking at the both of
them with venomous glee.  "I expect you had help
from the Underground and I *will* find out all I
need to know, in due time."  His eyes spoke of
the certain torture she would have to endure...
if she was unfortunate enough to remain.

Little did he know that she was going to be free
in a short while.  Whether outside these walls
alive, or within these walls, dead... she was
going to be free.  They would either make it out
alive, or die trying.

"But that doesn't concern me at the moment,"
Spender continued.  "You've been here for over a
month now, correct?  I suspect this electrical
surge is an attempt by the Underground to
disable our security systems, to break into our
computers.  They won't get in, Julia.  They've
tried for months now and we've stonewalled them
at every turn.  Believe me, it's useless."

She and Mulder remained quiet, but not so his
father.  He seemed to be taking great pleasure
in this farce and was playing it to the hilt.

"What used to puzzle me was why you braved this
fortress... to save your partner?  Impossible. 
But you knew that already.  The Underground
didn't need you here, but you volunteered, am I
right?"  Spirals of smoke blew through his lips
as his gaze narrowed on her face.  "I think you
came here to kill Fox."

For several tense moments, silence reigned as
plates heavy with cake and chocolate sauce were
placed before them.  Julia felt a fine sheen of
sweat break out all over her, but tried to keep
her cool.  They could still talk their way out
of this; he was toying with them, bluffing.

<I would never hurt Mulder.>  As she faced down
their adversary, her courage went up a notch. 
Cool composure made her feel normal... made her
feel like Scully.

"So you say now, that you've had a chance to
speak to him.  But I think when you first came
here, you believed him to be a traitor, didn't
you?"

It was no use lying about this. <Yes.>

"And your plan was to assassinate him, am I
right?  He betrayed your ideals.  Betrayed *you*
- how could you not hate him?"

<No.>  Though that's just what the plan had been
- what she'd assured Krycek she could ddo if
necessary, if Mulder got in the way of the
attack.  But she'd known all along she'd never
be able to carry it out.  She felt the red blush
of guilt creep up her face.

He picked up his napkin and laid it over his
lap, then began to eat, slicing his cake with
slow deliberation.  "If you say so, my dear...
but don't insult my intelligence.  I think you
appointed yourself judge, jury and executioner. 
The opportunity arose and you took it." He took
a bite of the cake. "Mmm... delicious.  Try it,
Fox."

Julia could feel just how off-balance Mulder was
by this development.  More so than she was, she
suspected.  Though he knew of her discussion
with Krycek about the possibility of having to
... God, she couldn't even think it... he knew
that she would never have gone through with it,
no matter what kind of person he'd become.  She
would have followed the plan, then died with him
here.  In sorrow, yes - but no way would she
have joined these people, even if *he* had.

Her hand took his under the table.  He grasped
it like a lifeline and said, "No thank you... I
seem to have lost my appetite.  For the food
*and* your ridiculous accusations."

As he pushed away from the table, he was halted
by his father's words.  "I wonder if Julia would
make it in one of the holding facilities... you
remember the accommodations, don't you Fox?"

His statement worked as expected, as Mulder
stilled, his hand crushing hers.  He looked at
Julia with anguished eyes, directing his
rebuttal to Cancerman.  "You wouldn't dare."

"I believe you know me better than that, my
boy," came the soft, ominous reply.  "Now, let's
stop this charade once and for all.  It's a
waste of my time and yours."

Julia tugged on Mulder's hand and he responded
by resuming his seat, actually loosening just a
bit.  Easing his stance before the face that
watched their every move from across the table;
not to her.  She knew better - Mulder was trying
a different tactic in an effort to kill time. 
He knew, just as she did, that her discovery
wasn't the real issue... as long as the plan
remained secret.

"So," Mulder began, shoving the plate of cake
away, "what tipped you off, if I may ask?"

"DNA never lies."

Of course, she thought.  They tested her without
her knowledge, pulling a strand of hair or
scraping her skin while she was under anesthesia
that first day.  It was something she'd
overlooked, not realizing Cancerman would be
that curious.

"I had my suspicions from the beginning - and I
wasn't sure until I got the test results this
morning - things are so much slower these days,
you know."  He shook his head with mock
disappointment.  "But I was already convinced,
really.  What sealed it for me was the fact that
you accepted her, Fox.  She seemed to suddenly
make you very happy.  Pleased me to no end."

"Like you really care one way or the other,"
Mulder grumbled, irritation making him look
away.  Julia knew he was scoping out the room;
time was rapidly slipping by.

Hold on.  They needed to hold on, she prayed.

"You're right, my boy.  I *don't* really care."

It was Julia's turn to answer that statement,
fury staining her cheeks. <Then why bother?  You
could have left Mulder in the holding facility. 
Why such elaborate lengths to please him?>

Cancerman sipped at his coffee.  Julia wanted to
scream at him to stop torturing them and just
spit it out, whatever it was.  He was taking
great pleasure in making them wait, finishing
his cup and signaling for another to be poured
before he answered, "I'm dying.  But you both
knew this, am I correct?"

Neither gave him the satisfaction.  Why bother?
Julia thought.  He knows what we know.  But
she'd seen him in the company of a shapeshifter
- a bringer of good health simply by thhe touch
of his hand.

<The bounty hunter,> she signed, knowing he knew
what she was asking.

"We had an agreement - my help with colonization
in exchange for curing me.  He came for me after
he took Fox; healed me as best he could.  But
what is in me - what I took from Fox so long ago
- it lives within me now.  My colleaguee cannot
cure me of its effects."  He paused to light a
cigarette and shoved his plate away.  "The most
I can hope for is that the DNA I salvage from
you, Fox, can prolong my life."

She scoffed at the old man, her eyes flashing
and her hands moving with stiff purpose. <His
blood?  To keep you alive?  You could have left
him imprisoned and still gotten what you
wanted.>

He reached for his cup of coffee.  "You
misunderstand, Julia.  The only thing I wanted
that Fox could give me was not his blood...
though it's helped immensely.  It was *you.*"

"What?"  Mulder's soft question echoed the one
in her mind.  She felt him stiffen beside her.

"You, dear Julia... pure of heart, pure of
mind... pure in blood and flesh and genetic
material just waiting to be passed on.  To one
who will not be tainted by direct exposure to
the black oil... but will be immune."

The old man couldn't be implying what she
thought he was, could he?  It was impossible;
she'd known that for many years now.

"I had samples from Fox, of course.  Taken while
he was aboard the spacecraft.  Mixed in a petri
dish with the finest raw material available. 
Ova from you yourself, my dear - just for
science's sake, you understand."  He sighed. 
"Alas, the resulting fetuses were failures,
their DNA incompatible with mine."

"You son-of-a-bitch."  Mulder's choked curse
echoed the pain in her heart.  Their children. 
Sacrificed so this man could live.  Julia felt
nausea roll in her throat.  He *was* speaking of
that which she'd thought impossible... speaking
of killing his own flesh and blood so he could
live.

"Then my doctors realized what was missing -
your ova was taken from you before your exposure
to the black oil.  The missing ingredient, so to
speak.  And by then, the only black oil
available to me had been mutated."  He smiled
ruefully.  "Shot myself in the foot with that
one, you could say.  But you - *you* had been
exposed long ago.  You and Marita were the only
two I knew of that still lived.  And Marita, I'm
sorry to say, was lost to me before I realized
her value.  Shot myself in the *other* foot with
that one."

A smile accompanied his next words as he noticed
her surprise.  "But you, my dear Julia - you
will graciously donate what I need."

Mulder spoke up, saying what they both were
thinking.  "She can't have children."

Cancerman exhaled, the smoke clouding his face. 
"She can now."

Julia gripped the edge of the table.  Had they
done something to her in the Infirmary when
she'd first arrived?  Laura had told her they
were sterilizing her; pregnancy was the last
thing anyone wanted in this place.  But
Cancerman just said he was sure it was her when
Mulder accepted her into his bed.  So why was he
sure of her fertility?  And he *was* sure, she
could tell from the gleam in his eye.

"The chip, my dear," he drawled, "surely you
know that I can manipulate it in any fashion? 
You've seen what it can do.  I do believe it
even has the capability to generate tissue. 
Ova, to be precise."

Julia felt a tiny bit of relief surge through
her.  The chip he was speaking of was long gone,
replaced by the one Krycek assured her could not
be used against her.  And Cancerman didn't know
that - he was assuming the chip in her neck was
the same one he'd given Mulder years ago to cure
her cancer.

Mulder knew this too, his eyes capturing hers
with shadowy relief as well.  They both knew she
was safe from his father's plans.

"Ask Fox - I threatened to call you here with
it.  But at the time, you were more valuable to
me as blackmail material.  And I suspected you
were in a position to know about the women I
threw at Fox.  It was only a matter of time
before you'd come to him - and to me."

<I may not be pregnant,> she countered. <And you
can't force me to become so.> She knew damn well
she wasn't pregnant, and would never be.  But
the ruse had to be maintained, which meant some
resistance was expected.

"And I believe my cooperation would be required
as well," Mulder said softly.  "Something you'll
never have."  Under the table, their fingers
interlocked, sure in the execution of the plan.

Cancerman killed his cigarette, only to light
another, the coffee forgotten.  "Oh come now...
you want it.  Admit it."  He smiled, a sinister
thing that grated on her nerves.  "Michael?  Or
Gabriel?  How sweet.  Picking out baby names
already."

Julia felt as if she *would* vomit, right here
on this pristine white tablecloth.  The bastard
had listened to them this afternoon.  She'd
known they listened, but to have it thrown in
her face with such snide pleasure was the last
straw.

Her free hand rose up and she slapped him.

The Guardsmen started forward immediately, but
Cancerman waved them away, working his jaw. 
"Quite a feisty thing, aren't you?"  His voice
became steely and his eyes hardened to pieces of
beady granite.  "You will *both* do what I say -
or suffer the consequences."

Suddenly, the lights flickered in the
restaurant, then went out totally.  Murmurs of
slow panic arose in the darkness until the
emergency lighting kicked in at the exits.

"Oh, I'm so scared," Mulder drawled, pushing
away from the table to stand.  He pulled Julia
up with him, sarcasm dripping from his voice,
"Nice dinner, sir.  Though the company left much
to be desired.  If you'll excuse us...."

"You can't stop me, Fox."  The statement made
them pause in the act of turning.  "Resign
yourselves to that fact... it will make your
lives much easier."

Julia held onto his hand as they walked away,
then looked up as Mulder was stopped by a
Guardsman.  The soldier was joined by another
and together, they blocked any exit.

So close... they'd been so close.  Julia
squeezed Mulder's hand and he dropped his chin
to look at her, a small smile lighting his eyes. 

She was puzzled for a moment by his complacency,
then it dawned on her - he wasn't planning on
submitting.  The glow in his eyes moved over her
face as if touching her with his lips... in a
sad goodbye.

No.  Don't do this.  We can think of something
else.

All this and more bled from her face in the span
of a second.  But it was too late.  As if in
slow motion, she watched Mulder grab at the
pistol in the Guardsman's holster.  Julia felt
frozen in place, unable to react.  Her hand was
shoved away and she stumbled back, just as
Mulder turned and fired.



End Chapter Twenty-seven

Julia
Chapter Twenty-eight

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


Washington, D.C.
February 11, 2001
9:02 p.m.


For a brief moment, the air was still.  A thin
white line bled from the stolen pistol to mix
with the cigarette smoke, weaving seamlessly
before Julia's eyes.  It was as if all movement
had slowed to a shadowy, stunned portrait of
disbelief.  Faces frozen in masks of incredulity
hovered by tables still laden with delicacies.

Mulder slowly lowered his arm and Julia chanced
a look at him.  Mild surprise at his swift and
deadly retribution for the numerous wrongs done
to them over the years had made him pale, his
eyes bright with the fever of revenge.  For a
brief moment, exhilaration surged through her,
foreign but pleasing.  As a former officer of
the law, a small part of her knew revenge wasn't
acceptable.  But then again, their law had been
superseded by his long ago.  It was fitting.

Her satisfaction, however, was short-lived. 
Replaced by the realization that Mulder's action
would not go unpunished.  Grabbing his arm, she
gave a purposeful tug, bringing him quickly back
to himself.

With not a moment to spare, as Guardsmen
approached from all sides.  This was it; they
weren't going to make it out alive.  Even if
Krycek chose the next moment to burst in with
soldiers of his own, she and Mulder would
already be in the grasp of Cancerman's Army. 
They couldn't let that happen.  She certainly
did not want to spend another minute in this
prison.

Mulder gave her a rueful grin, his eyes trained
upon her face in apology.  She nodded her
understanding, her face softening into a small
smile of her own.  At least they would die
together.  Despite her trepidation of moments
ago, his action was really the only thing left
undone.  With sad, yet agreeing eyes, she told
him she would have done the same, given the
chance.

The first Guardsmen came near, stopping before
them with weapon raised.  "Drop it!"  Others
followed, circling them with murderous intent,
while still others rushed to the aid of their
leader.

Between the uniforms, Julia could see the swarm
around Cancerman.  He was lowered to the floor
and several soldiers knelt beside him, valiantly
staunching the flow of blood from his chest with
napkins, table linens, anything they could get
their hands on.  A few feet away, she met
Eliza's eyes over the scene; the woman stood
shaking, hand over mouth with horror.

As if sensing Julia's gaze, she raised her chin. 
Her eyes hardened as they flashed at Julia,
condemning her with sudden, swift hatred.  And
not a little fear; she knew that with Julia's
betrayal, so departed her easy lifestyle in the
good graces of the Administration.

Julia looked away, a tinge of regret making her
chest tight.  The woman, while a sometime
friend, had always put herself before anyone
else.  It had been foolish to think she would
understand their need to be free of this place. 
From the corner of her eye, she saw Eliza move
to join the throng around the Appointing
Authority.  Putting herself firmly in his camp
at a last gasp at survival in this world.

"Drop your weapon!  Down on the floor!  Hands
above your heads!"  The commands hit them like
bullets.

Would the Guardsmen really kill them?  From what
Cancerman had said, he needed them alive. 
Mulder's eyes said it all; he knew they would
probably both be wounded, but left to serve,
despite the mortal wound his father had
suffered.  The Guardsmen had been told one thing
and one thing only - detain them, don't kill
them.  That she and Mulder were probably no
longer needed by his father hadn't yet occurred
to them.

This is our last chance to escape, Mulder
silently communicated.  With a nod, she told him
she was ready.  They kneeled as the Guardsmen
closed in.  His lips curled up and sadness
creased his brow;  with his free hand, he
reached for her chin.

"Don't move!"

The hammers of the guns clicked in unison, but
Julia paid them no mind.  Mulder leaned in, his
eyes fluttering shut; she accepted the touch of
his lips on hers with a hitching breath, knowing
this kiss would be the last.  Between them, she
felt the cold, hard press of the gun.  He'd made
the decision for them both; her hands grasped
his waist to pull him closer.

A scream interrupted the moment; had it come
from her?  No, she was no coward.  She kept her
eyes closed, trembling in Mulder's embrace.

The next scream wasn't feminine; it was a
hoarse, masculine cry of pain.  Then another
pierced the air, and yet another.  She was
afraid to look, sure she was already hearing the
moans of hell's minions.

"Scully?"

At his soft query, she opened her eyes to see
Mulder, his mouth open with fascination, his
eyes darting about the room.  "Look," he
breathed.

Guardsmen dotted the floor, writhing in pain. 
They squirmed, clutching at their wrists, their
guns abandoned beside them.  The hum was almost
deafening now, seeming to come from the walls,
vibrating through her knees from the floor.

Arcs of electricity shot up the soldiers' arms
from the wristbands they each wore, paralyzing
them with one shock after another.  Something
was happening and she wasn't sure what it was,
but it was devastating.  It also presented them
with a chance at escape.

Mulder stood with her, obviously drawing the
same conclusion.  One scream rose above the
others, and Julia realized it was Eliza,
standing alone beside the dying Appointing
Authority, twisting her hands with panic. 
Meeting her frantic gaze, Julia tilted her head,
giving the woman one last chance at freedom. 
But Eliza was too far gone into insanity, her
wild eyes unable to focus.

"Come on," Mulder said, pulling her to the door. 

They stumbled over the Guardsmen, careful not to
touch them.  The open door beckoned; beyond that
point, Julia could see more soldiers
incapacitated in the hallway.  Service workers
ran about, some stopping in stunned silence,
others heading for the stairwell.

"You BITCH!"

The gunshot rang out, a millisecond before a
stabbing pain pierced her back.  Swift numbness
followed in the next instant, and her legs
buckled as her hand slipped from Mulder's. His
"Scully?" was the last thing she heard before
succumbing to darkness.


**********


9:10 p.m.


"He's not gonna leave us, he's not gonna leave."

The muttered litany drifted to her ears as she
struggled to regain consciousness.  Her whole
body felt weird;  she sucked in air, trying like
hell just to breathe.

"Scully?"

The jarring beneath her head stopped momentarily
and she let her eyelids lift.  Mulder's
concerned face swam before her; was he holding
her?  Why couldn't she feel anything?

Blinking, she tried to clear her head of panic,
but to no avail.  The walls of the stairwell
seemed to be alive, breathing for her. 
Pinpoints of light broke through the grayish
plaster... she wondered if heaven was reaching
out for her, then decided it was.

"You've been shot, Scully," Mulder said.  His
voice sounded like he'd swallowed a mouthful of
gravel.  "Just hold still - we're getting out of
here."

Arms - nothing.  Legs - nothing.  She could feel
the tense ripple of Mulder's arm beneath her
neck and the beginnings of a sticky warmth
between her shoulder blades.  But other than
that... the pieces of the puzzle fell together
to form a dire picture.

She was paralyzed, just like the Guardsmen, but
for much more mundane reasons.  Her logic spoke
to her in a calm voice; the bullet, shot by an
overwrought Eliza, must have severed her spinal
cord.  Definitely somewhere high up on her
torso; the breathing difficulty was a sure sign
of that.  In moments, her autonomous nervous
system would simply give up the ghost.

But Mulder, taking the steps of the stairwell
down two at a time, shoving his way through the
scared masses of people, didn't know that, she
thought.  He was carrying her with a strength
borne of adrenaline, trying to get her out
still.

Hot, sad tears blurred her vision.  It was no
use.  God, please, she prayed.  Let me speak
just once so I can tell him to leave me behind.

Instead, she screamed the words in her head. 
Leave me, Mulder.  Save yourself.  Go meet the
truck before it leaves.

"He won't leave us, Scully," Mulder panted.  "He
won't."

Yes, he would, she thought.  He had no reason to
brave the cacophony that she was sure was
streaming from the building.  With what she
figured was the influx of Krycek's men, their
contact would be crazy to stick around any
longer than necessary.

A blast of cool air hit her face.  It made it
easier to gasp for breath;  they must be in the
lobby, she thought.

"Mulder!"

Krycek's voice pierced her misery and her head
shifted limply to one side.  Yes, it was him,
approaching swiftly with a cadre of armed
guerillas following close behind.

"Where is he?"  Out of breath, Krycek stopped
beside them, his voice close now.  No questions
about her condition, she noticed.  Not that she
expected him to ask; he'd always been more
concerned with revenge.

"Third floor, restaurant.  I shot him - he's
dead."  Mulder began to move away, but was held
up by Krycek's unmoving roadblock.

"Are you sure?"

"No, but I'm not sticking around to find out. 
Now get the hell out of my way."

Krycek stopped him with a hand on his arm.  "You
son-of-a-bitch.  I wanted to kill that
motherfucker."

"Then go finish the job," Mulder growled, "and
get out of my way before I kill *you.*"

Krycek grinned at the threat, then leaned in to
whisper,  "After all I've done for you?"

Mulder said nothing, just tried to wrench
himself from Krycek's grasp.  But their sometime
adversary held fast, his grin fading.

"If you make it out, rendezvous at midnight at
the airport.  We've already secured it."  He
released Mulder and stepped aside, calling after
their retreating forms, "What the hell's wrong
with her?"

But Mulder didn't stop this time, just broke
into a run, heading for the back of the lobby. 
Sidestepping unconscious Guardsmen and panicked
residents, he murmured, "Almost there, Scully. 
Hang on."

Her breathing was fast and shallow now, and the
lights above seemed to blend and mold themselves
with the ceiling.  It was getting darker, she
realized, wondering if it was the outside world
doing so, or the world within her.  Was her soul
bleeding out as well?

She didn't even feel the freezing sting that hit
her face, but she knew she was outside, from the
frosty exhale of Mulder's and the snow that
covered his hair.  The roar of a truck pulling
away filled her ears.

"Stop!"

No, Mulder, she wanted to say.  It's too late.

"Damn it, Scully, don't you die on me."  His
mutter sounded so far away.

Everything narrowed to a trickle of sound... the
distant firecracker pop of gunshots... the
squishing of shoes sliding over treacherous
pavement... the thump of a heartbeat under her
ear.

"Stop, God damn it!"

Too late.  He was gone.

Just as she herself was.  She closed her eyes,
the breath leaving her body.


**********


9:27 p.m.


The first thing she heard was a creaking beside
her left ear.  The first thing she felt was the
solid hardness beneath her back.  The first
thing she saw was a pair of placid blue eyes,
unblinking as they looked upon her face,
surrounded by a sea of white.  The lined, flat
cheeks and gray hair were so familiar.

"Get up, Miss Scully," the lips below those eyes
said.

Get up?  Was he kidding?  She couldn't move...
it was impossible, didn't he know that?

"You can," he murmured.  "Try."  He unfolded
from his crouch beside her to balance on one
knee, holding out a swaying hand.

No, no!  Awareness hit her with sledgehammer
force.  She squeezed her eyes shut, sadness
making her chest tight.

Mulder was dead - he had to be.  Surely if she
was in the hands of his father, with Mulder
nowhere in sight, then she must have been
captured.  Either that, or she was in hell.

She prayed that she was dead; kept her eyes
closed against the probability that all was lost
now.  The calm features of Cancerman stared back
at her.  "You're alive, Miss Scully.  Now rise -
there's no time to waste."

Except something told her this was different. 
There was no gloating in those eyes, no smug
smile of victory.  What the hell was happening
here?  Her arms and legs tingled with feeling. 
Other than a stiffness in her neck that was
fading with every second, she felt fine.

Still unsure, but knowing that all was not as it
seemed, she grabbed the gnarled hand and sat up,
blinking away the cobwebs, feeling as though her
skin was on fire.  Her free hand rubbed at her
neck.

"Sensation is returning," the man said above
her.  Suddenly, his voice changed, becoming
softer and more melodious, untinged by years of
smoking.  "That's all it is.  No need to panic."

Her eyes shot up into the bland features of
Jeremiah Smith.  A gasp broke free and her mind
embraced the logic with snatching, greedy
fingers.  It all made sense at once;  the ease
with which he'd moved about the building... the
eerie feeling she'd had that he was familiar to
her... the reason she now lived.  But why appear
to her as Cancerman?

"If we're stopped for some reason, it makes
sense that I appear as the Appointing Authority. 
With his face, we can buy some time."

Of course - the Guardsmen would not shoot at the
boss.  The news of Cancerman's death had
probably not made it out of the building yet, if
the chaos she remembered was indicative of their
crippled communications.  Jeremiah didn't know
that the old man was dead; but still, it was a
good move on his part.

The only problem was - if Krycek's men caught
sight of him, he was toast.

"I'm sorry I frightened you."

A shaky smile broke over her lips as she pulled
herself up to sit. <Don't let the Resistance
catch you looking like that, okay?>

"Of course not," he replied, as if she was a
fool for even thinking it.  The hybrid obviously
had no sense of humor.  "Miss Scully?"  The
query was spoken with innocent curiosity as he
helped her to stand.  Surprised by the abrupt
question, she cocked an eyebrow and urged him to
continue.

"My hybrid physiology prevents me from feeling
fear and acute pain as humans do, but I'd like
to make a request of you."

Surprise gave way to confusion.  What could he
possibly want from her? <Anything,> she signed,
eager to grant him whatever his heart desired,
though she knew it wouldn't be much.  The
hybrids she'd had dealings with over the years
were basically emotionless beings with little or
no needs.

"It doesn't matter if it would be done without
benefit of anesthesia, but if 'I'm gonna rip
your balls off if you don't stop that fucking
truck' means what I think it means," he paused
thoughtfully, and she saw the inner workings of
a logical, hybrid mind through his serious eyes. 
The corners of her mouth turned up, but he
ignored her amusement, still thinking it through
as he continued, "then the prospect of losing my
testicles fills me with a little dismay.  But of
real importance is the fact that Agent Mulder
would be putting his life in serious jeopardy
should he choose to draw my blood.  And you may
want to also convey to him that threats of my
being 'neck-skewered with a bullet' will not
make my healing powers work any faster. Just
something he may want to remember."

At that, her smile broke free into an almost
hysterical flood of tears.

Jeremiah clutched at her shoulders, concern
creasing his brow.  "Miss Scully?  What is it -
are you all -"

He broke off and into a stumble as the van
lurched to a stop, a muffled, "Shit!"
accompanying the staccato pings of gunfire that
ricocheted off its outer walls.  The small bulb
above their heads was killed and darkness filled
the windowless compartment.  Jeremiah righted
himself and her just as the connecting door
between the cab of the truck and its bay was
flung open.

"Scully?"  It was a soft caress filled with awe. 
Again, he breathed, "Scully," tears choking his
voice.

Mulder stood transfixed, his outline backlit by
the glare of headlights.  As her eyes adjusted
to the dim light, she could see the sweaty
paleness hollowing his cheeks and smears of
blood dotting his shirt and hands.  She moved
toward him, smiling through her tears and
holding out her hand.  With a sigh, he dragged
her into a tight embrace.

"I thought I'd lost you."

I *was* lost, she thought.  But once again, you
saved me.  She hiccuped into his shoulder,
trying to regain some control.

"We've no time for this," Jeremiah said behind
them.  "Get yourselves ready to move."

The gunfire had ceased momentarily, and shouts
could be heard moving closer.  Julia moved away
from Mulder, feeling for his cheek in a hopeful
touch of joy, brushing away his tears.   He
returned the gesture, his thumb tweaking her
lips.  She nodded against his hand, telling him
that they would have time for a real reunion
later.  Under her hand, his head snapped up, his
words barked in Jeremiah's direction.

"We've got to move fast."

Julia saw the man react, watched his shadow move
past them to slam the door shut.  Plunged into
darkness, she held fast to Mulder and listened
to Jeremiah move about.  Thumps and swooshes of
material echoed in their close confines.  "You
get behind these.  I'll divert them away," came
from a corner of the van.

They felt their way to the sound of his voice. 
Her foot touched a bag, then another, before she
realized what he'd done.  A mound of laundry
bags awaited them, with a hole just big enough
for her and Mulder to squeeze through.

His next words came to them in that most hateful
voice.  "When they've gone after me, set out on
foot."

Julia couldn't help the small flinch at the
sound of their enemy, though she'd seen him just
moments ago.  Mulder didn't flinch, just pulled
her with him.  The lights were closer now, and a
piercing beam came through the small vent in the
door that separated the cab from their hiding
place.  Several shards of broken light slashed
across the face before her, giving it a ghostly
appearance and making her shiver.  She couldn't
help it, she had to sidestep the man before them
- it was an instinct honed over the yeaars that
would never go away, despite her knowing this
wasn't really him.

"Thank you," Mulder said quietly, facing him one
last time.  "We never could have gotten out if
not for you.  And you gave Scully back to me...
I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything - just hide," the man said,
though he gave Julia a meaningful look, as if
she could somehow temper Mulder's behavior.  Fat
chance.

Mulder stepped into the cocoon of bags, tugging
on Julia's hand.  She stopped for a moment and,
taking a deep breath, gathered her courage. 
This hesitance to address him was ridiculous; he
was not Cancerman.

<You get out if you can.>

"I'm of no consequence, Miss Scully.  I never
was."

She smiled at his confusion, knowing the hybrids
were basically bred without a sense of value and
the need for attachments to other humans.  <You
are to me.> Reaching up, she hid her revulsion
at his face and brushed his cheek with her lips.
<Thank you.>

His face, while not his usual, was pleasantly
surprised as he brought a hand up to his cheek. 
Bright eyes settled on her once before he turned
to the back door.  "I'm opening it now."

Mulder didn't wait any longer; he pulled her in
with him and mounded the bags around them,
whispering, "Keep still."

They heard the door to the van open, then a
harsh voice commanded, "Stop right there!"

"I'm unarmed!"

God, he was good, she thought.  Even the voice
was perfect.

Then nothing but muffled shouts; Julia knew the
door had been closed again.  But some clarity of
sound reached her ears.

"That's not him!" she heard the voice say. 
"We've had confirmation that he's down!"

Mulder's curse was lost under the bags.  If she
could have, she would have done the same;
despite the felling of the Guardsmen in the
building, word had trickled out somehow to those
left in the perimeters.

"Stop him!" A hail of gunfire made her jump.
Jeremiah had made a run for it, apparently.

In moments, the van was liable to be searched. 
They'd better be ready to run.  She squirmed
against Mulder, reaching for what she knew she'd
need.

"What the hell?" he hissed, his hands coming
down to grab hers.  "What are you doing?"

But she broke free of his grasp and zeroed in on
his pockets.  After a moment, she heard a growl
next to her ear.  "Scully, give me some warning
next time, okay?  That's not a place to be
grabbing a guy, especially when the hounds are
at the door."

Rolling her eyes, she pulled the socks from
their confinement.  There was no way she had
room to maneuver and she just fisted them in her
palms, stilling at the rush of air that signaled
the door was opening.

"We know you're in there - come on out!"

"Shit," Mulder whispered, echoing Julia's
sentiments exactly.  It looked like they weren't
even going to get a chance to run, but she
nudged Mulder anyway, willing to give it a shot. 
"No way," he hissed.  "I'm not putting you in
danger again."  She felt the barrel of the
stolen gun brush her hand.  "You run for it.  Go
out the front.  I'll hold them off."

No, she insisted with a shake of her head
against his chest.  I'm staying right here. 
What he was asking would mean his certain death.

"Damn it, Scully, do what I -"

He broke off at the sudden burst of light into
their nest.  Before she could hold him back, he
scrambled from the bags, gun held out before
him.



End Chapter Twenty-eight


Julia
Chapter Twenty-nine

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


Washington, D.C.
February 11, 2001
10:06 p.m.


"Mulder?"

Julia looked up at the seemingly disembodied
voice, lost in the blanket of white behind it. 
The wraith moved, and she saw it was a commando,
his white snow gear blending in with the storm
coming in the open door.  A very short commando,
to be sure, but the gun he had improved his
stature ten-fold in her frightened eyes.

"Frohike?"  Disbelief edged Mulder's voice and
he stood frozen in place, his repeat of the name
ecstatic.

"On the floor!"  Frohike's demand chilled Julia
to the bone and she saw more armed men move up
to flank him, though they kept their distance.

She scrambled from her hiding place, intent on
putting herself between Mulder and their friend. 
That Jeremiah had just appeared to them as
Cancerman shed doubt in their minds as to
Mulder's true identity, she knew.  Not to
mention the fact that before she'd left the
bunker, the Gunmen had all but bought into his
father's portrayal of Mulder as a traitor.

She jumped in the line of fire, bringing her
arms up, the socks waving ridiculously like
white flags.

"Scully," Mulder hissed, "get the hell out of
the way."

No, she shook her head, getting Frohike's
attention at last.  He's not what you think. 
She backed into Mulder, holding her arms out
defensively.  It worked; she saw Frohike's face
light up as he climbed into the van.

"Dude!"  Frohike shoved down his goggles and
grabbed Mulder in a swift hug, Julia caught
between them.  "Good to finally see you again,
man."

"Same here, Frohike."  Mulder's reply was
muffled against her head.  "But I think you're
suffocating Scully."

"Scully?  Is *is* you!"  Next thing she knew,
Frohike had pulled her from Mulder into a bear
hug; the air whooshed from her lungs at the
strength in his arms.  "Awesome."

She squeezed him back briefly, almost laughing
at Mulder's, "How'd he know it was you?"  He was
right; no one had seen her new face after she'd
left the bunker.

Frohike pulled back, his face red with
excitement and not a little pleasure at seeing
her again.  "Only Scully would take a bullet for
you, you idiot.  And the eyes... I'd know those
beautiful blue babes anywhere.  Dream about 'em
every night, you know."

Rolling his eyes, Mulder grunted.  "We can wax
rhapsodic over Scully later, Frohike.  Could we
leave now?"  Taking her arm, she let him help
her down from the van.

And right into a snowdrift.  She immediately
began to shiver and Mulder lifted her again,
this time to sit on the van's edge.  "Socks," he
ordered.  Taking them from her, he quickly
wrapped her feet with a double layer of the
cotton tubes, giving them a quick rubbing with
his hands.  He looked up, meeting her happy
gaze.  "Okay?"

She nodded, tucking her hands under her armpits
for warmth.  Her head snapped up. <Jeremiah?>

Mulder addressed Frohike.  "Where's the man that
came out of the van before us?"

"Spender?  Man, what were you doing with that
guy, anyway?"

"It wasn't Spender, Frohike.  It was a hybrid, a
shapeshifter."

Frohike eyes surveyed the frozen landscape as he
swung his automatic weapon around from his back. 
"Dunno.  We told him to stop, and next thing we
knew, he was gone.  Like he'd disappeared right
before our eyes."

Julia locked eyes with Mulder; they both knew
how Jeremiah could easily blend in with his
surroundings.  He was probably one of the white-
garbed resistance fighters milling about.  Until
they had a chance to speak to him personally, he
wouldn't reveal himself to Frohike and his men.

Julia's sudden shaking in response to the cold
spurred Mulder away from the subject of the
shapeshifter.

"Frohike - we need a jacket. *Now.* And please
tell me you have an extra pair of boots
somewhere."  Mulder picked her up in his arms
and followed his friend to the nearby vehicle
that was nearly lost in the driving snow.

"No boots, sorry.  But I think we can scrounge a
blanket."  He ushered them both into the rear of
the jeep and opened the front door, giving his
team the signal to leave, his gloved hand making
a circle above his head.

Around them, the engines roared to life. 
Another man folded himself into the passenger
seat beside Frohike and he pulled a blanket from
under the front seat, handing it to Mulder
wordlessly.  She'd didn't recognize him; but
then again, she hadn't recognized any of the men
with Frohike *or* with Krycek back in the
building.  Krycek had done what he set out to do
- amass an army.

"All right, talk."  Mulder directed the command
at Frohike as he bundled Julia up in the
blanket.

Frohike kept his eyes on the vehicle ahead of
him as they moved in slowly.  "We're second
wave.  Responsible for making sure the Guardsmen
on perimeter can't move in as reinforcements." 
The radio squawked and he paused to answer it. 
"Come back?"

A small, tinny voice said again, "No sign of
retaliation, Colonel, over."

Colonel?  Julia and Mulder exchanged amused
looks; Mulder sobered to address Frohike once
again.  "And you won't find any."

"Say what?"  Frohike gave him a glance in the
jeeps rear view mirror.

"I don't know what the hell you guys did, but I
don't think you're gonna find a Guardsman
capable of shooting back in a five-mile radius
of the complex."  He went on the quickly explain
the way the soldiers had been shocked by the
wristbands they wore, as well as what appeared
to be the whole electrocution - for want of a
better word - of the building.

Julia listened, shaking her head to make sure
she'd heard correctly.  Visions of her dying
minutes flashed into her mind; of the ceiling
bleeding light, of the walls that seemed to
solidify with pinpoints of energy.  Tugging on
Mulder's arm, she said, <Tell him to turn
around.>

"Why?"

<Just do it.  Something's happening and it's not
safe.>

She couldn't explain it, but she pleaded for
Mulder to comply with a serious, assured gaze. 
In the dim cabin of the jeep, she could see his
eyes search hers by the dashboard lights and he
swallowed, his chapped face hardening in an echo
of her resolution.  "Frohike?"

"Yeah?"

"Tell your men to go back."

"What?"

Mulder tore his gaze from her face and leaned
over the space between the two front seats.  "Do
it.  Give the order to retreat.  Don't go near
the building."

"But we have to go in -"

"No!  It's not safe.  Trust me."  Mulder took
her hand, looking back at her to smile.  "Trust
*us.*"

After a few moments of indecision, Frohike
braked the vehicle and picked up the mike. 
"Zero, zero, zero," he barked into the radio. 
"Come back."

A flourish of voices greeted him, each asking a
variation of the same question - what gives?  As
Frohike gave the order to retreat, Mulder sat
back beside her.

"You sure about this?"

<Yes,> she mouthed, putting her arm through his
to give him a bit of her warmth.

He held her close and tucked her head under his
chin.

"We made it, Scully.  Let's go home now."

Home.  She closed her eyes and wondered if they
would ever really have a home again.  But then
quickly dispelled such morose thoughts... her
home was wherever Mulder was.

That had been proven to her a thousand times
over.


**********


11:15 p.m.


She'd never been so glad to see an airport in
her life.  The trip out of the city had been the
slowest, most agonizing car ride she'd ever had
to endure.  They had to creep over rubble, the
frozen snow-covered lumps obviously Guardsmen
trapped in frigid death.  Despite knowing who
they were, she couldn't help but feel sorrow at
their deaths, and hoped they'd been at least
unconscious from the electric shocks before
succumbing to the cold.

The jeep moved through the gates that surrounded
the air fields, Frohike giving the password
through the open door.  Julia felt the blast of
cold air and wondered if she'd ever be warm
again.  Mulder must have sensed her thoughts, as
he wrapped his arms closer around her.  "Okay?"
he asked, murmuring his worry into the crown of
her head.

Yes, she nodded.  She was fine.  A little cold
was hardly a price to pay for freedom.

The jeep pulled into an open hangar; the bright
lights were warming the air.  Julia could see
nothing through the clear plastic holes that
served as windows; nothing of significance,
anyway.  Just a few Resistance fighters keeping
watch at the exits.

"I think we're the first back in," Frohike
stated, getting out from the vehicle.  He
reached in and offered Julia his hand; she took
it gratefully and exited as well, Mulder right
behind her.

A few of the men paused in their circles and
some looked at Mulder with narrowed eyes,
fingers poised on their triggers.

"Down, fellas," Frohike ordered.  "He's cool."

Beside her, she heard Mulder release his breath
in a sigh.  She sighed as well; despite their
freedom, Mulder would never really be free of
the stigma of his association with his father.

He cleared his throat and stood carefully still. 
She knew any sudden movements could be
disastrous for him.  He'd have to lay low before
these men, at least until they were safely away
from Washington.  They didn't trust him as far
as they could throw him.  "Where's the patrol
that usually covers the airport?"

"Dunno," Frohike answered, lowering the hood on
his white parka and stripping off his goggles
for good.  "No one around when we arrived at
eight.  We thought we'd have one helluva battle
awaiting us, but nothing.  Nada."

"The Appointing Authority knew something was
up," Mulder said.  "He must have called them in
early, closed in around the city."

Frohike said nothing, distracted by the sound of
more vehicles approaching.  As he walked away to
greet his compadres, Julia took hold of Mulder's
arm.

"What?" He pulled the blanket closer around her
shoulders.

<Nothing.> She smiled, content just to look at
him in the new light of freedom.  He smiled in
return, lowering his head to give her a kiss.

"Told you we'd make it out, didn't I?" he
murmured against her lips, the corners of his
eyes crinkled with happiness as his mouth opened
to deepen his exploration.

God, he even tasted better on the outside, she
thought, her hands letting the blanket go to
clutch at the lapels of his jacket.

"Mulder!"

The shout came in unison, almost in happy
harmony to her ears.  Mulder pulled away, giving
her a wink and a regretful smile before turning
to greet the owners of such beautiful music. 
And it *was* beautiful, she realized, smiling as
well at her friends.

Byers and Langly, almost carbon copies of
Frohike in their white outerwear, ran up
breathlessly to hug Mulder, leaving a smug
Frohike behind them.

"Okay, okay guys," he laughed, but she heard
emotion overrun his voice with choked happiness. 
He disengaged himself from their simultaneous
bear hug and cleared his throat.  "Don't want to
give anyone ideas, all right?"

Julia could have laughed at the blush that
covered Mulder's face, but there wasn't time -
as she was treated to the same from the two men,
their chorus of "Scully!" resounding in the
cavernous hangar.

She let them crush her as Frohike had, meeting
Mulder's sheepish eyes between the wall of
bodies.

"Am I the *only* one who didn't realize who she
was?  Damn it, you haven't seen this new look,
have you?"

"Of course not," Byers answered, pulling away at
last to give her a smile.  "We haven't seen her
in six months, at least.  So good to see you're
okay, Scully."

Mulder folded his arms across his chest,
exasperation making his face darken.  "Then what
gives? *I'm* the one who used to be an FBI
agent, remember?"

Langly released her as well, looking at Mulder
like he'd grown two heads.  "Duh... the liplock,
dude.  Don't tell me you'd play tonsil hockey
with anyone but her, would you?"

Byers piped in with, "Besides, Frohike told us
who she was."

Langly popped Byers on the arm with a rebuke at
his slip.  "Dumbass."

Julia *did* laugh that time, a barely-there
squeak of breath that caught the two men by
surprise.

"Scully?"  Byers asked, moving forward with
concern.

A sudden rumble beneath their feet made them all
pause.  Julia sobered instantly, raising her
wide eyes to Mulder.

"Later, guys," he said, grabbing her hand. 
"Something's up."

She ran with him to the open hanger door, where
Frohike and his men stood, stupefaction
plastered on their faces.  "Unbelievable," the
little man breathed.

Together, they stood just outside the doors and
the blaring overhead lights, their eyes turned
to the building that seemed so close, but was in
fact some miles away.  The snow had abated
somewhat, and it was easy to pick up its lights
in the distance.  Especially as it was the only
tall structure in sight.

Julia watched in amazement as what looked to be
lightning bolts traveled from the ground up the
side of the building.  The lights within seemed
to set it ablaze with fire, but she knew that
wasn't so.  It was pure energy that burst from
it, bleeding from the concrete and windows like
rivers of gold and silver.

"Dear God," Byers muttered, breaking their eerie
silence.

But no one answered, so rapt were they by the
transformation.  On and on it went, the energy
molding and shaping the structure with unseen
fingers.  Julia had never seen anything like it,
and she doubted she ever would again.  Mulder's
hand held hers tight and at his, "Do you see it,
Scully?" she looked up into eyes that were
shining with justification.

<Yes,> she mouthed, giving his hand a kiss.  <I
see it.>

He turned back to the scene that was unfolding
before them, knowing just as she did that what
they were witnessing was a birth.  The chip had
done more than what was asked of it; it had
given life to the building - alien life. 
Merging with the building's computer system to
breed within the silicon medium, it had
reproduced, sucking in electricity to complete
the cycle of life.  Meshing with the generator
of the cloaking field much as Krycek had
predicted - like a child seeking its mother. 
Becoming one with it, changing the molecular
structure of every material in its path.

The aliens were not the only life forms that
traveled through space; their means of transport
were alive as well, she realized.  Probably
enslaved just like the human race, kept under
control to serve the master by ways unknown. 
But let loose, it thrived unchecked, revealing
its true nature in shimmering sights and sounds.

It was no wonder Cancerman wanted control of it. 
He alone had known where the real power lay.

As they watched, the building became rounder,
shifting and melting until it became a ball of
pure energy, rising up from the rubble like a
star in the night.  Silently, it drifted up, a
beacon that shone so brightly it created shadows
on the pavement as if they were standing amidst
the hottest summer day.

Julia let the blanket fall from her shoulders as
her head tilted up to follow its movement.  The
snow was gone; the moisture in the clouds sucked
up into the pseudo-spacecraft.  The night was
clear now and the star - she could think of no
other word for it - picked up speed, racing away
into the unknown universe, leaving a trail of
light in an arc behind it that shimmered for
some minutes.

"Whoa."

Frohike's awed word broke them from their
stunned silence.

"Amazing," Byers agreed.

Julia knew that even if she could speak, there
was nothing to say.

Langly piped in, turning to his friends with a
smile and a nod.  "Bitchin'."

As they laughed, relief overtaking them, Julia
turned to Frohike. <Krycek?> she mouthed,
picking up the blanket.  The chill was returning
to the air in waves and she knew she'd need it
again soon.

"He knows the drill," Frohike answered.  "If
he's not here by midnight, we leave."  His eyes
peered over her shoulder and he lifted his chin
in an bid for her attention elsewhere. "Scully."

She turned, noticing Mulder some yards away, his
head still craned to follow the rapidly fading
light in the sky.  Instinctively, as if he'd
never lost the desire to know and understand. 
She gave Frohike a small smile, then set out
after Mulder.

As she approached him, she saw him falter, his
head dropping to his chest.  His knees buckled
and he sagged to the pavement, his palms
stopping his descent as he swayed in an effort
to prevent his total collapse.  Julia ran and
crouched beside him, draping him in the blanket
before easing him down to a sitting position,
his back against her chest.

"I'm okay," he said shakily.

With her trembling fingers, she turned his chin
her way, her eyes searching his face.  He
smiled, pulling a hand free to touch her face as
well.  "I'm fine, really.  Just... overcome, I
guess.  And so damned tired."  He closed his
eyes and leaned into her touch.

She felt his muscles lose what little fumes of
adrenaline they had left and he sagged against
her.  Holding him tightly, she heard his
sniffles come and go, the minutes passing in
silent introspection.

They were safe.  They were free and among
friends.  They'd just witnessed an event that
would inspire the men around them to tell the
tale to their children for years to come.

As Mulder composed himself, she felt a tear or
two slide down her cheeks.  She knew exactly how
he felt.  The night darkened again as they sat,
the clouds that had been chased away drifting
overhead.

"I once told you," he whispered, "that all I
ever wanted was the truth.  And when I was
taken, I thought to myself that I'd finally
found it.  But I was wrong."  He sat up and
brought his hands to her face, his burning gaze
bright and clear.  "I had it all along.  In you. 
You're my truth, Scully.  Not some light in the
sky... you."

His forehead dropped to touch hers and she held
on to him, her hands draping the blanket over
his legs.  He'd just realized what she'd known
for years.  Not that she'd ever tell him that,
she thought with a grin.

"Scully?"

She pulled away to brush the fresh snowfall from
his brow and touch her lips to his temple.

"Can we go back inside now?  I think my ass is
frozen."

Ah yes, she thought.  So good to be back to
normal.

She stood and gave him her hand.  He pulled
himself up and wrapped the blanket around her
again before sweeping her up in his arms.  She
squirmed, her wide eyes telling him to put her
down.

"What?"

<You don't have to carry me, Mulder.  I can
walk.>

In answer, he walked forward, his grin shining
out into the night.

"I'm Jibril, remember?  Bringer of truth."  At
the roll of her eyes, he laughed, "Just go with
it, Scully."

She did, letting her cheek settle against his
heart.



End Chapter Twenty-nine

Julia
Chapter Thirty

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


Undisclosed location
West Virginia Mountains
April 6, 2001
5:50 p.m.


Scully looked up from the microscope at the
touch of a hand on her shoulder.

"Saved the world yet?"  Mulder sat down at the
table to her right, placing his gun gently on
the wooden surface.  His smile was tired, but
re-assuring, his thumb coming up to caress her
cheek.

Her smile was bright; he'd been on patrol all
day, surveying the surrounding area outside for
any sign of marauders.  The woods were full of
them these days - men with arms and a taste for
killing and stealing to survive.  There was no
law, at least not where they were hiding.

<I think so,> she mouthed, waiting for his
reaction.

It was worth the two-second delay; his face lost
all trace of fatigue and he caught his breath. 
"What?"

The data the Gunmen had managed to download from
the Headquarters in Washington - before it
decided to depart this world - had proven to be
very useful.  It detailed parts of the whole,
but it was enough for her to experiment with the
vaccine.  Just today, she felt she'd found the
right combination, and she told Mulder so.  It
would have to be tested, she added, but she was
fairly sure it would work.

Mulder's joy was amazing to behold; instead of
shouting with happiness, he just sat there, his
eyes swimming with moisture as he nodded.  "I
knew you could do it - didn't I tell you so?" 
His hand moved to her neck and he drew her
closer, his lips moving across her brow.  "I'm
so proud of you."

Scully held him in her arms, a burgeoning sense
of security taking hold for the first time since
they'd arrived weeks ago.  Information, once at
a premium, had flowed from the building, making
all the pieces fall into place.

She'd found out she'd been spared in the
Invasion simply because she'd been on
antibiotics at the time; so had many others,
including many smokers.  The black oil had been
genetically mutated with a variety of bee
diseases, some of which responded to treatment
with tetracycline and - of all things -
nicotine.  That something as insidious as
cigarettes could have ended up saving many lives
was incredible to her.  It didn't make her want
to take up smoking, however.  But it was just
another in a long line of mysteries solved - she
often wondered if that case long ago in Raleigh,
and Daryl Weaver's proclivity for living despite
his three-pack-a-day habit, were related somehow
to this discovery.  Had Cancerman had his
fingers in the tobacco industry's attempt to
create a safer cigarette?  What if that *wasn't*
the purpose of those trials after all?

She didn't lose sleep over it, though.  There
were more important things to do - such as get
the word out about the antibiotics and the
nicotine.  In spite of Cancerman's death, there
were still factions of his old guard that
remained in several cities, fighting against the
Resistance for control.  There were still bees
to contend with, but their effectiveness had
dwindled, thanks to the Gunmen's swift
communique to the Underground, mere days after
she'd returned and realized what could be done
to combat the swarms.

"Wanna get something to eat?"  Mulder pulled
away to ask.

Scully's stomach was empty; she'd skipped lunch
to finish making her notes on her discovery. 
Documentation was now the key to everything.  If
for some reason she became unable to continue,
someone else would.

<Sure,> she signed, getting up from her chair
and stretching her stiff muscles.

Mulder's hands kneaded her neck and she sighed,
melting into him.  "Then maybe an early night?"

She lifted her chin and flashed him a guarded
glance, knowing exactly what he was referring
to.  The problem was, she wasn't sure she wanted
it as well.


**********


6:25 p.m.


The Gunmen walked in as they were finishing up
their meal of canned, rather tasteless beef
stew, each of them grunting a small hello before
flopping down at the table.  Byers and Langly
grimaced at the skimpy meal and declined what
was leftover in the pot that Scully offered to
them, but Frohike dug in with relish, giving her
a smile and a wink.

Even now, she couldn't get over the way the
little man had changed.  When she'd first seen
him after they'd arrived back at the bunker,
she'd been astounded by his lean, trim
appearance.

"Had to get buff for the attack," he'd
explained.

"Yeah, the *Colonel* liked to hang around Krycek
too much after you'd left."  Langly's snide
reply had been directed at her with a roll of
his eyes.

"Shut up, buttwad," Frohike had replied before
giving her a leer.  "Like my new look?"

<Frohike, you make me want to rip your clothes
off and take you right here, right now,> she'd
signed, turning to walk from the room.

As she left, she heard Frohike ask Mulder,
"What'd she say?"

Mulder's voice drifted into the hall after her. 
"You'd never believe me if I told you, man."

Since then, Frohike had made it his mission in
life to learn sign language, something he
practiced at every opportunity with her.  She
didn't mind; she thought it was touching that he
wanted to be able to communicate with her.

Tonight, however, he spoke aloud, wanting to
tell his news quickly.  "I heard that Skinner
made it to British Columbia."

Scully sat up straighter.  <He did?>

"Yep," Frohike replied between bites of meat. 
"Encrypted message came through twenty minutes
ago.  He says to tell you both thank you...
again."

They had been unable to go after him themselves,
but Frohike had arranged for Skinner's train to
be hijacked by a sympathetic band of ex-Mounties
he'd been communicating with for months.  The
ambush in Montreal went smoothly, but it was
slow going getting Skinner to safe territory. 
As agreed, he would remain in hiding just like
them until the alien threat was truly gone from
the planet.

With Cancerman's death - and the most obvious
way the power of the chip had been used - the
aliens had run back to the skies.  Satellites
still detected their presence in the ships that
hovered above the Earth, but so far their trips
to the surface had been sporadic, met with swift
resistance from the humans now free to move
about as they wished.  No longer brainwashed by
the Administration, they'd quickly regained
their faculties and were slowly forming a new
government.  How it would all come together
remained to be seen; their small band knew
better than to set foot outside the perimeter of
their mountain before the dust had settled.

For one thing, Mulder was a wanted man.  The
television broadcasts had changed from daily
messages demanding compliance to the new order
to constant photographs of the traitors believed
to have survived the overthrow of the government
- Mulder's face and name at the top of the list.

Scully hated it.  That this man who had lived by
the truth all his life was reduced to hiding
from the very people he'd fought so hard to free
was abhorrent to her.  She knew he believed
himself worthy of their recriminations in some
ways; she could see it in the clouds of regret
that colored his face at times, especially when
he was the recipient of still wary looks from
the thirty or so men and women who now lived
with them in the bunker.  If she had her voice,
she'd scream at them that this was an honorable
man - a man who sacrificed himself to
unspeakable torture and pain so others could
live.

One day, they would leave and go above for good. 
Live somewhere quietly; Mulder spoke of this to
her as they laid together on their pallets at
night.  He wanted to find a small place in the
country where children wouldn't cringe at the
sight of his face.  Where they could live
together in peace and grow old together.

For now, though, they were stuck here.  Krycek
had never returned to the hangar; he was
presumed dead.  Frohike had taken over as leader
of their rag-tag outfit, and the group worked
toward a day when they could all surface without
fear of reprisal or death.

And Jeremiah?  No trace of him, either, though
Scully hadn't been surprised at the fact. 
Hybrids weren't exactly being sought after as
dinner guests these days; anyone with any
connection to the colonists, however remote,
were tarred with the same brush of vengeful
backlash.  Just like Mulder.

"Something else I heard today, though it's just
a rumor at this point... unsubstantiated
speculation."

"What's that?" Mulder asked, pushing away from
the table and wiping his mouth on the sleeve of
his sweatshirt.  Scully passed a paper napkin to
him, which he promptly accepted with a sheepish
grin, though he looked more interested in
Frohike's news than good manners.

She hated the way barracks life had taken away
the simplest of courtesies.  But it was nice to
see a glimpse of their humanity still - in a
'please' and 'thank you', in the privacy they
each gave one another at times, in the smiles as
they passed each other in the halls.  Things
were slowly getting back to normal; better than
normal, actually.  At least in the bunker.  They
saw hope grow with every passing day and it was
reflected in their attitudes, much to her
delight.

And to her consternation; if she could only join
in on their happiness, all would be well.  But
something held her back and she was trying her
hardest to keep her sadness from Mulder.

"Miners are being sent out west - recruiting
will begin soon."

"Miners?  For what purpose?"

"To find more of whatever the hell that chip was
made of - it's being called the new Gold Rush. 
More valuable than the most precious of
jewels... stories have been circulating about
its power.  Some say the men with the most
'krycekite' will rule the new world."

"Krycekite?"  Mulder's laugh was incredulous. 
"Sounds like something you'd need penicillin
for."

"Yeah - catchy, ain't it?  The only substance
known to bring the new order to its knees. 
Delivered by a man everyone considers a hero and
a martyr."  Frohike huffed.  "Too bad they
didn't know him like we did.  I think they could
have been a bit more original... say maybe...
'Frohikeite'?"

"Now *that* definitely sounds like it's worthy
of a venereal disease film."

Frohike colored as the other men joined Mulder
in wicked laughter.

Scully cut off their laughter with a slap of her
hand against the table, grabbing their
attention. <They can't do that - they have to
leave that material alone.> She feared its power
and knew it was better left in the ground, if
any existed.  However, she knew that a
spacecraft had been uncovered years ago on a
beach in Africa; it was highly likely that more
ships laid beneath the soil, scattered around
the world.

Mulder agreed, his grin fading as he let their
moment of fun pass.  "I think that would be
best, too, Scully.  But I don't see that we're
in any position to stop them.  Not right now,
anyway.  It took forever for someone to find
that ship in Africa; it's liable to take years
more to unearth another one.  By that time, most
will have given up.  Man's never been known for
his patience."

She understood his reasoning, and realized that
he was right.  But she still didn't have to like
it; there was enough despair on this planet now
without greed and hunger for power blinding the
remaining humans to what was really needed most
- compassion, civility, and the chance  to make
things better than they ever were.  The human
race, while decimated now, had a singular
opportunity to start over.  To make a world free
of pain and full of wisdom.

Shoving away from the table, she stalked out,
Mulder's voice calling out after her.  She
didn't slow down, finally reaching their room at
the far end of the bunker before slamming the
door behind her, anger making her shake.  A few
seconds later, she heard the door open, then
quietly close.

"Scully."

It was all she needed to let loose, turning to
vent at Mulder. <Why can't they leave well
enough alone?  We still don't know enough about
why the chip did what it did - or where it went
once it was free!  It's foolish to think we can
harness its power, Mulder.  Dangerous, foolish
folly.> Her hands wrapped around her waist and
she turned from his sad face, hanging her head.

She tensed at the feel of his arms snaking
around her, then relaxed when he began to speak. 
"I know.  But it's man's nature to be greedy,
Scully.  And the only way humans ever learn is
from their mistakes.  All we can do is hope no
one ever finds another source."

Krycek had hidden the artifact well, not
disclosing its location to anyone, not even the
Gunmen in all the time she'd been gone.  And she
prayed the secret went with him to his grave.

Sighing, she turned in Mulder's embrace and let
him hold her.

"What's the matter, Scully?" he murmured into
her hair.

It wasn't unusual for Mulder to pick up on her
moods, especially since she no longer had the
use of her voice.  He seemed able to discern
what she was feeling now more than ever, just
from reading her body language.  Unsure just how
to put what was bothering her into words, she
shrugged and snuggled closer.

"Is it the food?  The lack of privacy?  Whoa -
don't tell me I offend."

At that, she let out a small, silent chuckle
that manifested itself in a smile against the
soft cotton of his shirt.

"I knew it.  Time to switch to Right Guard,
huh?"

Sniffling, she pulled away to meet his mirth-
filled gaze.  Still bright, his eyes became
serious.  "Tell me."

Bringing a hand up, she ran her fingers through
the longer hair at his nape.  He looked so much
better now, so filled with health and vitality. 
The outdoor patrols in the spring sunshine had
restored some color to his skin, while she felt
as though she was withering away in the confines
of the laboratory.  But that would soon end, she
knew.  Now that the vaccine was almost
synthesized, she'd be able to venture out - with
or without Colonel Frohike's permission, who'd
appointed himself her protector.

<I don't know,> she said truthfully, moving away
to stand by the single lamp in the room. <I
feel... empty somehow.>

She'd accomplished what she'd set out to do. 
Rescue Mulder.  Thwart the Administration. 
Perfect the vaccine.  What was left for her? 
The guys all had purpose, going about their
duties with an eye toward eventual emergence
from this hole.  And though she had Mulder, she
knew she was still missing something.

If she were honest with herself, this empty
feeling had begun with the onset of her
menstrual cycle, some two weeks ago.  She knew
it was foolish to even contemplate pregnancy,
for so many reasons, not the least of which was
it was impossible for her.  But Cancerman's
goading at the dinner table that last night had
re-awakened a need within her; the need to hold
her own child in her arms.

Skipping a cycle the first month after they'd
been here had only added to the hope.  Until she
woke up that morning two weeks ago to the ache
in her lower back, she'd held out slim hope that
maybe he *had* done something to her, made her
able to conceive.  She and Mulder had certainly
done their able best to that end, making love at
every opportunity.  Each not wanting to believe
that his father's, "she can now" meant it could
be possible, but wanting it so badly despite the
harsh living conditions.

But not so these past two weeks.  She laid in
his arms each night and put him off for one
reason or another, pleading fatigue mostly.  Her
feelings of inadequacy in that regard had never
been more pronounced in her mind than now, when
they were free to enjoy each other's bodies at
will.  When it would be only a matter of months
before they could start over, somewhere quiet,
with nothing to do but live and love.

"Empty?  Why?"  Soft, tenuous questioning, as if
he already suspected but wanted to hear her say
it.  His eyes were green and clear in the
lamplight, beckoning with concern and
acceptance.

She ran her hands down the front of her jeans
and bit her lip before replying, <Damn it,
Mulder.  I wanted it to be true.>

Realization dawned on his face.  He knew of the
skipped cycle - how could he not?  But he'd
never said a thing when she'd finally resumed
menstruation; she supposed her attitude in the
weeks hence was enough to put anyone off. 
Slowly, he stepped forward, lowering his chin to
say, "You wanted a baby."  

Her face scrunched up and her eyes filled with
tears.  Yes, she nodded.

"Aw, Scully," he whispered, pulling her back
into his arms.  "You know that's not possible."

She nodded again, her damp cheeks wetting the
front of his shirt.  The impossibility didn't
prevent her from wanting it, though.

"There are - listen to me, Scully - there are
children still out there.  Hungry and alone,
needing love and protection.  When we get out of
here, one of them will find us.  He or she will
take one look at you and they will love you
forever, just as I do.  You'll have your child,
Scully.  You'll have ten.  You'll have twenty -
as many as you think we can take care of." 
There was a smile in his voice as he added,
"I'll even learn how to be a farmer, so we can
feed the little suckers."

A mental picture of Mulder wading through a hog
trough made her smile and she reached up to give
him a kiss, suddenly happy.  He told her what
she wanted to hear, gave her the future in a
handful of words.  And she knew he meant every
one of them.

"Mmm..." he said against her mouth, "feel like
practicing a little?  Who knows - maybe we'll
get lucky.  And if we don't, we'll always have a
helluva good time trying, won't we?"  He pulled
at the yellow ribbon that held her hair away
from her face until it flowed loose around his
hand.

That, she couldn't deny.


**********


7: 15 p.m.


She loved making love with Mulder.  Nestled in a
far corner of the bunker, their room was
isolated - per his request - and he took great
pleasure in enjoying her body, just as she did
his.  There were times he made such noise, she
was grateful for the privacy.  Then there were
other times, like now, that he moved above her
so slowly and painstakingly silent that she
wanted to scream at him to hurry.

"I love watching you," he'd told her not long
ago.  "Your face tells me everything I need to
hear."

Just as he was doing now, sliding in and out of
her while his eyes raked her face, touching upon
every inch of her skin.  Their cots had been
abandoned the first day; they'd pulled the thin
mattresses off of them and scrounged for several
more, making a thick pallet of comfort on the
floor.  His hands snaked under her back and he
cupped her shoulders, dipping his head to shower
her face with hot, wet kisses.

"Come on, sweetheart," he murmured.  "Come for me,
Scully."

He reared up, sliding his hands down to her
hips, thrusting forcefully, urging her on with
muttered words of love and desire.  She raked
her nails down his chest, her head twisting on
the pillow as pleasure ballooned within her.

He was pure beauty in motion, his face hard and
damp, his hair now long enough to fall around
his forehead and neck in damp curls.  The
lamplight cast one cheek with a fine golden
sheen while the other was shadowed.  One day,
she wanted to do this in full sunshine.  Her
mind pictured his prone body lazing in green
grass and she would look at her leisure,
memorizing every curve and line.

But for now, this was enough.  The feel of his
cock swelling within her, the taste of his
sweat-slickened skin, the smell of the outdoors
that clung to him, promising that her fantasy
would come true one day.  And God, the sounds he
made... the rough moans, the soft whispers, the
heart-grabbing cries... she didn't think she'd
ever get enough of that.

Lost as she was in sensation, she jumped at the
first touch of his thumb between them, her
narrowed eyes flying open.

"Gotcha," he smiled, and she was gone.

Arching her back, she felt the contractions
begin.  Pulling at her, pulling at him as he
cried out her name and followed her into
oblivion, collapsing onto her.  Her hands
soothed his back as his hips gave a few more
lazy circles into hers, his chest heaving as he
gulped for air.

For long moments, he stayed where he was, their
bodies molded together in sticky, humid bliss. 
Her hands dipped low on his back, pressing
stealthy fingers into the hard bone above his
ass, wanting him to stay where he was.

"God, Scully," he whispered into her neck, his
hips reacting to the pressure in a reflexive
thrust.  "What are you doing?"

Dipping lower still, her finger slipped in to
find his prostate.  He flinched once, then
relaxed with a groan.  His cock, still semi-
hard, gave a last pulse into her warmth. 
Trembling now, he chuckled into her ear, "Okay,
stop before you kill me."

Rolling with her, he laid on his back and his
cock slipped from her, much to her sorrow.  His
arms fell away like limp noodles and she
grinned, nuzzling his chest before settling in
at his side.

"Promise me you'll do that again."

Okay, she told him with a nod into his shoulder. 
Some time passed before she lifted up to look at
him.  He half-dozed, so sated and peaceful she
was in awe of his beauty.  Her fingers stole
through his hair and he opened his eyes.

"I need a haircut, don't I?"

<No,> she mouthed, telling him with her gaze
that she liked it very much. It gave him a more
youthful appearance, erased some of the stress
and fear of the last months. <I like it.>

"It's getting in the way."

<Next week?> she pleaded for time. <I'll trim it
next week.>  Spying a flash of yellow snaking
across the blankets, she reached for it and
dangled it before him. <Or you could use my
ribbon.> Her smile was flirting, the desire to
see him with long wavy locks written on her
face.

"And put up with the Colonel's jealousy?  I
don't think so."  He twined the satin around his
fingers before bringing it to his lips, his
mouth firm as he put an end to her fishing.  "A
haircut, Scully."

She said nothing, just leaned down to give him a
soft, goodnight kiss.  She'd get her way one
day, she was sure of it.

She reached up over him and pulled the string on
the ancient lamp before giving in to the lure of
sleep.  As she drifted, she let her fingers
sneak into his hair, where she massaged his
scalp and played like a child with a favorite
bedtime blanket. 

Just as she was drifting into dreams, she heard
his voice one more time, roughened by
approaching slumber.

"Okay, maybe not for a couple of weeks.  Then
it's *got* to go."

The corners of her mouth turned up.


**********


April 7, 2001
3:47 a.m.


It was the itch that woke her.  Not really
annoying, just... insistent.  She rolled over
and rubbed her fingers over the spot, letting
her eyes flutter open to the darkness.  Where
was she?

Stilling, she listened to the soft breathing
that drifted to her ears.  A snore, really -
just barely audible, but there.  She wasn't
alone.  Panic tore through her and she stumbled
to her feet, searching for her clothes.

A voice in the back of her mind urged her on,
clamoring for freedom.  Ignoring the rustle
behind her, she groped along the floor and
exhaled sharply at the feel of cold denim. 
Quickly, she donned the jeans, then the socks
and boots that laid within arms' reach.

Go, go, it said.  Outside.  Someone's waiting
for you and you must go.

Tears of fright streamed down her cheeks and her
arms flailed in the darkness, searching for the
last piece of clothing.  Relief hitched her
breath as she felt the softness of a pullover; 
in an instant, she dragged it over her head.

Light filled the room and she whipped around,
meeting a pair of sleepy eyes.

"Scully?"

No, no.  Don't stop me.

On shaky legs, she started forward, avoiding the
man in the makeshift bed.

"Scully!"

God, no!  His hand closed around her ankle,
and she fell to her knees, straining against the
confinement.  Behind her, she could hear his
curses, hear him struggle against the blankets.

"Damn it, stop!"

Kicking, grunting, she stretched out as far as
she could, spying the door so close, yet so far
away.  He wouldn't let her go.  Why wouldn't he
let her go?

Then, it was there in her peripheral vision. 
Lying there cold and inviting, its black metal
presenting her chance at freedom.  Her fingers
curled around its grip and she twisted, bringing
it up.

He backed off, his hands coming up.  "Whoa." 
Eyes wide, his mouth softened into a warm,
slightly familiar grin.  But she knew better,
despite his soft, "You're dreaming, Scully.  Drop
the gun."

As she stood, so did he, all the while crooning
nonsensical words meant to distract her, she
knew.  Her free hand felt for the door and she
finally closed her fingers around the doorknob,
losing her focus for just a moment.

It was all he needed, as he lunged for her.

The pop of the gunshot echoed in the room and
she flinched, her focus on the dot of red that
blossomed on his upper chest.  He staggered, his
hand coming up to cover the wound before he fell
back.

"Scully."  Raw disbelief made the word a breathy
plea for help.

Her arm, already tired from holding up the gun,
fell to her side.  The denial bubbled up from
within and she opened her mouth, the words raspy
in a throat lazy from months of disuse.

"My name is Julia."

The gun clattered to the concrete and she
turned, walking out the door and into the night.

"Scully!"

The hoarse cry followed her out the exit.  She
stepped over the bodies of the two dead guards,
the light beckoning as it approached.

She said it again.

"My name is Julia."

She brought a hand up to shade her eyes as the
helicopter came closer.  It landed before her as
several dark figures came out of the nearby
trees to surround her.  Facing the nearest, she
cocked her head to one side, saying the only
thing that seemed to resonate in her blank mind.

"My name is Julia."

The voice behind the black mask was pleased and
a gloved hand took hers to lead her to the
helicopter.

"So it is.  Welcome back."



End Chapter Thirty

Julia
Epilogue

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers



St. Louis, Missouri
July 25, 2001
12:32 p.m.


The heat was oppressive in the train station,
despite the fans that blew the stench of
unwashed bodies across the cavernous room.  Men
of every size and shape milled about, most of
them beefy like lumberjacks.  He felt almost out
of place in the swirl of testosterone, skinny
and useless.  But he knew it had to begin
somewhere and this was the place.

A rumble of the latest departure vibrated
through his shoes, urging him forward.  He
pulled the Yankees cap low over his forehead and
ignored the trickle of sweat that ran down his
back.  His shoulder-length hair and full beard
didn't help matters, but it was necessary.  Even
with the coverup, he felt exposed, like a
thousand eyes were watching his every move.

Hands in his jacket pockets, he moved forward in
the line, hearing the murmurs of excitement all
around him.

"Gonna make millions."

"Gonna set myself up nice."

"Hey, asshole - don't cut in line!"

At that one, a skirmish broke out just a few
feet away.  He flinched, but didn't move,
knowing security would be there shortly, and
they were, hauling off the two fighters amidst
curses and a blast of hot air.

Just look straight ahead, he told himself.  Keep
your eyes on the prize.

He fingered the paper in his pocket, the forgery
that his friends had supplied.  Though they
thought his quest impossible, they couldn't
refuse him, even going so far as to join him. 
But they were catching other trains this week,
branching out to the ends of this land in the
same search.  He was going west, simply because
that's where his heart was telling him to go.

At last, he faced the scruffy man behind the
steel cage.  "Name?"  The man didn't even look
up as he barked the question, writing furiously
on the clipboard before him.

Clearing his throat, he replied, "Gabriel."

"Gabriel what?"

"Nothing.  Just Gabriel."

The man's eyes snapped up, narrowing on
Gabriel's face.  "Do I know you?"

Gabriel shifted on his feet, looking away.  "No. 
I don't think so."

Was this how she felt as she started that final
journey?  The butterflies in his stomach were
making him nauseous, but he stood his ground,
willing this to pass so he could get on with it.

The station master shrugged, looking back to his
forms.  "Ever done any mining work?"

Gabriel thought back to Tunguska, to the way his
hands had bled from the sharp rocks, to the way
his back had screamed in pain and refused to
straighten at night.  "Yeah, some."

Cold gray eyes swept him from head to toe in
disbelief.  "Where?"

"Tunguska.  Russia."

Where a massive digging operation was still
underway, he knew.  Except this time, they
didn't toss aside the rocks they dug up.

The man snorted.  "No wonder you're a bag
o'bones."  He passed the clipboard under the
opening.  "Sign here."

Gabriel couldn't help the grimace that twisted
his lips when he raised his right arm. 
Thankfully, the station master didn't notice,
and Gabriel ignored the twinge of pain in his
shoulder as he gripped the pen.

"Six month contract," the man droned.  "Every
Sunday off.  You skip out, the company can
hunt you down, got it?"

Gabriel nodded, struggling with the pen.  His
writing was sloppy, and when he was done, he let
the pen go and fisted his trembling hand, hoping
the disability wasn't pronounced.

Like the company would really care, he thought. 
All they needed was warm bodies, and he knew
that dozens of men were lost to famine and
accidents each week in the mines.  They'd take
anyone they could get, which made it perfect for
his needs.

He gave the clipboard back and was told in
dismissal, "Track 34.  Train leaves in ten
minutes.  Payday the last day of each month."  A
flash of narrowed eyes, then, "And either cut
that hair or pull it back.  Too dangerous."

As he walked away, Gabriel pulled a piece of
yellow ribbon from his pocket.  He held it up to
his face and breathed deep; it still smelled of
her.

<You could use my ribbon.>

Sighing, he pulled his hair back and tied it
with the ribbon, keeping his chin down as he
maneuvered through the throng, following the
cardboard signs to Track 34.

The noonday sun was scathing, but he stayed
under the overhang by the track, seeking shade
like all the rest who waited for the train.  A
far off whistle signaled its approach, and he
felt relief course through him.  Almost there,
he was almost there.

The urge to chase after her had been eating at
him for months now, but his recovery had been
slow without her healing hands.  Even now, the
puckered skin was red and he had trouble
sleeping at night from the ache.  It didn't help
that the left side of his chest hurt as much, if
not more, than the wounded right.

That pain was constant and unforgiving, tweaking
his heart as if crying out for her.

Again, his hand moved to his pocket and he
tugged at the crumpled, slick paper, resisting
the urge to look at it.  He'd memorized every
line, every curve, ever since the Gunmen had
given it to him not long after her
disappearance.  They explained that the digital
photo had popped up in the download of data from
his father's computers.  It was the only one he
had.  It was precious.  It was priceless.

Reverently, he pulled it from his pocket as the
train appeared around the corner.  Holding it in
his left hand, he traced the shaking fingers of
his right over the color that was still vivid,
despite the tears he'd shed over it.

Fathomless eyes that matched the midnight blue
of the dress gazed up at him and his breath
hitched.  She wasn't smiling; she looked lost,
as if she wasn't herself.

She wasn't, he knew.  Despite what his friends
said, she wasn't Julia.

"That the wife?" a voice said next to him.

Startled, he fisted the photograph and glanced
at the man next to him.  "Uh..."  What to say? 
"Yeah."  Leave me alone, he begged silently.

The man next to him squinted at the train. 
"You're lucky.  Not many women around these
days."

Women were a hot commodity, worth more than
money.  But it took money to get a woman.

"Yeah, I'm gonna make some money," the man
continued.  "Get me a piece of farmland and
raise a passel o'kids.  All I need is to find me
a woman."

Gabriel's heart tripped in his chest, shouting
out in pain.

<Ten kids, Scully.  Twenty.  As many as you
think we can feed.>

He began to walk away to the slowing train.

All he needed was her... his truth.



End Epilogue
End of "Julia"

Beginning of "Gabriel"


December 13, 2001


For Mom.